cult

Monday, September 24th, 2018

all for one and one for all

one more phone call, make me a drink

and make it tall

i dont have a gun but i wont hesitate

i need stimulation im aching for

love or hate.

steer me to the light and i’ll

push you out of the car

and take the wheel, make it night.

ive been daydreaming of if i’ll

ever make it twenty four hours without a drop,

orange and green

send me back to sleep, return to sender.

christmas lights still on and

an empty audience now that its fall

inevitably, eventual fate never too late

often early

the only way i can fall asleep without you

is in a stupor

that way i cant recall how many times i awaken

to call out your name.

i am the trickster the thief a creep but

never the liar;

it will never be the same.

 

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bloody mary (work in prog)

Wednesday, September 19th, 2018

This is not a story about drugs, alcohol, or deviant sex, even though all will be mentioned here and there. This is a story about all of the dark places your heart and mind travel when you are missing out on life. When missing the one person who saw the sky the same as you, even if only for a time. This is about the dark, sick places your head travels, with the only guiding light, the brightest of them all, being a pretty face and a kind pair of eyes. This is about scorching hope we all carry when lost in darkness, to make it out somehow, to broad daylight in one piece.

HIM

Mary was an ex Heroin addict and a current art student at NMSU. She had a penchant for bourbon, speed, and getting choked during sex. I had no idea who I was or what I was doing with this bleak life of mine aside from writing everyday until my fingers bled, so we matched perfectly. I was a misguided cynic who moved out west to flee the law, with suicidal thoughts and a bruised up idea of love. And she was a recovering addict struggling to gather enough motivation to finish up her degree in sculpture.

She didn’t want anything permanent. She made that clear when she leaned over my lap and whispered it into my ear the first day we met; fingers roaming curiously around my neck. I grabbed her skinny wrist- her bones felt like glass, as if I pressed a little more they might shatter. I told her she had been reading my mind about wanting life to be like a constant fire of experience. I didn’t want anything permanent either. My body was there but my heart had set sail for another porch, without my permission, like hearts often do.

Lord knows we were in for a bumpy ride, so we buckled up and tried to see where this would take us. I pulled up on the gravel road, hearing the crickets and feeling the humidity, and it reminded me of my childhood home. I stood at her window, unheard, and watched as she leaned closer to the mirror. Her eyes echoed a lambent light that reverberated through every tough wall of her Las Cruces trailer. She stroked her reflection. She was perfect. Lithe.

I watched her grab a glass decanter off of her dresser, next to her perfumes. She took a gulp large enough to knock me out. Bourbon. She was filled of poison I could tell, and not just from the liquor that burned her throat she begged me to choke. She was poison. She told me she felt like Eve; that she “took a bite of the fruit and fell to the ground, writhing in pain” as soon as she was born. The strange thing though, was that she always basked in her pain and sadness. Masochism at its finest. I wish I could be that way to this day.

HER

X was, I’m convinced, me in a different lifetime or parallel universe. Kindred spirits; maybe only because we were both so lost in our own labyrinths of life, or because we were soulmates in some rite. He was 22 with the soul of a sage. Dressing in black but speaking in such colorful tongues as a writer.

I told him I like feeling on the edge of death, to feel like you could spontaneously combust at any second, and I think he got what I meant. I whispered that to him the first night we met, in the corner of some dank bar with 50s decor called The Whisky. He studied palmistry and tarot too, reading my cards at the bar and declaring we were fated to be together. After that, we were about to go on our first date.

I glanced in my mirror getting ready, tousling my hair and taking another pill. He clung to my mind like the fabric of my dress which fit like a glove; question mark curvature complimented by thread. But threads always unravel someday- and I new this, having being left by every man I’ve ever known. But still, I gazed presently and admired my beauty. 23 but feeling as young as a child. Speed does that to you.

I need some thing, some one, some substance; some radical emotion to intensify this feeling further. I want to feel alive, and emotion isn’t proving victorious from within the labyrinth of my bones because I’m calloused. I’ve seen pieces of myself fall to the floor with the shards of broken glass of a junkys mirror; fragments forming fractals, a pretty pattern so deceiving. Really I’m just numb like my fingers from smoking too many cigarettes. But the puffs of smoke I exhale remind me of my childhood, the way my father used to breathe out a long days work, his vice.

Another swig from the bottle of bourbon, just like my father, forgetting insecurities and basking in the moment.

 

 

halo(peridol)

Monday, September 17th, 2018

molecules, particles, sounds and sensations so strong

it’s all too bright, too loud, and not from a hangover but

an awakening.

i want everything to die

i want to be alone

i want the chemicals within to stop merging and begging for attention.

this hysteria-

theatrical dereliction.

cardboard cutouts of chimeras,

mise-en-scene so tempting,

imaginary images and connections bring the dizziness again.

seeing stars and feeling them

implode and die within my eyes.

i wonder how many light years away they were-

how late i was to bear witness to their final burning

after inevitably arriving  to my eyes on earth against their will.

sublimation to tears,

all 4 elements within and yet there they remain

illusory.

i used to like my scars, touching them i mean,

to prove im human.

it doesnt work anymore,

i need my medicine to keep my halo.

en pointe

Saturday, September 15th, 2018

dancing again

silk ballet slippers coated in dust

all worn out

toes still pointed

eyes lax

rolling back to the beginning of time

hands clenched tight

but empty

i wish i had something to offer the floor

other than the gliding of my feet on

linoleum cracks, stretching

uncoiling my developed body

flat onto the floor

its 6 am

im still unsure whose curves these are

counting

the tiles on the ceiling

praying for release

lying down.

sleep.

harvest moon

Saturday, September 15th, 2018

bare toes in mud

wishing for sand

a flower blossomed in the crack of the pavement

it rents space in my minds eye

neighbor to my last innocent memory

dwindling

at the hands of a smoker

the light reaches my hands,

heat to match the heat w/in

gin fuels my body to summon a blue moon

a harvest

reaping that one flower,

in the crack of the pavement

power on

Friday, September 14th, 2018

Screens, wires dangling, faces reflected in black abyss.

LEDs signaling power usage, batteries dying out, flickering of a router.

Copper traces construct a cityscape with their heat, resistors and chips become skyscrapers and small town homes.

Binary electrical signals sent rapidly back and forth around town like messenger pigeons.

Sunday’s paper is delivered in the form of qubits or new software, excitement and energy exudes to build a new structure.

The city never sleeps.

dare

Tuesday, September 11th, 2018

Ave Maria

Ocean washed on cool olive skin

A rinse in holy water;

Who I have been is now imperceptible.

Enlightenment by loss of blood to feel,

Ceremonial drowning as a tool to see

With eyes of fabric

Threads to fashion a skeleton key to the underworld.

My gossamer gown whispers breaths of water lilies and

With each secret revealed I’m compelled further to the ocean floor

A second chance after suicide.

Head first, nails digging into nothingness and now

Lying flat, unaware and proud

Ears popping and the chambers of the sea spinning

in a pastel candy haze.

Algae and hair skewed around the geode of my heart,

Forming fractals out of refracted light

Waves move to the beat of my blood pumping.

They said it would be pitch black here; pinching my skin

I feel nothing.

The most glorious emptiness and fullness,

Subterranean confusion fueled by an elixir

Drunk from detachment, undeterred from self discovery,

I did dare.

sister

Friday, September 7th, 2018

a noose masqueraded as the hand of an

old lover in a dream-sequence grips

sinewy tendons gathered tightly like a bouquet of roses.

I. he’s new in town,

a thief who ascended here to

build a tapestry out of cries of pain, with

bodies strung up like meat on hooks and

tied to the twine of his puppeteer fingers.

i felt that soft familiar hand grip my delicate throat, and

Awake:

II. looked up to see my lover, and i

met eyes with the vacant depths of Death.

that familiar flesh turned scalding, then to rope and

pushed my last breath out in a cloud of wishes and

wants that could never be spoken and

i closed my eyes.

III. modes of consciousness coiled around my body and

held fire;

my feet possessed and maddened by god

kicking north south, east looking for exile at

the palace where my sisters wait.

they were spared by me without a noose of their own,

i plucked each of them free like cherries in their delicate slumbers

and took the fall for each and every one.

you do these things for love and

IV. they came back for me, you see,

climbed to the top of the mountain in a frenzy, barefooted

through the hazy fog and thick brush of red and green.

to set me free, they must

lay their voices to rest here on the dirt.

my sweet sisters reached into their throats and

pulled out each vocal chord, so elegantly,

laid them on the ground in succession from

youngest to eldest.

i could feel the warmth of the blood radiating, and

the honor on the dirt,

and i was cut free

snapped like a twig i heard far in the distance.

V. we escaped in a hurry, rummaging through that thick brush

emblazoned in our new fashion of white dresses,

thorns from rosebushes and bites from bugs.

i sang for all of us, and we traveled downstream across glittering waters

in search of warmth

and revelry.

 

 

inspired by agave and the messenger’s quotes in the Bacchae.

free

Friday, August 31st, 2018

Another night of the beginning of the revolution,

in debauchery we scour the shelves past the cans of soup no one likes and

sort through the shit and bile and groceries gone sordid, reading the expiration labels.

i thought of everyone i have ever touched; gentle or rough

to be a young and beautiful whore

taut skin calling out to be touched and used.

i wonder when their corporeal existences will expire, the times they told me

they wanted me, the excitation of cathartic release

my sex is fluid and will last forever here in the grass, in the soiled sheets.

did you know we all choose our last days

to be crucified in our own minds of primal desires unfulfilled

time will stop and we will not waver like the suppressed thoughts

of being alarmed at who we are- disgustingly alive humans; animals.

duality marches toward me in the light of the full moon, loud and brash.

civil servants, angels and nuns going berserk, naked and free

to the beat of a candle flame, tiny movements which make eyes go bright

go into the light and push it further tonight.

go with me, hold my hand and follow me to the fountain, we’ll run like the smoke

of an unfinished cigarette, spirit minds meld

into an open window next door of my prudish neighbor.

we can make a new home here in their warmth and bubble wrapped world

steal their booze and the hidden marijuana under their freshly cleaned socks.

-Expiration

is no small feat and ill leave the blinds cracked so you can watch.

deny your sanity trial and jump out your window at dawn

i wont catch you but i will take my turn and jump too, like children on a playground

pain is temporary and blood shows us the truth.

cmon, it’s getting late.

hit me

Wednesday, August 29th, 2018

i. sweat-

control, movement

muscles clench eyes dart

pupils expand and contract

floor shaking i see deep into

my opponents soul,

a spiritual communion

it is too late to stop,

we already drank the blood and

its spilling from our mouths in

the most seductive way

 

ii. discipline-

quick whipped steps

i feel myself floating out of myself

energy traveling through my fists

like electricity,

through me

am i a sadist?

i love seeing them fall

 

iii. masochist-

sadist again

switch on/off as i take another hit

im on top now,

i make the rules now,

i grab the wrists in the ring

only cowards need guns

 

iv. feeling-

the moment you hit the floor

you are

reborn

feeling nothing but an adrenaline high

putting the fear of god

in them

pain transmuted to healing,

injuries are corporeal

 

v. take-

off my gloves and

im a humanist again.