“Some people think they jive me. But I know they must be crazy…”
BLACK VOODOO LOVE SCAR
“Walk on pins and needles
See what they can do
Walk on guilded splinters
With the King of the Zulu…”
Yes. I know. Everyone wants to know something. Everyone wants to see what’s inside. Yes she’s still got something to hide, hidden scars, after hours secrets, tantric equations, weaknesses. Yes, I’ve got it all and the more I reveal, the more I stay hidden behind my own magic weaving of words and of images. I’m a sorcerer, that’s what you may not believe. I have so many invisible, deadly snakes wrapped around my neck nobody can touch me like that, like I were in mortal danger. “Oh you must stop the blog, you’ve become too vulnerable.”
“…ain’t afraid of no tomcat
Fill my brains with poison…
Walk through the fire
Fly through the smoke
See my enemy
At the end of their rope…”
Right, I guess you don’t know me very well. You see, my father was a killer and my mother tried to kill me. I just weave like that and nothing will change the death on my plate. The more I show, the more I hide and that’s what magicians do, they mind fuck the fuckers basically. And it’s not because I don’t love you, it’s because it’s who I am, the best friend you’ll ever have, the best game player, the best mother fucker, the best shapeshifter, the best bitch, the best sucking, fucking baby of everything you’ll ever know…that is, if you want to come down into my electrical black lightening world of cradles and edges. And I can’t say I have a teaching or wear guru gear down there. I only know what I see in you and I play with it until it molds itself into “all about me,” another snake around my neck.
“I roll out my coffin
Drink poison in my chalice
Pride begins to fade
And you all feel my malice…”
This is the only way I can love by making it permanent, written in blood, etched in stone. Because carved in my stomach, are the words on the sorcerer’s door. “All ye who enter here, abandon hope.” That’s correct. I am inside the sorcerer’s door. Voodoo scary love strike. Seeing is believing, all this snake honey. And so I’ve been skipping the story because momentarily it’s demanding too much linear movement and sometimes I don’t like staying in line, grocery stores or whatever I’m like “fuck this,”…”excuse me, how long did it take to grow your hair… I love your hair…is it real….” I can’t fucking take it. Leave me alone. I try to hide behind BD so he can smile and answer. They try to touch me and I’m like FUCK THIS, and I go to the car…BD can deal with the big questions in life such as “Did you find what you were looking for?” Yeah right, of course, it’s food right? “Paper or plastic?” Here in Oregon, I love to say “PLASTIC, no I didn’t bring a cute canvass bag” and EFF with their heads just a little bit. Yes, I’m pissed, more like annoyed. Just leave me alone, let go of my dog rat, horse tail hair, get your fucking eggs and move on!!!!
Anyway, so where was I….yes scars, mine. Deep topic. I am one huge scar woven by vessel scars and my feelings and thoughts are scars. Scars remembering wounds and finding laughter there. Kindness on a good day. So the people annoy me because they’re not real. It’s like someone streaming fluorescent colored flashlights in my face all day, not even close to the sun so stop trying, just go away for awhile until you open those wounds up and start getting real so I’ll want to acknowledge your existence. Whatever if I’m a snob, failed bodhisattva, like I don’t care. I’m just me which is a strange, intense, emotional, perfecting ball of nothingness that I can’t even begin to figure out. I am the Buddha of compassion like a Rubik’s cube alright?..so you think my body of scars can stop me, no it’s the scars inside that I remember most. In a distant way, and yet I’m sure those scars are the protected ones, the ones I hide by casting pictures of myself at you, my sad eyes, as if I still can’t hide behind them…my entire protection is, yes, you can look but you’ll only find what you’re capable of seeing, in me…only what you know in you, will you know in me. That’s the naked muse magic.
So “All ye who enter here, abandon hope.” Is me. Hope is a lie just like fear. It’s these two places without an actual edge. It’s a pretend way to stay wrapped up in denial of the way this really has to be, stark and naked. And I don’t mean stupid, body naked, I mean naked. Bhagavan Das says
I’m too scary no matter what I do. He basically says I’m fucked so I might should just go with it. You know, he’s the one behind all this insanity, always laughing, encouraging my rebellion, agreeing with me, worshipping me, puffing up my demented head…but then again, I am just a scarred servant of whoever I meet or who is lofty enough to love me. My grandiosity never gets very far but sometimes I do wish it would…seems like more fun. Bigger and better like a balloon so full of breath it can float high above the ground forever. But I’m popped is the problem. I’m snapped off the big tree, doing it my butcher way now. Going to tear it all apart, going to give you everything, going to shock the shocker, going to love the lover, going to bruise the beloved, going to break every rule, going to do what I want so fuck your token money. Going to leave all the mannequins and devils in the dust, going to open my eyes inside of you.
So you want to see how it hurts, how I couldn’t stop the fates from falling, the pact with the entities who’ve always been watching me…taking me up, erasing my memory…but I remember some now and so they don’t hide quite as well. This place isn’t what you think it is.
All these walls and houses, banks and documents…it’s all to do to you exactly what I said in the beginning, distract you from what’s really happening. Your soul is being eaten by
astral entities who live amongst us. Our bodies are nothing. They use our bodies because we consider them the source of pleasure and from the pleasure or lack of, we conjure up emotions, these emotions open our bodies to them. Not only do they eat our emotions but they get inside and they mount our feminine soul and they rape her repeatedly to a gray, uneventful death while we just grow more numb and seethe more deeply eventually killing ourselves like a coward by avoiding pain, by not fucking properly. By not getting anything right because hope and fear are FUCKED. Stop believing all of it. Everything in this world is 100% WRONG. I don’t need to prove it, just look at what you’re in, doing…what it’s doing to you. Please retract your allegiance and let me torture you with God love. All seeing light love, pain breaking fear love. All of my Death Star five pointed, sharp magic love. Soft scars make soft love, anyway you want love. Love IS the fragment we lie about. We say “love” because the vocabulary choices are extremely limited…but you get my arrow in you heart either way and I know it, I’m a sharp shooter.
ALL YE WHO ENTER ABANDON HOPE. YOU WANT TO SEE WHAT THEY DID TO ME? THE DEATH STAB SCAR AS IF SHOWING YOU SHOWS ANYTHING. HERE IT IS. My LOVE DOOR. My price for you. My VOODOO LOVE MAGIC BLACK SCAR DEVIL EATER picture.
“Walk to me, get it, come, come
Walk on guilded splinters
Walk to me, get it, come, come
Walk on guilded splinters
Till I burn up
Till I burn up
Till I burn up
Till I burn up…”
I don’t care if I’m scarred, It’s not real. It’s violence on paper. Its 4 blood transfusions and it’s a rack of lamb. Me, who God left in the field until the harvest. I’m doing my best, defining freedom and love. My prison is small, I spend all day and night picking the lock dreaming of you. You are a soft scar, wounds are covered by bodies who love and healing is a blanket we call a scar. But it’s love, don’t grow numb. It’s all love, the pain takes us there most of all, into the fertile places where God sees everything and loves you not in spite of it, but because of it.
Your wounds and scars and broken teeth, your wrinkles and pains are badges of honor saying,
“I’ve gone to where God goes.”
They are why I love you and how I love me. So when you might think there is something to hide or to fear, think again. The heart is a portal to every heart there is. Some hearts are programmed to remember each other the way I remember you. And we go to the bottom of our body and we abort no one.
God is a blanket who takes the blanket away.
Feel me my message of hope.
“Put gris-gris on your doorstep
And soon you be in the gutter
Melt your heart like butter
And I can make you stutter…”
I hope you do. I fear you will.
Love the deepest thing,
BLACK VOODOO LOVE SCARS
Till I burn up.