CONFESS❤️😹

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NAMASTE’ everyone. I feel so free. Spiritual especially. I’ve already greeted others as Brother and Sister of the “OM” in several uplifting emails this a.m. I’m about to do my “yoga practice” that’s right. Then, some complicated Hindu chants. (like advanced mantras most people could only dream of pulling off.) I LOVE being really spiritual. As long as I keep smiling, all my self hatred seems to fade just like all those new age books said it would. I feel like saying “peace” to everyone less evolved than me- which is pretty much everyone…so I’ve got my days filled with preaching the light, teaching the light, smiling the light and decorating my body with anything of the light that makes me look like I’m totally informed on Hinduism, Buddhism, Jainism, Sikhism…the LIGHT. SPIRITUAL THINGS….you get it, all of it. I AM that I AM. Obviously a very VERY old soul- a modern spiritual being. I know we are ONE- although clearly I’m the spiritually bigger and greater One. All you need to do is look at me, as it’s obvious that my new age light shines pretty much unmatched. It just turned out that way, but I will help you to catch up starting now- (BE HERE NOW-RAMRAM)-  as spiritual people are GIVERS OF THE LIGHT. It’s clear just by seeing how positive I am no matter how you fuck with me, that cheek AUTOMATICALLY turns the other way. That’s right. GIVERS OF POSITIVITY. Christlike. That is me. I can guide you to the light where all the dead spiritual people are waiting to bless us and hold our hands, leading us to the eternal nirvana prayer circle. Free of devil germs and all bad smoky things…negativity is NOT COOL on the path. For example, you might have an anger issue as most lesser beings (no offense) have. Well, do you know what I do when I get pissed? I smile. REALLY big. That’s what I do. Keep smiling waiting for the light to make it go away. It does. It goes so far down it’s never going to divert me from holiness- like EVER. I’ll keep it down forever if I have to. I’m just thinking, “what would Jesus, Buddha- whoever is spiritual- do?” They would be SPIRITUAL, that’s what. At any cost. Why would you want to share your meat eating darkness with a world full of death fear, instead of share your raw vegan light with a new age community? BECOME THAT LIGHT I SAY.  Become it no matter how hard those dirty thoughts fight you, no matter how bad the nightmare, how hard the hard on. PUSH THAT DEVIL RIGHT BACK DOWN INTO HIS SIN HOLE AND DON’T YOU EVER GIVE UP FIGHTING THAT BAD EVIL LITTLE GUY SITTING ON YOUR LEFT SHOULDER SAYING, “GO AHEAD SEXY NO ONE IS LOOKING, TAKE ANOTHER LITTLE RED BITE, A TIGHTER RED GRIP, ANOTHER LOOK AT THE HOT LADY IN RED.  *He’s the one with the horny horns, not you! The point is that others need you to  help them also be spiritual. They need your informed support. Your soft spoken rules. Your smiling yoga eyes basically. I mean, GOD, just at least bless a few people by email today or SOMETHING. It’s the least you could do for their confused soul. Bless them, send them your prayers of the LIGHT. Chant for them perhaps. Give out a loud JAI MA!!! To a pretty lady. A thumbs up to an act of kindness. When the chain smoking check out person at the health food store says, “How are you today?” just stop right then and there what you’re doing and look deeply into their sad, seeking eyes (it’s kind of obvious if you’re really on the path) and say. “How ARE YOU?” and REALLY like REALLY MEAN IT. And just stare really hard into their soul as deeply and intensely as you can (as time is limited due to the line) Just stare- even if you feel it’s getting a little weird or uncomfortable (that devil will stop at nothing to stop you from spreading the light) and PUSH THAT BLESSING into them whether they like it or not is what I’m saying. They don’t know what they need! You’re the fucking SPIRITUAL ONE AND DON’T YOU FORGET IT. I HAVE SO MUCH LIGHT TO GIVE. I CANT BELIEVE I’M ME. Ancient and holy. So pure and true…brimming with bubbles of God Light for all!

☠️Confess your sins and act out your poisons. Meet yourself before it’s too late ☠️

CONFESS ♥️😹
Sharada Devi

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the torture of relentless bliss

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i want to find out what this is. why we call it god. how to get there. the end, send me. i want to find out where we go when we turn the wrong way, if there is one. i want to see through the force field that’s holding me in submission. i want to kill the sinner but not the sin. i want to burn without fire and eat without dying to have.
i want a blue sky body with lights and no bones. i want to know why i want, exactly as she speaks. her open hands, her paradigm shifting. this is a bit about the shade and what creates shadows. this is a bit about me and my questions i ask without listening. for you go the other way at the crossing. for you become the other one at the convergence. between two crushed metaphorical hearts i sit breaking and thinking of curses and the thoughts i fondle to stroke the guilt that rises because i got sentenced to a human body and feeling right about this isn’t natural or effortless. to sustain control over urges, to not need, to let go, to break and to hunt. to destroy your only child. and i am looking for the riddle’s beginning, psychologically speaking. this god, this urge to blaspheme the source of supposed blessing. this fear of the damning. this recoil that results in dangerous fucking. of animals and children, symbolically speaking. you can go to hell for being yourself you know. if you ever happened to find out who that might be, better yet. how close you might get to the roots of the born again tree. i, thought i, yes i, the wounded ghost girl could find myself in something. and i do mean a pure something held by a better than i someone. no such luck or god on my side. only more bad dreams and pain held between legs that eventually turned cold. icy legs that become segmented like a spider who sees. a want that becomes all consuming like a woman cast from the light, a source of darkness too forbidden to enter. i can think of nothing but her. a body undressed, a shape drawn in red, for all the wrong thoughts unwritten but heard. now you see me, now you don’t. obviously i could have it all, every curse ever known in those pages, ever written by god’s righteous burning hand. i said, “i simply want to know, what’s up and what’s down…god…if that’s really your name.” why is that wrong, to sift through the left overs. it’s over because we know that we know. i simply think i should do what i want out in a big field…and write my own commandments. if i’m the lost one seeking a savior, it should be me i find. no matter how unqualified or how unsexy. old is old. better is better. pages just don’t turn by themselves and messiahs just don’t flip on the switch one day that says, “exit here.” why should i believe. why should i wait for a bad movie to end. why should i listen to you. i would like to find out why i want what i can’t fathom. this insanity, on top of it all. has been outlined on page after page. as if it ever could. the ambition is stupefying. i am defying gravity. known as her outlaw basically. this is a set up of a very graphic and perverse order and once i find the loophole, i’m getting in and taking over. much like the wrath of a virus. that, i feel, is the closest i might get, on a good day, to my hypothetical maker. yes, my brain surges to be supreme and my heart draws smiley rainbows all over the place due to misunderstanding. there is a need for a new alignment. a cloud that drops low. there is a bolt that strikes. a supreme alliance. and i’m looking. high and low for the prophet that i redeemed by being born in my own mess. again, as the forgotten one. skinny puppy, bony premature dog. it’s a metaphor for the horny enlightened creature that only want to help me yet i resist the urge to merge. to touch the deep sea sky body of unicorns and boyfriends. just a girl with suicidal tendencies wearing no underwear. flirting with danger and poisons. i have always been an accidental flasher. yes, i know there are no accidents, only riddles spreading their legs for men’s open eyes. and so, i have decided to be brave and go where no me has ever gone. into her sacred valley of no return, not like this. and i know i’m worshipping something. it’s truly not a he or a she. i speak in these terms due to narcissism for religion’s sake and for a deeper understanding of you. i know i’m asking what we’ve done to the soul, with the lightening that stops throbbing hearts. could this be real, embodied by me, a price tag, a god giving head. my skin bursts with a violent light and my muscles ache with the need to be bigger, inside where she hits me. hard. always asking, “who are you now! who are you now!” she, meaning the question mark over my materialized human head. me about to burst inside. she, meaning the answer that frees me, wants me to show her who my demented, fermented, genius self is once it’s over. i once replied, “i am a memory, i am your lover.” “wrong! try again.” then i said, “i am the new moon hiding my horns.” apparently it is an exact equation. the one being born on the other side while simultaneously dying is still here, in a sequence that knows it’s mystical math. it seems to be as simple as the one asking and yet unattainably piercing. the way the lines cut and move electricity, is how screaming brightly we become. so i found it’s a matter of sustaining the friction and not being ashamed of the penetration that is the inevitable result of attraction. it is said that opposites attract. but first they must get to know each other. hence, we visit the lustful earth. and pay for time with a contrary god…and in this body of warring stars we die fighting for peace, which will never happen. and so what i seek to find is found in this…the torture of relentless bliss.

sharada devi

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made of mother light

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the little morning waited for me to appear. the sun doesn’t rise without me. the little world slept while i boiled water. there was no song, there was me in the deep. black moment of under, where i lift my head knowing. she’s afraid to be seen isn’t she, this light. this clear morning she brings. like a fresh corpse still warm, we all look away. those lips were so perfect and now, i’m afraid. of who i’ve kissed, why i’ve done what i’ve done. all alone in the beginning, all alone. they wait for me. and the little sounds appear as life but i know it’s all just thoughts, thinking themselves back in line. in a sequence i can build from. a new morning, an understanding of this morbid frightful moment. the door will open and he will walk through it. my name will be called and i will go. the light will sneak through the window i’ve covered, the indestructible will rise in me like a weapon. i sit in the dark waiting, hours and hours. waiting for light. the parasites crawl up the walls and float in the air. i can barely breath without coughing. the message is clear but nobody hears, “get out of my body, get out of this house!” little words, fall from the ceiling. land in my mind and start moving. devouring any stillness that might have seemed real. i haven’t slept but have been sleeping for years. why do you want me. why are you here. i am just the inhabitant of this shell, i have no light to give you. food. dark and cold, i sit inside. holding what i have. not knowing what i have, but what i do seems to make sense to the plan. how i seem to have planned to control my own inevitable destruction down to the last ignored detail. how i seem to have entered a game i’ve created again that begins and ends with me always on top. how i have mirrors without faces looking back. voices without bodies that match. how i move in circles surrounding myself, from every point. i pull from the center. striving to lose this. lose this desire to be free. lose this loss. forget the rest of me. but nothing happens unless i’m there. and so like i said, the new morning waits for me whether i like it or feel ready or not. i live under a lot of pressure, carrying this body of mine. forward into the light, without fear of falling. down even further before night strikes again and i lose even the memory of your face. i once saw you. i live for your return facing until then, god in this little hole. pushing and gnawing at my soul to go back. “back where” i ask and nobody knows. “out of here,” is all that we can muster to imagine. and yet i know god isn’t real, not like this. disguised in my pretense and lust for more pictures. of myself being fearless on camera. and when i’m not looking back is when god as the burn marks appears and starts boiling. “you did this all for a name and a cover.” and what about the story of footprints in the sand and god’s invisible hand and the holy unseen body that carries me down the shore against all odds…shell, dead. bury me in your water. there is no alone without me. and so i’ve been waiting and taking my responsibilities very seriously. how to remedy disease, maintain perfect blood pressure, never grow old like the masses. not be a hypocrite sitting in church watching women’s legs move like spiders within me. tickles of hell, not here. not in front of god. confess, it’s very important to be pure in his eyes, eyes we haven’t seen and yet judge ourselves by. you know him right, the one blessing cursing and taking. only giving to the deserving who bleed extra because they can. who carry their own stakes and never hit back. who don’t feel hate or kiss dirty lips. everything he touches becomes pure that’s why he is who he is. always a man, in a woman’s sacred sad body. you don’t understand that everything is a woman. a woman suffering. she is me. god gives wounds and wombs and nothing else really. you are then allowed to do what you want with the rest. such as forlorn penises and knives with fingers that count. originally this was about being a shell, just a hollow hole filled with probability. like probably you don’t see me or know me. like probably you will fill me with you and i’ll look back and do it my way all over your face. can’t you see, the sun is watching us from afar as we approach the east with anxiety that we might miss another opportunity to be cured. like clouds disappearing from the sky, the water pulls the shell back into it’s vast unimportance. there is no surrender only retrieval. so i wait because that’s all i know. is that this time, i am really returning to you. not someone else who fits the description just to pass the interview. but the real one covered in the shells of the lost. the shore is a woman covered in that inescapable pain and the waves are her only answer- that we must give everything again and again without solace or solution- because that’s how god feeds an empty world made of light.

made of mother light. sharada devi

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face it, that backwards song is me.

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I keep getting told something meaningful will come of all this, but I’m doubtful. l can’t exist out in the open of this, like an animal I am wise. So you bow your head and agree to the conditions. But this place has no conditions, only promises and pain. Promises written in ink, pain that wounds to the bone. This isn’t me, my profile is deception. But you don’t care, you buy me anyway. I do mean you, the one digging. This raw meat encased, this raw pain uneaten. This deception that anything matters at all. The reasons we write this, the ink that defines us, the tongue that betrays all our wounds oozing from mouth to mouth. Secret to secret. Wet bed to another body. Diseases with curves, meant to seduce anything that will lick itself like an animal licks blood and pus from a wound. He, the wise star man told me I was that guy that fell between the cracks in the Grand Canyon and had to saw off his arm to survive. He told me that was my life, my divine mission and duty. The thing I cannot escape. Self inflicted wounds. Searching for this body of pain. He said it was big. Size does matter and I intend to prove it. And so, since I am only aware like an animal is aware mysteriously that dawn is approaching as it returns to its secret lair to hide, I live secretly undercover with weapons. I wait in the dark. Seeking myself in various parts. Hurting. Finding the infection in the eyes of many, but me. Where did I go when I hid inside of you. The devouring of child into mother. Animals do this, as a source of protection. Something a human box mind will never understand and thus the species would die out unless the  ancestral demons did not have an incubation period. Wound, womb.
Same thing. Weapon, wisdom. Only those between the crag of two ridges with nothing but death left to hold them will know me. And so soon I’ll go because talking always must end as crying takes over- until all limbs have been severed. I know you’re holding on. I know corpses forget their names and yet still haunt those breathing. I know breath turns to gray and stays that way even for lifetimes. When the pain is the effect and not the cause. That is my message. Hurt, hurt everything breathing and clean the sky out of me. The wise star man told me not to be afraid. That even once it’s gone, it never disappears. The earth pain is what I’m talking about. Hard bone that wants back in. It’s not even you doing the fucking, it’s all your dead uncles and cousins. That’s what’s so sad. The deception of hands. I know nobody really buys my magic talk. Well in my magic silence I’m taking everything you own. Even me, piece by piece back to hole before the light rises in the east once again. Before the sky seems clear of my memory. When birds fly and sing to distract from the real song. Crying, weeping, searching for eyes. A way out, I see you above me. Noticing nothing but your own hunger. This is a very sick world. Possessing it’s inhabitants. I am forced to live hidden therefore in the humming of night. The star man told me I needed to start digging for gold to get back into balance. He said, “stop carrying men on your back…little baby animals who will deceive you with their open mouths. You. ” He said, ” you.” I understand him better than most. I was watching the river leave as he spoke and there was nothing in that water but tears, this earth is because of me. Not around and outside of me. This pain is because of you, not because I’m separate and available. These words are because I’m cutting my own body apart, limb by limb looking for stars that got stuck in the avalanche. That was birth by the way. The avalanche. I fell by accident, even though there really are no accidents only interventions…as an overlap of time that allows one more chance to escape…and now the only thing to do is sacrifice to be free. Enter the pain you create. Not because you want in, but because you want out. So the deception is like transverse writing, evil. And meant only for the killer to read…face it, that backwards song is me. Sharada Devi

my broken moon don’t go

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“Dust in the wind, everything is dust in the wind.” We sang that song all night long like a couple of hungry vampires. It was creepy, haunted by the rhymes of mother goose. Mary’s hidden garden. I was talking about hypnosis later and how it’s effectively done to control people. Like they do in cults. I was giving a lesson really, on moving downward, eyes fixed and gazing. Down into the basement to lay on the dirt. I said, “when my grandmother was little, her mother used to tie her up in the dark basement and leave her there, lying on the dirt floor for days.” He said, “I want to go to the astral world with you and be weightless light.” I said, “I was just telling you about it, my grandma was there for days…” Silence. Quickening eyes. I wonder what she saw in the darkness of god’s broken realm. The moon does what it does because it’s broken. I don’t think you know that. It’s a broken radio receiver and if something can go wrong of it will. That’s why the waters crash beneath her. Rise in desire and crash…with nothing but a memory of her gaze. These eyes are diamonds he is right. But we don’t see that they see with or without us. And so the moon makes us think we see what we see. Feel the results of exposure and respond with emotional flux. She’s a goddess intent on a slow steady destruction. Eroding it all into lunacy. Because she can. She’s mesmerizing. And we watch her with wonder because she always seems to leave or diminish. She’s dark, she’s bright. She’s clear and confusing. Slip into her. Let it happen. OM dreaming my dream. OM I am yours. OM enchantress take me. Down onto the floor. Dirt. Lay me on earth’s dirt in your shackles and float me over your astral sea. The basement ceiling where I watch it all.

So there’s this face I called grandma. Just an ancient featherless bird. She grew orchids and had babies for god. Then she died one day for no reason at all except pain. She just kept saying, “I can’t take it anymore. I can’t take it anymore. It hurts, it hurts so much.” Then she was gone. But she never really left, just like autumn leaves never really fall. You said you want it, her body to come back in the shape of mine, her secret garden of mary to be yours. To float in my gaze as I water the flowers. See what I see underneath. I said, “did you read my secret garden.” He said, “no.” I said, “too bad, it’s a secret place this captive little girl found and no one knew about it but her.” And how I feel is hollow like this moon. Secret like this garden. My grandma wanted to name me eden when I was born under the cold, full autumn moon. Winter was only three days away. Don’t you see. He died and rose because his mother is mary the virgin, secret garden of god seed. Wave after wave taking over the light, taking you back to her warm hidden womb. You said you want it, to return. To fly with me inside this moon. There is pain there. Where we find god, the invisible father. That pain is her broken heart. That death becomes her radiant moon dust. The dark sky becomes her secret longing for him to rise once again from the black. Visions of loss are imagined as sad. Vampires that hunger are imagined as bad. But to her these seeds of mystical romance are simple god’s children making stars…falling leaves of a passing autumn pain…found in her hypnotic gaze, my broken moon don’t go. Sharada Devi

where i go when there’s nowhere left

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once my mother cut off all my hair because she was mad. i don’t remember why, neither did she.
she hunted me down with her scissors and mounted me in the hallway. she then proceeded to chop off all my long beautiful hair. violently and like a wild animal panting over my body, just cutting. i had nothing left, no feelings, no love, no mother. of course i hadn’t ever really had a mother and that’s why. she wasn’t safe, i knew that. so i then remember being curled up on the bathroom floor in a sort of shock, beyond fear and sobbing, beyond even her. she then came in all sweet and peaceful a little while later and fixed the hack job she’d done on my head with another pair of scissors, more cutting. telling me how pretty i looked. i forgot this ever happened after this day, that’s what the mind does when it must survive with the enemy, it’s mother. when i was 18 and wasn’t living at home anymore, scenes, like holy visions trying to release me, began to play before my eyes. how could i forget this, how could she do this, i confronted her on it. we were in the car, she was driving. i said, “remember that time when i was 10 and you got really mad and chopped off all my hair after you beat me with your fists as i laid on the hallway floor? she became hysteria, “liar! you liar!” she screamed as she slapped my face. i was 19. she then kicked me out of the car in the middle of nowhere and drove off. mothers don’t understand that children remember things, they don’t tell you everything, they respond to your secret sicknesses, they carry your shadow, they become it really. we’ve all been poor children, even our mother. that’s why she does it, or she overcompensates trying to turn hell back into heaven. it doesn’t work, it won’t help, it’s the same exact thing. i have lots of armageddon stories. i am telling you this because we are not separate, because god is real, hidden deep inside. where i go when there’s nowhere left. she’s says i’m a sick and disturbed person for accusing her of sexual abuse, she says the therapist i went to when i wanted to kill my self at age 19 fed my head all these lies, she says i need help. i have been alone since i was 19. no family, no one to fall back on but boyfriends. and friends can’t be trusted when the party ends or you get too old and broken to try to be beautiful anymore. to think about things like bikinis and being hot. i’m all cut up, inside and out. you know that. i gave up on being a female, being a person, having a body, finding a guru, helping myself shine, eating to be healthy as if i could ever stop the knife. i gave up for a long time on life. i had no center, only a fading grace. the grace that kept me here that i never understood, the invisible savior i could never find. once my mom had a night job and i woke up one morning in bed with my father, wearing only underwear. i was 10. that was also the year all the ghosts would visit my room and fondle me like i was lost gold. i woke up and he was still sleeping, i felt strange. i remembered nothing. this was only about a week after he yelled at me for not wearing clothes to the dinner table. i used to prefer to be naked, but not anymore. now i’m ashamed. of my body, my memories, myself. my parents would weigh me to make sure i didn’t ever get fat. they would discuss my body. i didn’t know how to stop the self hated from taking over. i was sacred and felt i could not uphold the position. i imagined i lived on the ceiling, upside down lying on my bed for hours, it was so peaceful and white, all alone way up there. my mom said i had cow eyes, that if my eyes were like hers i’d be prettier. i was perfect at school. my parents self esteem was through their daughter, me. because all i got was glory and praise. i skipped two grade and never even went to college. that was because my mom joined a cult when i was born that didn’t allow worldly education. or dating. or anything. i was a terrified, hard up virgin. totally lost and ashamed of my sin. deep inside. my mom said i was a slut. my father attacked me with a stick for being a whore with the boys. it’s all a perversion of lies. he was jealous. i stayed silent. too much potent sexuality to ever be honest with anyone. hide, hide it all and be good. pure even. i proceeded to become a loser at that point, gifted, talented, undeveloped and disturbed leaning on men. unusual creative artist men who only wanted a young mother with low self esteem. me. i never had children, i had enough. i went for the animals, they didn’t lie, or beat me, put creepy sex trips on me. they were all i had because i had nothing. not safety, nor trust. my dad would get drunk a lot, couldn’t face all those murders of the women and children he’d committed. my mother was just possessed by her mother’s demon and needed to pass that demon onto me. to this day that demon follows me, wanting in. i keep almost dying daily because of all this truth, that nothing leaves forever. not innocence, not men, not rape, and not love. not love. never love. love never leaves from the depths of some place that still brings light to my stricken eyes. i have so many stories about me, my brother. grief, drug addiction. suicide. god hiding in the scary shadows. god watching from behind. and that’s only my childhood. that was easy. unraveling and untying the black knot of mother, is the most crippling task of all. because she’ll never let go of your throat is the reason. yes my mother tried to suffocate me too. is how i know those hands of darkness. the giver of my life, she’s the one. a true friend is impossible to come by. but once on the rarest of blue moons it might happen. a friend dressed like a shadow, a friend as round as a ring, a friend who sits under the table, a friend a part of you never forgot. will come for you. death is only a word not an ending. death is only a door opening once again, death is mother’s mouth giving and taking the pain, the black in and out. untie the black knot, can’t you. my deep hiding friend. it means everything not just this. it might mean your parents fucking right in front of you, mine did. i wanted to call the police when they were in their room with the door closed because i knew what they were doing and it was fucking and it was wrong. i was 5. i didn’t call the police, it was a dilemma. i have had many dilemmas, i’ve been abducted many times. i have had many sexual trials and tribulations. i have been seeking love. inside wherever and whatever i am. to trust the untrustable human face, don’t get me wrong. i want it all, the softness, the breath that won’t snag. the comfort of being inside my less than acceptable sacrificial body. i want to be wanted for existing not for being perfect. i want to be understood without having to explain. i want to stop wanting out of my body who will also leave me. i want to not feel pain simply because i’m me. i want to not look down on myself for how horrible i must be to deserve all this. i want to believe that hindu gods might help me. i want to think it’s somebody else’s fault i’m so cold, but it isn’t. they are me, they are all me, and i am inside saying i love you. i always did.

sharada devi

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love child

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I heard horns in the early morning, horns sounding from another world, entering this world. The kind of horns that you hear before a war begins. This kind of battle must happen, when what we need is suppressed and a rage to end all rage is released. To bring peace to the one who is captive. In this deep rage, sexually suppressed and repressed, god begins a war. A war to end all lesser wars.  The horns are heard to herald the mixing of lights. I mean both sides have a right and we shall fight to the death, until we are one. Did you see lord of the rings? It was that kind of war cry from beyond, yet not far, the same battle inside me, I know. You see, we are damned to know why we are damned, because love rules even when we don’t feel it…

Bodies hidden star bodies, dark plastic bodies. Bodies inside bodies. Those who look the other way. Warm aching bodies, taking her everywhere. Me and my love who sees deeply the wounded. Why would I say something to stop the delusion, only madness can end itself. Slow rising, the quickening moon that bears nothing, seeks all breath back into it. Desire vehement creature of earth spilling blood, tasting each other deep before sunrise. And these stars clash in the night sky, fires arise and explode, enemy bodies. Fast light, hardcore lover bodies. She is in every version of me destroying what these stars do to their gazers. Star struck and lost on the way to the floor. I love the rain on dead bodies, soft spoken. Something left behind. Lying silently waiting for each other. In the night sky. Stories about the wars we fought. All for love or god or because we couldn’t get out of her moonlight, and we struggled and hurt the ones watching. With gun light and hot fire light passion born of the coming of the sunlight that spreads over death valley. Shadows sworn into secrecy in a room without windows. Outside of nature’s lonely boxes, undressed.  Face down on the earth, moaning to the thump of her heartbreak. It hurts to break. The way day does to us all when it’s over. Something straight, nothing straight comes out of me. Only jagged, only crescent, only crooked, only broken. Little warm hugs, protect me from myself whoever’s watching her choke in this body. Sad child body alone in the dark light, baby moons without mothers who know. How to take light away from dark ghosts that drink children’s cool blood light. Do something to save me, sacrifice the tears that betray me. The little animals knew as they crouched under trees in this gray light. Her twilight where hiding is being. The preserving light of his body of dreams that can’t help but survive. Her cruel stroking called love in between light. In the black moon spectrum of small, born innocent raindrops. The wounded fall from her eyes making more down below. Where I lay perennially dying as an unnoticed flower blooms in the spring of water and sunlight. For nothing at all. Birth and beyond life. My eyes are filled with many ages of starlight. I come and go and leave myself behind in that place that takes us little by little back upstairs, unseen. Upward. Unspoken, unheard, death defying dying. As the perfection of surrender to the softness that surrounds the charnel grounds of these left behind bodies. Glowing mysteries that nobody ever really knew. White bones inside that no one ever really saw. A heart, eyes, that no one truly ever touched. But me, I did. And I loved the unloved like a mad rushing disease back to it’s sickness. Because she is blood light and I am inside the underside of the unspeakable, untouchable moon. Who hides, the shamed widow on the outskirts of time. I am in the way a star falls back to earth as a promise. In the suffering knowing this can’t last but inside us. In the falling of pain back into the dream of her murmuring, “let me hold you one more night in my darkness, let me make you the light that won’t go.” I was the sacrifice, I was the lamb, beaten and twisted. I was the one he saw when the sun rose, covered in death gods and the clear blood of heaven. I was the one, none came before me but you. The one I must release. Back to the wild earth, into the endless sky, deep in my heart aching bones that I’m still here. For you waiting for love to finally love me. The way I thought god came and took everyone who suffered back into his body of her. And I watch and I wait through the whispers as ghosts come and go wearing crosses, through the underworld, over the crossing currents, across the midnight sky as her lovers, all for me. The love child all alone for no reason…except that some sorrow is perfect as it is.

moving deeper the night keeps calling out words and so I tell you, there is alot going on…

I was up all night listening to shadows on the wall. They don’t breathe they just move ever so slightly. I heard dead sounds up above me, I heard footprints. I’m not asleep even when I’m sleeping because they’re always awake, moving inside. I was up all night because I had no choice, it was noisy. The sounds that they make, only I hear. Red candles flicker like violence from the other room. Casting venomous flame shadows with tongues, on the wall. These fingers that know me, draw for me. All the dead come to life. This world that I slip inside like a snake leaves it’s skin, is my world, where I speak most of all. To the ones leaving, who’ve left. To all the phantoms and dreams long forgotten. Sleep buries the bones, but this night has no body. Skeleton. It’s all that’s left, cold dangling bones draped in gray making promises they’ll never keep. Prying at their ribcages, there was more, there was always more, now I’m empty. I have a flame inside that makes everything come true. This is not another scattered and woven dream story. I’ve never written anything scattered. Head trippers fall and crack open important mind centers eventually and all the words end that make so much sense and you finally become me, burning the garuda. Giving everyone what they want, secretly. You think you read something I’ve said. You read the invisible lines like the pixels on the tv that make no sense. I can say it all in one word but I don’t. I seduce and destroy the words on the outside. Unravel, decipher, your head is a box with nothing to offer but organized sentences and bad memories making us chase them. These skeletons in others as husbands, and ghosts who once loved us. We thought we had it all, her soft hand, her twilight. I thought he’d never leave. I prayed to god again and again, take me instead. Take me. God didn’t want me. Nobody does. Images, persona, projection. “Love” thrown through doorways, always a free kiss, a smile that gives anything you need. But no, I didn’t mean any of it, so I’m just as bad as you are. Psychotics, bowing to a clock. Feed me. Enchant me. Make me real. Dress me. Touch me. Look in my mirror. My eyes are as clear as glass. Why can’t you see what you’ve done. Never enough. I’m never enough. Me and my body of muscle and flesh. Nobody needs anything but their own reflection to lust for. Creepy, toe touching shadow walker. I’ve been in your darkness before. People do talk to me at night, it’s no joke. I fly all around this universe. I was just recalling today being up in the stars a couple days ago. I’m like, “Wtf?,” I was there with 3 or 4 other undressed shadows, and we were just doing our thing. It was very important btw. Don’t believe me. The truth is, I don’t make anything up. It’s not creativity, it’s my life. Or afterlife. It’s all of the above. It’s below. It’s inside you. You just don’t hear me wiggling. Funny, people are so stuck up and stuck tight in all the wrong places (if you know what I mean.) I can’t handle it, it’s pitiful juvenilism. And if juvenilism isn’t a word I don’t even care. I just made it one. No wonder I fly the skies looking for more…but really though, I do hear everything and so it kind of leaves me in a bind. The secret keeper works overtime (if you know what I mean.) Some want love poems because they take them personally. Some want recipes because they’re fat or toxic- some want stories because their life sucks. Some just want an excuse to write something someone else will read. What about me. Oh, I shouldn’t ask. Sad to the last sparkle. The song you didn’t hear. I never stopped, no one ever came. Not to my door. I know you think you did, but I don’t live here. I’m a replica of another day, a body dead and over. A lot of people look like me. Anyone can jump in for a ride you know. I’m an energetic distortion. An imposter pulling strings from the other side. Talking all sorts of madness to my sweet demons who think they’re all angels. I’m the worst of all, don’t be offended. Join the club, I was like, “well, did you ever see buffy the vampire slayer?” He was like, “no” I said, “of course not, you’re just a green child.” He said nothing. I said, “well, there were these ones who were evil vampires who became reformed and now they don’t drink human blood anymore, maybe like squirrel blood or stray dog blood instead and they help destroy the evil vampires to save the world even though those evil vampire were once their family and friends. It sucks. That’s my life. We can’t suck the blood of other humans. It’s just wrong. Nothing is free, you know that. Not rotten fruit, not rotten women, not even a rotten love. Nothing.” He again, said nothing. He’s silent most of the time. Well, just you wait until that stake goes through his little green heart, “big” whatever. Nobody fools me, darling fangs. Wait until the dawn and I pull you into the sunlight. Wait until that sky, once so dark turns bright and starts screaming. “Blood, death and blood!” Red we thought of him, red we died in him. Red, we’ve eaten him. Light. Light. Fuel on fire! “We want him, he’s everywhere shining!” Then I’ll say, “Yes, that’s you in the future.” I know everything. Nobody fools me, darling fangs. A stab is a stab (if you know what I mean.) That’s where the bending over part comes in. I mean whose fucking who? This is JAWS we’re talking about, you saw that movie right, who didn’t. Blood everywhere, shines the face of the mirror sea. Always knowing where the sharp tooth was. Innocence. We tried so hard to make her peaceful and chaste. No hope there, lost is lost. Did you see that show? It’s about slipping through a hole in the sky and what happens next. God, why doesn’t anyone listen to me, I predicted it all. But of course their all “afraid and shaken” to the core of their homeliness. Stop trying to fit where you don’t belong, as if anyone did. It’s all just a worm someone put in your head, and it wiggles. It wiggles with a vengeance. (if you know what I mean.) I’m all over the place. That’s what I’m saying, angel eyes. There’s more. A lot more after this. Sharada Devi, love child.