No more magic: magic dreams, magic realities. Does this seem backwards and ludicrous of me to state such a wish? Potentially.

Yet I do not wish such upon all domains: it's more a fallacy from wariness. Yet, even an idle wish cannot change the course of action already in motion.

Ergo, if anyone still vehemently disagrees with the notion of my half wish after the intricacies are spilled upon the table; do as you will. Yet tread with caution, as you've been given heed.

To embrace the multifaceted, multidimensional level of intricate details which form the building blocks of the nature of such a claim and infinity; reviewing and understanding a few core concepts is necessary.

Magic is essentially the higher understanding and manipulation of nature. A form of knowledge, if you will.

Knowledge consists of one of the many pathways or permutations used to control for power.

What of power? Well, within the hands of an undisciplined mind, it is a means of corruption.

This does not insinuate that the presence of power is a causal link for corruption. Not in full. Yet enough power paired with an undisciplined mind can result in corruption. One might find themselves signing over the soul at the drop of a dime.

Furthermore, even for those possessing an extremely disciplined and engrained sense of virtue; power can corrupt if given enough time and the proper circumstances.


Despite this understanding, if given the opportunity: I'd pick magic **** near every time.


“I can change” we'd say; after the thousandth retake of the same test of willpower, of failed temperance and appetites. This is cried out to the sky only upon recalling the aftermath of damage caused.

Perhaps we could change.
Yet we vow this each time before starting the process anew; our memories wiped.

Memory is grand, yet it is our virtue that holds the key, that which truly counts. This too can be learned, relearned, compromised, expanded upon. It is not a static state. It adapts, lives, breathes, thrives; and you better believe it's intelligent. (As all energy is intelligent.)

Throw the two together, along with a few more ingredients, and one is given the comprising elements governing most everything; to some degree or another.


“There is no good or evil; there is only power, and those too weak to seek it.”


Not quite. This is a ****** half truth of blind lunacy stemming from everyone who has and shall always be nobody else but you. This is the face of corruption fueled by power, resting inside us all.

Yet it does not encompass all layers. No.

It is every single one of those things, and none of them.
It is the compromised result of all infinite possibilities in between: of everything all at once, until it IS only One; encompassing each subsequent pause and division in between.

It is the unification, the separation, the battle and harmony between form and void; and of the constant, neverending, infinite, perpetual vacuum of everything and nothing in-between all fluctuating at different rates and degrees.

Any reality you could ever imagine, (be it surface level; or diving into one of the immesurable infinities, or somewhere in between) - it has either happened; is currently occuring; or will come to pass at some point.

Time does not exist in the same constraints we are accustomed to. It is cyclical, recursive, nonlinear, and in states of quantum superposition (or cognition) - all happening at once.

Over an unutterable infinity, or within the blink of a cosmic eye. Yet who is to say that these two notions are not the same?

Infinitely many is just the comprised collective innumerable counterpart of One.

Imagine DNA. When broken down at the subatomic molecular level; it is infinitely small. Yet it creates the human body: the same blueprint present everywhere.

Out of the microscopic level of infinitely small forms larger layers. DNA creates the neurons within the human brain. Jumping out a layer: this forms the whole of the brain. Then the human body. It magnifies to the entire collective of human bodies.

This in turn creates the cells for another strand of DNA within a larger One. More neurons. Brain. The body™ of that larger One. The collective bodies of the collective of Ones. Repeat this cycle ad infinitum.

It is always One; but how it appears depends on the level of infinity you're dealing with and envisioning at that given moment.

---------------------------------------------------

So go ahead and tell me, child.
Would it all have been worthwhile
To tread upon Eliot's allusiory notion
Having bitten off the matter with a smile
Negating warnings, blinded by devotion?
To have squeezed the universe into a ball
During our days to ****** and create
Amnesic to past transgressions of a dying fall
Divulging the insidious question upon our plate?
Daring to disturb the song of the universe
Repeating the same indecisions and revisions
In which we must ultimately reverse?

tell me, how long do heartbreaks last? it has been a long while now, darling and i should have gotten over you already, but here i am still mailing my heartaches to september, hoping that its rains take it all away. i should have gotten over you but still, i have learned to hide my love in the crumpled edges of every unsent letter. i have learned to tuck it in a box of overrated heartaches. i have learned to silence it, just as i have learned to silence all the songs i can never listen to again without breaking.

i should have gotten over you by now but my here i am — palms made of longing and rust, reaching out for empty couches and empty beds — a stubborn instinct, a muscle memory carved in my brain. and despite all the fumbling, all the reaching — all these spaces can offer are poems spilled by these telltale lips, like lilies crowding a grave of what we were and what had been. i should have gotten over you by now, but what's the harm in failing? after all, i have nothing more to lose but made-up metaphors and midnights.

so these are all my high-hopes free-falling once more to the ground. so this is me, straightening up the crumpled edges. this is me, tearing boxes and looking at heartache in the eye. this is me, drowning in the songs we ruined no matter how much it rips my heart. and this isn't another one of those unsent letters; this is an apostrophe i never dared to write seven years earlier, cause darling, some heartbreaks, you turn to poetry; some heartbreaks, you just don't. this is a testimony about what it's like to say 'i love you', and you can hear the hesitations from the tip of their tongue. this is a testimony about what it's like to have someone slipping and fading away amid all your denials. this is about what it's like to kiss someone and see someone, and the living with the pain of not knowing it's your last. this is about what it's like to wake up one day, and one month, and one year after they leave without the emptiness getting any lighter. this is about what it's like to lose someone — to just lose someone right before your very eyes. this is a testimony, darling, about what it's like to lose someone — to just helplessly lose someone when you still love them so much.

pink like a soft bloom

do not come near me with those
perfect pairs

for i cannot stop thinking
how would it feel

to finally put an end to enduring, thinking,
how would yours feel
against mine

i apologize for these
reckless thoughts

i wonder how you would taste—

maybe a little like wine

or maybe the balm you put
religiously

i'm sorry, i apologize

—1:19AM

hey.. i'm sorry i didn't call. i actually wanted to, but, well, you know me.

you remember that first time we stayed up until five in the morning? i told you that i only know the kind of love that slowly rips your heart. maybe it's because all i've ever known about love was from the kind that came from ****** up people — my mom, my estranged dad, charles bukowski. her. there'll be always be something in me that will crave the recklessness, the emotional distances, running red lights and messing around. you see, to me love was walking straight into greek fire, but you make me feel like it's divine — just staying put and watching the flames with your head laid on my chest.

so it's not that i don't want this. maybe i do, with a newfound intensity that terrifies me. there, i said it.. and it's unsettling, you see. cause i don't know how to love you with the kind of love that doesn't involve destruction. i don't know how i can love you without greek fires burning us — sinking us. so it's easier this way. telling you that this is going nowhere and that i can't love you. i can't love you. *******, i can't love you.

please. forget i ever said anything.

snow white etchings on the glass
a design someone looked to and loved

you are fuller when you look at me in love.

last year's hangover
Morning Star blind
without the ride
of imbibing libations

words bled dry
in powdered thought
desiccated emotion
won't rehydrate unsalted
and I just ain't in the mood

shoulda had that drink
winning every battle
lost in war I can't see
but scars burn deep
courting failure
with fear

why fight fate
in altered perceptions
that are all real enough
to feel
in a world where the
only thing concrete
is thought...

bled dry
in last year's hangover

out there is the vast, primordial space. empty. infinite. timeless. and for billions of years, the stars had been killing themselves.

sweet one, isn't that very telling?

and i love you like this:

in these freshly washed sheets,
with our limbs tangling,
with your breath on my skin where my shoulder meets my neck
under your gaze,
under what's left of the stars,
in the air, the scent of coffee, and apple crisps, and something that's just purely you,
in these cold, quiet hours before the daylight,
in the every silent ticking of the clock
with newfound honesty
with newfound softness
with each calming of my breath,
with each time it's taken away
with the high of knowing you're here and we're here.
and with the fear of that high,
with the sunrise so far away
with us just lying here in the stillness, in the dark
in the inadequacy of poetry — darling this is peak experience. this is perfect.

like the heads coming out of the cinema screens at night, tired.
a trail of tiredness accompanied with them  
like smoke ends following their coats.