I was thinking about unearthly things. Rainbows, are they real? Nice things to say so you don’t get mad at me and say I’m all washed up, dried up, dead floating wannabe fairy in the water. It’s sad, people are mean. I’m the meanest though, I ask for punishment all the time and I don’t know why. I mentioned it before, kind of like a disguised cry for help, but no one got it…no, you’re fine, just keep popping seduction and I’ll keep coming back for more…watching you (me) self destruct in an earth realm of unrequited love. I say to BD all the time, “it just isn’t enough.” He says, “what isn’t?” I say, “any of it, these experiences on earth aren’t enough.” And then pervertedly enough I realized my most intense experiences are my near death experiences. Like I want them, and they’re my deepest way to find this thing called love which we may misunderstand…or maybe I do…maybe it’s me- and me is love- like you is love- and then possibly we think we love each other when magnetically someone strikes a death chord in us that reminds us of ourself who is love, who should be near death as well- as maybe being near death is being in love? I think love brings death and death brings love. And don’t get me wrong, being a walking corpse isn’t fun, but I’m just saying, from objective self observation, these experiences have overtones like deep sexual longing, beyond physical gratification, but a soul scouring greatness that we can only describe as death and so we do…and people don’t get it because they’re shallow and satisfied with monotonous glamorous emptiness- and once isn’t enough for a deeper calling such as redemption -and so superficial sex is like a crime against a lost humanity…seeing as we do have this obligation to be the “one” don’t we? So, people are very afraid of me. I ask BD why. He says I’m just too real. And I think I’m not real at all. It’s all about sex, everything is- all these interactions where we starve and sigh and just leave the room one more time, it’s not enough this body as the thing you see…couldn’t you make me feel real? I could take a razor and drag it deeply down my arm, blood spewing everywhere and although there would be bodily pain, I wouldn’t even care or notice- I’m not real is why, and I’ve found that out more than once- and so how can you love me if you only want my body- because unless you can make me feel something real, I’ll just laugh or cry. And so BD says my energy confronts people- and it’s no fun because I asked him, how can I just stop it and be someone else- because you know, I ignore EVERYONE- I don’t ignore you because you’re heart is warm- but I ignore all the zombie cannibals- I could care less- they’re unreachable- I say a mantra and move on avoiding eye contact and holding my breath- not because I’m better but because they make me sick- literally- I take like 3-4 baths a day just to keep washing society off/ and it’s because of their astral filth – their demon sucking sex monkey ghosts that I get sick- that and their bodies smell very bad, my nose is sensitive like a dog- I don’t know why…and I can see too much…it’s disgusting the horror stuck to people all dressed up and deodorized.
I don’t feel like writing the story today…it’s just my moods…and you, you’re like waves that move in and out of my lonely soul…I see the bird on the water and then he disappears, it’s ok, I’m used to it. The problem with me is I’ve been on stage and screen too long- and it’s not even much but it’s enough for people to get hooked on my fantasy…Neptune is why…I can assure you the real person, me, when imprisoned by Neptune, will always disappoint you. The reason is I know hundreds of people and yet I have never been more alone- seen by all these people (and believe me, I don’t think I’m “famous”) since I’ve been with Bhagavan Das. It’s a prison of role playing, projection, expectations and I, somewhere hidden behind it all, am just alone. In an ice cave. And I get very hostile if I’m in a bad mood- I act out. I purposely shock people- which happens a lot – and I just want to escape and I blame BD- but his prison is even worse than mine. AND- most people who are nice to me- ass kissers abound- only do it to get to him. Nobody cares about me really, I’m just in the way- EXCEPT- for the screen fuckers and a few kinder exceptions such as yourself….but I considered my life over long ago- and since I’m “supposed” to live a long life I just wonder where the best corner would be to sit in and wait to die. I’m not real. There’s nothing left in this fake half ass hand job for me – I don’t need to be or act or feel “spiritual” it’s insanity what does it even mean? I can’t talk graphic sex? I can’t say fuck? Oh, it’s anti- holy- ?? I have to pretend I think yoga is some gift from God to create some omniscient toe touching gods and goddesses? It’s FUCKED UP. CANNIBALS EAT EACH OTHER. IM NOT BLIND. I KNOW. AND ITS ALL ABOUT TANTRA EATING RAINBOWS AND I AM THE FLESH EATING GODDESS OF THESE COLORS THAT EVAPORATE AS SOON AS I PUT THEM IN MY MOUTH SO IM MAD, LEFT BLACK AND HARD UP BECAUSE I CANT GET OFF ON THIS WORLD THAT SUCKS ME BECAUSE EVERYONES MOUTH IS A DIRTY BLACK PIT AND THERE ARE ONLY NASTY MIRRORS -ITS JUST TRUE-
*Except for you, you’re my sweetest friend.
I’m a fantasy and I can’t keep getting smothered in images…and everyone has agreed, including my own cut up body- it’s all the Chod from my last life that brought me to now- why this all has happened, why I sacrifice myself as food, why I want to cut you up and feed you to the demons as well, it’s our only hope ok? True love.
You see, the strangest part of all, is I am your friend- like solid and forever, I will never leave you- despite projection and isolation and my revulsion for humanity- I am here for you and all your ghosts, all your voices who talk to me telling me all about you…my blood is your blood.
Ok. I’m crazy? Time will tell and Saturn’s on my side btw- I’m a big time Saturn worshipper. He’s my God he sits on the throne of my full moon and I obey him. He’ll kill me if I don’t- and that’s the marriage…why I love him so…could you be him? Wouldn’t that be a mess…I don’t obey ON PURPOSE. IM BORED AND LOVE FRICTION…but Venus makes me smooth enough to make it profitable every time. And Saturn loves Venus so much he let’s her do whatever she wants…because she’s hot and he’s bothered…get it? True love.
Speaking of fantasies,
I bet you guys think I have some special room or desk with a big important computer that I sit at being important and write this story everyday like it’s important -or I am -or the whole get up is -and I want to break the romance and say, I am not a writer, I am simply possessed. My words often sound crazy, but they’re true anyway. I don’t write, I only listen to the voices in the dark.
They wake me up, and I sit in the dark in the middle of the night- actually it’s 3am like clockwork every day or I lay there and I write nonstop for an hour or so- all the poetry, story and then I’m done- then when I have time in the afternoon, I correct the annoying spelling corrections my stupid iPhone made- yes, all is written on iPhone 6s- I hate iPads because they’re awkward – and I add the pics I have taken and it’s viola done. It’s not business like, it’s not romantic roll playing – it’s simply possession. I am a very good medium for trances, channeling, talking to the dead..seriously, it’s like my calling…god, they’re always calling too…so I have no stake in the game, I only have my soul being taken over by whatever, and so I like to see it as the ultimate tantra. Why? I don’t know, it sounds good. I’m not playing teacher, however, if you happen to need an answer to anything- anything at all, come to me and if I don’t know, you won’t even notice, because I’ll make it up, right there with full confidence on the spot. I’m clinically insane- well I haven’t been tested and I’m very responsible, efficient and organized- so it’s hard to tell until you dive a little deeper into my realm. The realm of rainbows. Yes. Tantra, eating rainbows. What did you eat? He asks, a rainbow I say. A rainbow from out of this world. Earth food is inedible for me. So that’s just how it goes.
Bhagavan Das says it’s the dakinis or Saraswati or the muse who talk into my ear, it could also just be a troll, my dog is a troll he does nothing but lay, stuck like Velcro to his bag of food growling- he acts like my foot is a taker and so it’s kick kick kick the evil troll away…but that’s the relationship and he loves my foot violently but exclusively. I’m in a hurry today, but that doesn’t stop the voices, they don’t stop after the 3am shift, oh no, that’s just the start…and now, it’s gotten so bad, I walk around talking in weird poetry, like I write…
the guy at the health food store is like, “Do you need a receipt today?”
and I say, ” Why am I all alone, why am I empty, why is this paper wet with ancient tears?”
and he’s like, “It’s just a receipt.”
And I stare at him, voices going wild to get out, and I reply, “Touch me like a song no one else has heard before.”
And he says, “Ok. I can try! I get off at 8.”
And so I do this. It’s a possession. I cause all these messes, and create stalkers from ordinary people. It’s the WORD, it’s a tantric rainbow eater. ME. I’m a glutton on the alphabet and I need support, I’ve lost my soul in the word “soul.” I don’t sleep. I don’t eat. I just recite and even I know it’s not right…I am powerless over the forces that would eclipse me so that you could shine inside this devouring dark…SEE! I just snap into it…
I know. That’s the way it goes, the white blind light into you… Did you think about the consequences of coming to earth? Consider my words- once is enough, it wasn’t a real thing, but a dream with words… “I can hear you touch me.” She said, deep into the solemn night…”Touch me like a song no one else has heard before.” The sky was burning white, the flames flickered like a phantom wore the breeze…Sound is like a dripping faucet in my head and you’re driving me insane…dripping into this night all alone. Sometimes the words just twist in me as if I’m not even reading them or saying them….It must be you…Wooded thatcher…eating through my wooden body’s door…
except for my tail, I would have a head and that head would be you…Open wide, I hear the birds call my name but it’s only you…do you want inside?
Ok, that just popped out from nowhere. I’m not kidding. ITS TRUE. I’ve gone mad with word lust..
“If you would be tempted to own me, I’d turn myself into letters just to feel the inside of your mouth…”
Ok. You can see how desperate I am to control you by my word magic. It’s worked too, I made you feel. Even if it’s not nice you still FEEL ME BECAUSE I FEEL YOU. I HAVE NO MIND ONLY A HEART WITH AN ACHING MOUTH…which means I’ve successfully conquered this world of robots masturbating electronically to computerized sin and I’ve made you warm inside of us both. I brought blood to the surface. I am not from planet earth but I do feel the pain of you hungering earthlings. I was once hungry but that time has gone…now I’m just food. Food for you. Eat me…see?
tantric rainbow eating word lust
Swamp angel. Tantric slave. Rainbow rider. I got inbetween all your hot one liners and I know what you want…flower petals that endanger lives. A soft, silky open flower who is me, begging for my petals to be torn open, one by one, begging to be exposed to your flower kingdom of mystical light, the only light that knows how to feed the wet, naked flower mouth who was only pretending to eat all her earthling food until you came along and said,
“Have I got some mystical light for you, you hungry, soft, sexy flower. I get off at 8.”
Now hear the magic song…