(no subject)


IO Goddess, IO lord,

Blessed be these sacred words

Hate be cursed and love preferred

For the craftsman blind, the lover spurned

Love is pain and lust the test

Essence of the second sex

Her body squirms, I touch her breasts

Tripartite sixes on her neck

The scarlet whore, the sacred beast

Beatrice riding Dante’s peak

Their act is words, their dance it speaks

Consumption of the sacred feast

My heart is flame, my will it burns

So many patterns to discern

So many phrases yet unspoken

My sacred vow the only token

From the cradle till the grave

for the slave and for the sage

Break the bindings of this age

And open up new roads to pave

Dark moon Goddess, Show the way!

Suicide Girls (work in progress)
Some days it feels like this whole wide world
exists reflected in the eyes of suicide girls

Strange vixens subjected to the rhythm of existence
Looking for those harbor lights, somewhere in the distance

Some turn to pills and powders, some turn to religion
all I need is a warm smile to remind what I've been given

The world looks more beautiful reflected in brown eyes
Some dare to be ignorant but I dare to be wise.

sense and nonsense
 im on that slow burn
you're on that bright shine
I wanna feel the earthquake when I touch your fault line

but I feel like im in the back of a long line
destined to always ask the right question at the wrong time

but thats the way things go in this pop song
blessed by your presence and suddenly my words are gone
and when I wake up, when im reborn
all I see on the ceiling is God's scorn

buts its ok though, I can ride my mood swings
I can lift myself up by my own heart strings

blood in the water, a shot in the dark
every single action punctuated by a question mark

feel my wheels spin, in the grand scheme
its like I have no mouth but I must scream

and I must dream, even when the lights are on
because otherwise im just an automaton
like my ego's in my head watching a shitty movie with his popcorn

The editings poor, the acting sucks
its like the director doesn't even give a fuck

Where's all the passion? All the romance?
this kids like a middle schooler asking a girl to slow dance

old poem I wrote

Whatever happened to the girl with flowers in her hair?
Dreaming freely beneath the cloudless sky
she longs for nothing
she has everything

Dreaming freely beneath the same cloudless sky
a grease covered boy rests after a day of hard work
he has everything he needs
but nothing he wants

A grease covered boy rests after a day of hard work
smog begins to settle over the land
everyone has everything they need
if only they could breathe

Smog begins to settle over the land
the girl opens her eyes to an ever darkening sky
if only she could see
the boy behind the thick black cloud

the boy opens his eyes to the same darkening sky
he still longs for something
out in the distance he sees a girl behind a cloud of black dust.
Whatever happened to the flowers in the girl’s hair?

(no subject)
 Reticent, I sipped on my coffee and looked into her disenchanted eyes. She wouldn't look back. So I averted my gaze too, and stared longingly into my coffee cup. The cream swirled in the black, forming a nebulous haze as the two colors slowly formed together and merry into the familiar brown sludge that I ingest every day. I knew the patterns forming and swirling in my coffee cup were a result of the fact that I had not stirred the coffee properly, that I had rushed in preparation of my lukewarm bitter brew but I didn't care. The patterns sure were more interesting than what was going on around me.

"Well? Are you going to say something."

She said that in such a way that I knew she was looking for something very specific. Something beyond a "sorry" or a "I won't do it again". She wanted me to admit I had a problem. Fancy that.

"What do you want me to say?"

She turned, disappointed and leaned her forehead on her right arm, letting the other one slouch on the table. I started to gaze around the room. By, now the Starbuck's was mostly deserted. It was near closing time, and I could hear the employees washing dishes in the back. They were laughing with each other and talking, probably about what they were up to after work. Maybe they would go to someones house somewhere and spark an L and talk about parties they've been to and people they've loved. Maybe they're working their way through school and have to get up early tomorrow to go to the local community college or state school. Either way they all have somewhere to go, some reason to rush through washing dishes and disconnecting espresso machines and throwing coffee grounds in the dumpster. Me, I just have to sit here and deal with this situation until its' inevitable conclusion. 

She was crying now. Trying to hide it, looking perpendicular to me, burying her face in her sleeve where her tears would fall. Now would be a good time to find the words, the perfect thing to say to make it all better. 

"I love you"

Do I? I feel like I do, but I don't know. I'm certainly happier when I'm around her and things are going well. But I don't think I'm devoted to her, I can't be. There's so much I want to explore, it seems unnatural to be tied down. I don't even feel any remorse when I'm banging some other girl. Am I a sociopath?

"You love me? This is the second fucking time you've done this to me."

She choked her words out her throat was so tight. Her eyeliner was smudged and running down her face, making branching fractal patterns of ethereal black sludge. 

"Is it because I'm ugly? Is it because you don't want to fuck me anymore? What it is it? Tell me"

She was making a scene now. Or as large a scene as someone could make in a strip mall Starbucks 10 minutes before closing time. The one other person there looked over, pushing his thick rimmed glasses up his nose as he turned. He was wearing a sweater vest overtop an obnoxious plad dress shirt. His macbook was sitting on his khakis and from the side I could barely make out a twitter feed and a scopes article. Everything about this man screamed "pre professional". Fucking turd. We locked eyes for a moment and I felt his annoyance before he turned back to his screen and his own "business". Usually smug assholes like that only work in coffee shops because they want to impress someone. 

"Look at me. Please just look at me."

Time to deal with this quick. She sure is hard to lie to but I gotta muster my discipline. 

"Look sweetheart, I'm sorry, but I just can't do this anymore. I really do care about you, but I think we have gotten to a natural conclusion to our relationship. I mean don't tell me you haven't been tempted by other guys. I'm just not at a stage in my life where I feel like being in a committed monogamous relationship. "

She was staring at me. Just staring, nothing else. I could tell she was trying to find the right words. Brace for impact.

"You fucking piece of shit, I never wronged you in any way and this is what I get in return for putting up with your bullshit for this long? Fuck you. I wanted to marry you god dammit"

She was crying too hard to speak. It was hard to watch, I guess. I distract myself by measuring the reactions of the other people in the room. The man on his laptop, slowly putting it away while staring directly at us. The employees, desperate to leave, watching us from the counter with a curious but disapproving eye. I'm glad I took care of this now. I sip my coffee again, in an attempt to hide how her last statement actually impacted me. The coffee was cold and bitter.

"I'm sorry"

"No you're not" she cries "You can't feel anything"

She might have been right about that one. She begins walking to the door. She stands right in front of the yuppie douchebag and turns around.

"One more thing, asshole"

"What?" I ask, feigning remorse, but just wanting to get through this really.

"I'm pregnant"


indian sleeper bus
It is too bad that I have neglected this journal recently. So much has happened. I am writing this right now because I need to record my current situation. I am currently on a sleeper bus traveling to hydrabad overnight. I am sharing this cabin with my sister and two indian men. We are watching and laughing along to a godawful bollywood movie featuring a dashing hero who fights off badguys with his kickboxing skills while carrying around passed out women. India is awesome. This place is changing me, I can feel it. More detail will come soon.

Post from mobile portal m.livejournal.com

random junk

I dance on the snow. I watch the flakes fall all around me. Each one representing such pure uniqueness, created under such perfect conditions that the universe will never see such an organization of water molecules quite like the tiny shaving of ice that landed on my cornea and burned into oblivion instantly. Just as they were made they die, into the same unremarkable drops of water that they once were. Just to start the process again as another snowflake that the world will never see again in quite the same form. I am surrounded by the forces that shaped the universe, chaos and entropy, the vast collapse from incredible beauty and complexity into flat mundane sludge, and yet all I hear is the soft whisper of the snowflakes dying.

This is what will probably eventually be my Transcendentalism project. Ah the joys of school.

the waves of thought burn though my mind
so I was in pre calc today, double period. An hour and a half of just sitting there and staring blankly into space. I ended up getting my midterm back. 22.5. I got a 22.5 I sucked so hard on that midterm. I was hovering on the edge of a C- in that class and this is what will push me over the edge and make me have to go to summer school. Whatever though, when I got it back I was kind of disappointed but I wasnt like angry or depressed about it. It was the kind of disappointment that one gets when one thows a bad roll in dice or gets a bad hand in cards. It felt like something that was entirely out of my control even though I know I had full control over the outcome of that test. I guess ill just have to work with the situation im but in. But anyway im not writing this to complain, im here to copy down the poem and beginning to a short story I wrote in pre calc instead of paying attention to what was actually happening. Bear with me here.

Spark becomes a flame
Flame becomes a fire
Dancing in our graves
Transcending our desires

Reap the land you sow
Watch the dice you cast
living as you go
not haunted by the past

Push the knifes edge towards infinity
living on the bleeding edge of our divinity

I was really bored, and these short little poems are nothing compared to the beginning of the short story I wrote. Idle minds make for rouge creativity.

And there she lived, on the very farthest corner of the bottom shelf of my conciousness. In amid the dust and the obscure lost memories of distant childhood. She was small at first, just a bare flash of a thought, a chaotic mix of chemicals shooting off in my neurons. Someway and somehow, she grew greater. She became everything I have ever desired and more. She became the embodiment of every fleeting feeling of love, of every innocent feeling unrequited or undeserved. She made up for every piece of love that has ever been choked away by fear. She became my reality, and because of this she became REAL.

its nothing much but considering I was pretending to do math junk I think that it's pretty impressive. Creativity through boredom, it never fails.

behind these green eyes what doth the wizard see
so today I realized that tribalism is dead, after exercising for a while and watching the BBC news. I realized that people are falling more towards the hedonistic way of the individual as opposed to the nationalistic way of protecting ones tribe. I hope this means fewer wars happen, although it kind of blows that my entire generation is going to be really self absorbed. At least existentialism is probably going to make a comeback, and it's always fun when that happens.

I also stared at the 8 circuit model of conciousness for a while. It's always fun to try and reconcile someone like Timothy Leary with analytical psychology, usually it ends up not working well but the 8 circuit model is fucking genius, too bad theres no real way of observing it beyond applying it to what we already know and thats not science.

Also I stared at Hindu philosophy, a lot of classic yoga stuff. It all boils down to a balance between these 4 things:
  1. Increased personal power, intellectual understanding, sharpened insight into self and culture, improvement of life situation, accelerated learning, professional growth.
  2. Duty, help of others, providing care, rehabilitation, rebirth for fellow men.
  3. Fun, sensuous enjoyment, esthetic pleasure, interpersonal closeness, pure experience.
  4. Trancendence, liberation from ego and space-time limits; attainment of mystical union.
ima save that for my next LSD trip

with DMT and love,

Where the rubber meets the road, in between my toes
Well, today I woke up at 830 in the morning, still stoned off my ass, to go to the DMV and get my permit. SOMEHOW I didnt fail the test, but I immediately went home to pass out until 12, when I woke up to go drive up and down georgia avenue with my driving instructor. I really like driving so far. There's this palpable feeling of freedom of movement that one gets, even in a shitty driving school Kia Spectra with two SUVs boxing you in and the driving instructor telling stories about how awesome it is to be jewish and yelling in my ear about driving. Talking to him was actually very fun and made driving a much better experience. Up until today I had not really driven a car before so driving up and down georgia avenue was a fucking challenge. But I did it, and I enjoyed driving, something I thought I wouldnt do.

now if I only could figure out how to change lanes effectively, not to mention pull a u turn, ill be set.

When I was driving in my shitty kia spectra, images flashed in my mind of me driving a red convertable down a lonely straight desert road at a hundred miles per hour with a cigarette in my mouth, an attractive but passed out chick in the passengers seat, and a trunk full of drugs and tequilla. Someday ill get to that point. Everything has to start somewhere...

with nothing on my mind but the open road,


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