It’s sad no one can open their heart these days to even say thank you and mean it, to stop taking. Feeding off other’s pain, hiding in the shadows. Lurking. Taking a ride on me. Pouting. Lying to themselves on how tomorrow is coming or on how much devotion to some high ideal you think you have. It’s so sad how weak you are. Maybe I’m weak too but not too weak to at least open my mouth, fearlessly. Own my feelings, the darkness the light- whoever is in front of me. Whoever is there gets it all, everything I am. I give and it’s sad you’ve got nothing. Just a shadow for eyes that don’t even count. It’s not personal, about me or anything I say. It’s not the same sob story. It’s just that you must not be too bright. You maybe can’t find your own anger or passion inside anywhere because you’re numb. You can’t even talk to me. Huddle in your dark little living room churning the housewife lie, on the computer screen imagining what a big man you’ll be someday. It’s pitiful. Way more pitiful than me. I have courage. I don’t mask my past, censor my heart, disown my lust, project my negativity. Maybe you think I do. But again, you’re wrong. I love to be wrong. I don’t mind being dysfunctional, codependent, none of it. I revel in my being who I am now and you- you aren’t me. You can’t be me. You’re too desperate basically. And weak. Weak because you are trying to compromise the truth. Dull the obvious. Teach children perhaps- how to what? Invest in your mental cowardice and buy into man in a better way? What happened to you- you think you’re all grown up because you fucked someone or because you have a bank account? Basically it’s one or the other because you didn’t move out from mom like you think, oh no. She’s there right under the blankets with you. And you’re also a hypocrite and a user. You wanted something from me like a pervert. Power. Recognition. What do you, did you want? You probably don’t even know. It’s just one time after another. Obsession. Fatal attraction. Who cares if I’m real. All I give to you, the nutritional value of my existence. You are so confused as to what this is. Oh, I’m wrong. No. You’re lost. You’re lost in your neurosis so much so that self image is everything. It doesn’t matter what. Martyr. So you can tell yourself whatever you want about me, why you came in the first place. Just a whim, a novelty, a passing spiritual rebel phase, a punish mommy phase. Whatever, you can’t even get enough of a grip on your underlying drive to see clearly anything. God, you barely get by, you’re getting so old and you still want to pretend there’s a way to avoid yourself. Like truly madly deeply. You can’t let go of this world. Materialism. And it’s not getting you far. The masturbation even loses its charm. The dolls on the screen. The fantasy of how your husband makes you more of a complete woman. Your sex life is a horror show. You’re shackled to shame and body hatred. You push black off on people like me once the thrill ends and you just can’t work an angle on me. It’s so indescribable. My disappointment. You didn’t hear me say compassion. I said disappointment. You’re letting the entire morbid world down because you are weak and can’t stand up on your own without sagging and grasping at a Buddha, a religion, a movie, food, a man, tits. Whatever it is. You know it’s over. You know and you look in that dirty mirror every morning and you lie. And you get in that stupid car and drive the highways with the lost drones of humanity and you head off to worship your loathsome self image and money. Green paper and a number that buys more shit and temporary security – and barely. And you sold your soul to nothing but more of the numbness and treachery of samsara. There isn’t an angle. There’s a line. Direct. I’ll face my lie. Give it to me. But no. You put on your lipstick and lie to a shadow. You whisper the hate inside and it kills you slowly and that’s why you’re so tired, achy and getting too fat. It’s not like I’m magical or a genius. God. Put the pieces together it’s not exactly hard anymore is it? Not at this point. NO. It’s dry and it’s limp. That’s not even close to being alive. And so I give and I give. I support your soul. I put out. I see how it is. That’s a human right and necessity. To slip into the human warmth while you’re here with other humans means to stop being so cold and creepy like a scared fish with puckered lips that suck. I don’t have anything for you but light. Light as I see it. And as I say it. It doesn’t matter what you think about me. I care. I speak up. I am HAPPY to be incorrect in my assessment of you. But cowards can’t engage. They censor. They disown. They bury the toxin and it becomes a legion of demons that they serve. You can’t live with a pervert in your own house and not be one yourself. There isn’t two. There is one. You and who you’re dragging through your sight every day and night. What you allow is a testament to your greatness. Your “Kali-ness” like I’ve taken something from you. You want to be “Kali.” Sexy. A man eater. Right. Haha. So fucking delusional that there is even such a thing as Kali. Some hard core oversoul goddess of the deep dark and sexy destroyers! Haha! You want to be strong and virile like “Shiva.” OM NAMAH SHIVAYA.” Please. Ok. It’s really sad (not even worthy of a laugh)….and then have command over women and their desires- for you of course…big erect man in charge. Haha that time! But it’s a stale joke. Directed at you all. All of the mediocre, tasteless, dulling stench of old shit. It’s just not funny to be so unreal anymore. Clean off your heart. Time is short no matter who you are. This world is a pile of corpses humping nothing but rot. It’s all set up to fool you. It’s all new age sterility and harmony. Spiritual bubble rooms with little fountains and flute music. Giving moms. Hard working dads. Good kids. Solid bank accounts. A nice neighborhood. Whole Foods. Everything will be alright once I believe in this a little harder. Get a little more numb. Bare down on samsara with a desperate vengeance. A vengeance upon myself who hurts and I bite. I never did anything to you. I held your hand. I told the truth. You cover yourself in darkness and pretend it’s me so you can keep lying. Stop being a coward. Can anyone hear me. Am I the last person alive? Please don’t go down without a fight.
Rage against the machine.
It’s only the light that hurts vampires.