He's beautiful, I have already mentioned this to him
but I keep on insisting because I think it's not really clear for him yet
that his beauty is both inside and outside

I mean, apart from his noble heart
and niceness befitting of a prince;
apart from his ideas and his way of thinking, his strings of thoughs
that I love to follow and where I also love getting lost in;
apart from the beauty of his likes and loves
(because you are what you love, if after all love transforms you,
and thus I am he and he is I)
even if you took apart all of his being and essence
he would still be beautiful

because he is beautiful, no matter how you see him
although he sees himself and he is not content
he is beautiful in his signature brows
in his shoulders where I anchor and his fingers which I entwine with mine
he is beautiful from the wrinkles in his face and his combed hair
to his feet, wearing shoes two sizes bigger

he is beautiful, no matter how you see him
but he is on his most when he is honest,
when he shows himself weak: in his most pure and human state,
and that usually happens at night,
either with his mind a little blurred by a little alcohol
while his tongue runs and can't say anything but urgent truths,
dyed with that love that not even alcohol can erase;
either in my arms, moved by sweet whispers, his eyes releasing tears
that rise modestly like cotton
but, as they roll, have the shine of a gemstone;
or if not by early morning while we share a single bed,
naked and iluminated by the lights of my alarm clock

he is so beautiful when he lets you see him vulnerable
or he lets you see him in love
or he lets you see him without even noticing that you're seeing him:
he is so beautiful all the time
and he is not content

he tells me he is not content, when his arms hold me tight
and his chest seems sculped exclusively for my hands;
he is not content, my best kept secret,
the boy that looks cute and shy in front of everybody's eyes
and I know in so many different layers;
he is not content being so short and so pale
being that I could use the porcelain analogy to describe his skin,
but his porcelain was adorned with freckles, and marks, and moles
and I have never seen such fine, pretty, warm porcelain
(porcelain is cold and your arms are always warm)

and his dark hair contrasts with his light skin, and his eyes go along:
black lights, stars of Bethlehem that guide the way
to reach to his pink lips that, if you kiss,
you could swear you can find salvation
or a miracle; something strange happens because it's not normal to be moved by such great happiness,
and if his mouth is salvation, the touch of his hands is holy grace

he is not content when I could honor his body
and his spirit and mind,
when my mouth could paint masterpieces in his chest
because he doesn't see shape but I see colours
and I don't know if he believes if god is an artist
but if he doesn't see himself as art, it doesnt matter
since even so, art goes all over himself like a bindweed

since even so, when god said
"let there be light"
I'm almost sure that he was made.

The key to failure is when I try to help others; turn around my things disappear

The only nice honest girl I was ever with was in the south Philippines

I was the one who ran away
Why? Because I'm stupid!

To trust others is naive
Never give a sucker an even break was hip advice
I couldn't ever trust my ex wife

She left me for dead when I was down for the count
Tossed in the lost and found

The simpleton believes what he is told; is a quote in the Holy Bible

They forgot my picture

Your spine is a holy place
From the tip of your neck, to the cradle in your pelvis, it is baptized in your waters
Starting with cervical, a lucky number of seven sections
The number of days it took god to create the earth
Greek mythology tells me, Cer is the personification of a violent death
Vic means to substitute,
Therefore this section substitutes itself for your violent death
Holding up an unlucky number 13
Pounds.
Of skull, and flesh and
Blood. Which it facilitates the flow of
It has hollowed itself out for nerves
Hollowed itself out so that you may feel
Everything.

Thoracic.
A dozen protective pieces,like the disciples foundation
Hammered in by thor himself
God of the sky
The horizon within dotted by a heart, some lungs,
Spleen, stomach, diaphragm
Stars in your very own galaxy

Lumbar
Five little graces
Luminary
Holding enough weight so
that the sun could settle down
right between your hip bones
root within your nerves
Apollo has come to visit
Showing you just how much holy light you can carry

I met a man in church today, with hair so grey and eyes so old,
I thought to myself "If heaven had secrets, surely this man would know."
We talked for a while, and he spouted wisdom like a stream,
and I pondered what his cryptic advice might mean,
and we left together, out the gilded double doors of the church.

It was cold that day, but the birds still sang, and he remarked that it was so.
He mumbled to himself what would seem ordinary if I did not know
to look for more within his words, and ponder what I had the fortune to hear.
I thought long and hard, until I saw a sight that made it at once so clear.

I met a holy man in church today, and when we left Heaven for the earth below,
the genius opened the wide and gilded double doors, and ****** into the snow.

Once in my life
I saw a divine

Eyes fluttering like leaves
Throbbing my heart beat

Pretty little smirk
No bad intentions ,no dirt

Flushed cheeks
Hair so sleek

My archangel , a holy soul
When made a sound ,not a leaf felt alone

For a while , I sensed Heaven
Descending down, tonight at eleven

It was but a dreary day
When the crows began to pray
When the harks began to sing
When the doves began to shout
All had gone upside down
Even the worst of them were begging for help
While the so called holy ones started the riots

The second power of the Sphinx
is Will.

"Motion is by mind alone." ⊙
Intelligence, armed with Wisdom,
        fortified with Understanding,
        self-realizes.
                The will to power orchestrates
                desire, giving flesh to dream.

                       (ripples in the waters of מ)

        Who awakens, ceasing Motion,
        becomes the Mover:
        the omnipresent Point.

Will is the Artificer of Truth.
Truth embodied by Art
follows conception.
Existence produces mythos.

                "The Maze, the Maze that is the Secret,
                loves Itself.
                And in the love of Itself,
                amazing things Become." ⊾

To Will is to express:
to falsify the inestimable
and create by omission.

        "The world-dream is a lie." Ω

        "Lo, for these words that stain the lips of the Anointed,
        the Smeared Ones.
        Smeared in the ashes of My blood
        is the lie that is Our story." ⊾

The cause of Action is narrative.
The effect of Action is narrative.
I speak the Word.
I hear the Word.

The Story begins.

Mixing your whisky breath,
              your unshaven cheeks,
              your liquored-down smile
                                                                               in an orange bottle labeled B.

WITHDRAWAL withdrawal withdrawal
Advice from a man with unshaven cheeks, a ring around his eye, and a cross near his breast.
Withdrawal from him, be careful, withdrawal from him you’ll see.
Clenched fists and a bouncing ball of hair, tied, atop my head

Sundays are slow, a holy ****** awaits.
                                                      They teach we aren’t supposed to be here.
                                                                               They teach this is not home.
Everyone is temporary, and
the concept of forever: my methadone.

But he’s only a pain reliever, you see.

One does not question the holy
This sick sacrament of self-sacrifice is not holy
Dark filthy ****** mess of holy man
Thorny fool
This is not holy

*** and sweat
Dripping wet
With physical pleasure
Understanding
Educational leisure
That is better than holy

Compassion and wisdom
Built from shared experience
Creating empathy
Like blood pumping vessels
This is better than holy

Patience for others
And a little for myself
Intolerance for the arrogance of war
This is better than holy

Robed men and camouflaged faked heroes
Petulant posers and wealthy heirs
Are not the high end ******* that we should smoke

Scholars and philosophers
Scientists and healers
Teachers and firemen
They are heroes

In reality the holy
Is just some mystic *******
Fake flesh and blood
Ritz crackers and grape juice
Some cryptic fascist leftover symbolism
To cow the masses in uneducated awe
**** that *******