and then this crow came

IMG_1866IMG_3352IMG_1866

I sit in this room all alone looking out. At trees and rain. At emptiness. I would rather not see myself this way. As the winter approaches. As cold sets in. As things get buried even deeper underneath whatever has fallen. When I wasn’t watching. What I lost on the bottom that will soon go unseen. For a long time. It already has. Winters have passed. It never seems the same. Year after year, seasons blend into nothing. Nothing but endless cycles of pain and compensation. Of death and hopeless new beginnings. I sit here alone. People mean nothing to me. I can’t shake the haze of my dying. Which is all this has ever been. A slow, from beginning to end. Watching myself dying. Fruitless and broken. Like the branch that dangles and sways in the wind. Rain on the body of Christ. Whose looking anyway, but the memories of what we hoped we’d uncover. Like the sky hiding God. Or the heart holding love. But none of it matters, it’s all just a cloud relieving itself of dense weather weight. It’s not a poem or even a story. It’s just how things fall, for no reason at all. Back to death because there’s nowhere else to go but there. Nothing to do but remember. Fate. How I got here, sitting with no desire at all to get up. To matter to you. To do anything holy or prosperous. No. I’m just waiting.Β To fall like everything does, must. Rise. I could play music but why would I bother, continue with the lie, denial. The clock ticks from the wall, overhead and I listen, loud and clear. Every tick another death. Every tock a pointless beginning. The truth of me is that I am not free. I am a product that simply thinks too much and it’s a cruel torture. Whoever made a mistake like me. Whoever put her brain in place. Must know the suffering I could cause by dwelling with infinity as my number. Must have known I’d fuck up every head I could. Could we wake up, could the sun talk. Could we make a stand for any reason at all. Not to be here, useless pitiful space wasters eating money and shitting out tears that stench like dead bodies. The ones we’ve eaten ages ago. And we imagine the sin could be remedied by donating old clothes or opening doors for old people already on their way out. By inculcating our children into this sodomy. By sharpening our teeth while we sleep all the while.Β Well, I won’t be in this. I just won’t. So goodbye and good luck with your family and career. With your graceful aging and your stifled rage. With your eating disorder and your child you’re turning into your mother. With it all. The man who doesn’t love you. The woman whose so weak she wears makeup. The old forgotten bones of the dead dog. Well I didn’t forget. And I’m not going anywhere but down. Like the sun when it’s over. Whispering everywhere that although tomorrow comes it doesn’t matter at all stupid fucking human people. Wake up. You bore me to death. No one is saved either that’s a fantasy lie. You only rise when you die because that’s what steam does. The rest goes into the dirt, dog bones that mean absolutely nothing. But the seed doesn’t rot. The seed grows more evil and rises again in the steam of the earth’s desire to penetrate. Penetrate. And so he does and she gets knocked up. And the wicked child is born causing trouble. Because nobody is looking at what we did to get here. Why. Why are we fruitlessly fucking each other to death? Why won’t you stop hurting the child by being you?
You. Mother. You. And I mean everything. This planet. Universe. Collapsing fuck point in space.
Everybody, just a bad version of me. Worse. And so why would I bother mentioning flowers or friends or tombstones that read, “rest in peace.”
As if that were possible. The lies are more boundless than God. The beliefs are the devil that keep us all serving the pain of more pain. And of course the useless, endless dying. The trees with no fruit. The rain with no eyes. The earth with no heart. The sun with no warmth. My voice with no sound. Words without meaning. The seed without a worthy womb is my sorrow.
So goodbye as best I can is what I’m doing now…and then this crow came and perched on the broken branch, sideways and just stared at me through the window. There was nothing left to say. Or do.

You. Mother. You. Sharada Devi

IMG_1453IMG_3338IMG_3255

20 thoughts on “and then this crow came”

  1. Ha!
    Get over your bad self-
    ( that’s what a friend of mine used to say )
    You? think too much…
    “the cruel torture”
    how many times have you said that to me!
    So i am not alone.
    πŸ™ƒ
    Don’t give up on the old people
    i am one , and when someone takes the time
    to hold a door open for me… i see God
    Sorry if it’s raining….
    i say – SMASH that F’ing clock- once and for all.
    ( tee – hee )
    me and time disagree
    we ain’t on the same – wave length…
    i’ve been doing my best to take in the fruit of my womb
    and the generation that was begat from it
    Like Karmic duty
    Like Dharma
    doled out like shit on a shingle
    and living light
    cuz that’s the way it is
    that’s what a … bodhisattva does… right?
    BTW – it ain’t winter approaching
    it’s just barely autumn…
    πŸ˜‰
    ( i know you don’t care for smiley faces)
    but ya know – i got to get a rise out of you some how…
    Right?
    πŸ™ˆπŸ™‰πŸ™Š
    πŸ’₯πŸ’₯πŸ’₯
    🌢🎻🎯
    ❀️ ✨ ❀️✨ ❀️
    ****************
    You know i love you – right?
    πŸ’«πŸ’—πŸ’«

    1. funny. What people like you don’t realize is that we aren’t the same- I am a creator,
      my writing, while inspired is beyond any
      personal problem, confession or misplaced
      passive aggressive anger…and I write to the public, not, for example- you.
      So getting a “rise out of me” sounds a little far fetched and hopeful- not to mention maybe that’s a personal issue-
      that’s got little to do with me, and more
      with your “husband” so in a way, I put my creativity out there, and get people such as yourself getting strangely personal with me,
      to the point of creepy – and it’s all given
      freely- with very little apparent appreciation for the creative, universal,
      deeply meaningful message conveyed.
      So, I almost didn’t post your words but
      then said wtf- and did it anyway even though your projection is just about your unclaimed dark territory, not mine.
      I “Know you love me.” What does that even mean? You don’t even know me, you know a projection. And it’s not really fair to me.
      Winter IS approaching. Maybe you should take a better look in the mirror.
      Ps bodhisattva? This is new age insanity.

        1. I deleted the rest of the redundancy.
          You can’t own your darkness. I misunderstood nothing. You live in deep denial. And I’m bored with the game. Save it for your husband or daughter – but I always knew. And I’m benevolent is all.

          1. I want to get this right. Honestly, I do.
            This conversation, this life.
            My own darkness, I AM well aware of it.
            My shortcoming. They are not a mystery to me.
            And I do try to work through it all. You have also told be to lighten up.
            Denial is NOT what i choose.
            It’s not a game – it’s trying to get it right in this lifetime.
            I may stumble and miss the mark
            But I keep trying.
            You know things about me – but that does not make me less worthy
            of compassion than anyone else.
            These things these traits of the 7th house.
            Why do I have to be completely defined by them.
            There must be more to my chart – more to me, then just this one house.
            Please don’t dismiss me like i have no redeeming qualities.
            I am not begging.
            Just being strong.
            I am a spiritual warrior.

          2. What? Get it “right.” you’re “well aware of your darkness.” 7th house? What? I really can’t relate to where you’re coming from.
            These strange desperate empty words. Actions make one a “spiritual warrior.” Not ridiculous proclamations based on delusion.
            Satya, sorry I couldn’t be more helpful.
            Or accommodating anymore. Heavy shadow.

  2. I know that life sucks…and now that I’m here I’m stuck…with only one way out…death…I could do it myself…quickly…on my terms…or…I can allow nature to do it…possibly…agonizingly…slowly…would I pay to live my life over again? exactly as it happened…one more time? or would I pay not to experience it again…exactly as it happened…one more time…without life there is no sickness pain and death…yes Shane but what about all the beautiful sunsets…what about cozying up to the fire with a hot cup of cocoa on a cold winter day…and all that joy and fulfillment that you’ve experienced…doesn’t it make all the pain and mediocrity worth it? I mean if you just keep trying…one day…you’ll get it right…right? I doubt it…how many beautiful sunsets would you agree to not experience to avoid getting cancer…how many orgasms with the women that you’re most lustful for would you forego to avoid having your mother kidnapped tortured and raped…for months…how many satisfying morning bowel movements would you agree to never have in order to avoid breaking your leg…you can still have a bowel movement…but it will hurt…and you will have to unwrap yourself from around the immovable…painfully…like child birth…yielding very little…and you’ll bleed enough to cause worry…and you’ll ache later…like the anal queens do in those porno movies that you enjoy so much…all so that you don’t break your leg…and how much of the good is really just the negating of something bad? I’ve got great news…your cancer has gone into remission…oh isn’t that just wonderful…but really…it’s just…you don’t have something bad…hitting the lottery…its really just the end of poverty…liberation…it’s just the end of your imprisonment….unlimited…just the absence of limit….and think of all that suffering that you could have prevented had you never been naive enough to think breeding was a good idea…you must be a real sadistic bitch…or just an idiot…to enjoy recruiting souls into this prison…to think that laying eggs in the shit hole was a good idea…and I know that all of you do…it’s your God given right to be a cunt how you see fit…someone else will pay for it…somehow…besides…puppies are cute…and I’m bored…and that man that I like because I can tell he doesn’t like me…well…maybe a child will create that quality bond that I’m looking for…

    1. I can always count on you to come through Shane! The main thing is, suicide won’t end the perversion- you’ll just not have your body to experience the addictions- and so you’ll fight to get back- just to get your screen and your greased up hand back in place- for the pretty boy and the angry military man…and so suicide doesn’t end the suffering only transformation of consciousness does and that’s why we’re here. It’s not like i have the answers to anything except that what comes around goes around – and doesn’t stop- the torture of hell regurgitating itself…and it’s here now, you’re in it. Best to find a way and a means to end the satisfying of the sensory holes…it’s not about much else- that and you suffer because no one loves you- mostly because you won’t allow it- because you choose hell again and again- the mental ruts are the reason for birth- so to act as if you’re helpless and your mother pulled you into this world against your will is ridiculous and impossible- you saw a chance to masturbate and overeat again and you jumped right into the first “cunt” who could fit you in. Karmically. So that’s my take on it. And next time you won’t remember this time and who knows what your new limitations will be…a potatoe bug body perhaps? A dog an angry boy beats to the point of seizures maybe? Like I said. What comes around goes around in a big way. Echoes. We echoe and that’s it. Is there anybody out there?
      I can’t answer that without getting lonely….

  3. imagine a world where people cheer when someone dies…and breeders are shamed when they announce that they’re expecting…

    celebrate death…cause being dead is great…

    lament birth…its totally unnecessary…

  4. you seem to want them to keep perpetuating misery…

    so don’t complain about being stuck here…you obviously think there’s something to be accomplished by living…

    1. “Them” ??? Sounds like a conspiracy theory.
      I’m not “complaining,” that’s your take.
      Obviously your mind is disturbed by your daily choices to indulge in perversions, so i guess you’re here to digest what you’ve done- but instead you eat more- until you’re sick. Masturbate more- until your dick feels nothing but a dull numb anger…so you want more- blood- assholes…that sort of thing. Where does it end? At death? No.
      Stupid fucking human people wasting space feeding opportunist demons.

  5. Thank you
    Because of you
    And the relentless giving
    Deep steam
    Will come from the loss-
    A Swan song will come from me
    Where there was once a crow
    and the shaking sound of death
    I will sing to you as this. Because,
    I am the one who will not leave.
    Me, so transparent, I am beyond me.
    And so I am giving my only life
    To the one whose face I see
    to be so near to knowing me, my you.
    Who moves into the killer seed, at least…
    this love is whole. And full of white God.

    I wish that was all. But you have opened my eyes to a further and colder wind; a place humbling, and staring me down. Like black eternity over the passing sea. Until my last breath I will be here and I will take no more. I will give the ocean to the moon in you.
    My seed….

    From my cool skin and mortal sin, I face a nauseating spin. This is the darkness swelling. Within, where you move me. Where there is forever. Diamond White Hot Heart. If not here? Between these bodies overlapping…then where?

    “I tie my shoes, start walking off
    And try to just keep moving on
    With my broken heart and my absent God.
    And I have no faith but it’s all I want…
    To be loved, by you…and to believe
    To believe In my soul, in my soul”
    And you. In me.

  6. If I bow to you
    If I kiss your feet
    And beg of you
    Please please…
    If I paint pretty pictures of your name in the sky…
    Will you praise my head?

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *