God and death probably mean the same thing, words like light and love, I don’t know. I throw them around a lot for effect but when you really think about it, the words are useless concepts. Even God, has no result…but death however, has the result we can count on. I like to give God therefore the benefit of the doubt and say that God is death. Like it or leave it, haha.
I don’t know what I could ask you, what to want. Words, the words went so fast last night I couldn’t write them down. They were about you, then a demon crashed into my night box and I woke up wondering how, how to tie you to God, the best way to break you down slowly, charming like sweet rat poison or something poetic…the way I could write poems along the way about how much I love you and how sad I am to see you go, down below, deep in my room box. Then there’s the demon talking all about hassle free love and girls that fuck other girls and snakes who wear lipstick and stretch out their ears, holes dicks get stuck in, yes I hear you. I’m not asleep anymore. I have many secrets I could write down, secrets that exhaust even Satan. I could write it down but it wouldn’t make sense. I could draw death on my tongue and you could suck out the poison. Demon worm, hungry snake, chew the bone and shut up. I talk in tongues quietly, decisively, spontaneously like I jump the sky, get inside his big rainbow, all inside making puppies, and nobody sees the damned all curled up calling this body home? Cleaning with the likes of this red rag, I kill sound most of all. So the way I see and pull and move the lid from the box is exactly how children play, such as hide and seek or what I like to call “is there anybody out there?” Ohhh, my lonely naked pain hurts so bad….ohhhh my big scary scars, am I still pretty…ohhhh my nasty snake won’t play with me….ohhh what can I do to be loved …..ohhhhh I need I need I need….hahahah. It’s DEATH TRANCE FLUFF. It’s what you wanted, it’s being born into wedlock like we breath past the pain. Yes she leaves us and we go insane. Yes he’s about to get knocked up, pregnant and confused. Yes I’m half man, half burden, half scissors, half fish. Yes the woman runs me and she’s pretending it’s you. Yes she’s made of a million sounds, that drive men wild with dominion. You don’t stand a chance, she’s a black stallion that reigns over even the gods, lopsided, far sighted, irresistible and trickier, her vortex of you. So I was wondering, now that I’ve jinxed the paradox how should I go about taking more pictures? These pictures, I just love the results of my actions. Every day I draw diagrams of where lightening strikes and I go there, like it’s a finger from God. A big fucking, damning middle finger that writes COCK SUCKER in all capitals on the sea shore after praying about holy, selfless things…a beautiful finger that taps me and says, “Isn’t that what you wanted?” I love this peacock party, the one I’ve made from the madness. Insanity lunacy revelry, I know you don’t believe me, crystal spheres, auras suspended, serpentine spirals that carry loads of white light into my spread open arms. My arms carrying loads of white lonely flowers, my head with a bird on top, with a star that’s floating, crying out, “Angel, don’t you love me? I love you this much…” then the star explodes and we both scream like it’s never going to rain again and then you forgive me for cutting your heart out of your throat. And then we pray to whoever is listening while it’s still black and I’ve still got jesus down on his knees all alone in front of me, begging for more of the demon box curse. I said, “but you’re all alone like a sparrow and I could hurt you baby jesus,” and you said nothing, just started licking at more hellbent love and I said, “you’ll need to speak up I can’t hear you,” and you said, “I’m jesus and I just swallowed your star.” I said, “nobody has to know, nobody has to find us, we’re all alone and it’s black and dying usually takes forever,” “I’m thirsty,” you said, then you cried out, “but your eyes are bleeding my drink!” I said, “go ahead and get in, the pool is a life giver!”
Taker, the crown bound horn pounding rarest steak of all. She’s always hungry, don’t trust her.
Trust me instead, me the writer who keeps schedules and does laundry. Who says. “Are you hungry?” Do you like mornings that smell like the world just burned in a big God fire? I do. And the truth is I am the best cook. I feed the world and these little dogs until they get too fat and then I starve them and tie them up while they wag that stiff tail of theirs begging for forgiveness, more of the same leash, a piece of raw meat. It’s all the same. I am innately evil. I don’t even know how much so. It’s just this big orchestrated take over. I put on a show to end all shows. Ok. Maybe it’s all talk and I’m just a frail, hopeful hummingbird dreaming big dreams, you won’t know until it’s too late though. Spider legs, the kind that are barbed and tight, that’s what I prayed for when I thought of how to tie you to God. I’m not predictable, just to be sure, but I’m dependable like a train. A big puffing train that enters that horizon like the conqueror, that’s me. A big furious hellbent demon box conqueror with all sorts of broken mirrors stuck in my feet, all sorts of sounds lodged in my throat. Basically, all the ocean is toxic and radioactive, basically this poison will have to be her love. Basically he’s not getting up, he’s going down and looking for God in the box, black demon box sucubus alien oracle nightmare infusion box. Did anyone ever even care enough to ask him why? Why this big God trip, why all the blood and heavy lifting, why all the thorns and demons clapping hands…why why why??? I can’t sleep at night I’m so betrayed. Yeah it’s all about me, who-TF else? Why lord did you leave me in the first place??…and if I left you, since you’re “God” why-TF did you program it all so it could happen this way? I could be damned by a she-devil spiking my soup with radon and love potion. Why God didn’t you mold me like you, laughing just laughing at the bloodstains and semen? Laughing just laughing at the scissor lightening, wrist slitting love songs? Laughing just laughing at my rancid pain? Laughing just laughing, moaning groaning my name, headless lady, your body is enough. I said no to every head hunter until you came along, just a jester with a screw driver and a long record of arrests, a criminal all packaged and ready to go.
Down sweet down, like a charm.
God and death might make sense.
However, God’s not a greeter.
Love and light are filled with holes
however, you might be interested
in a tour of the profane, the sacred
attempt to harness sin. You might want to come to your own conclusions
about all of the above. Haha.
I’m joking. There is no tour. I am it.