*If you think I’m writing this to you, it’s because I am.
All you talk about is how beautiful death and dying is, we’ll see about that. Dakinis abound- ready to serve you up to your higher calling- isn’t that right? Or maybe to spank you or curse you to a lustful hell, where possibly they’ll even go topless or at least show some ass…and that could be hot too right? Well, certain things people say and do reveal deeper unconscious motive and attitude. There is a lack of everything meaningful, this energy is deeply discordant -AND- lying to a force that knows the liar better than the liar obviously knows himself. Is not wise or fruitful. You aren’t ripe, but green.
I said, “You didn’t do anything wrong. You can do what you want. I don’t own you.”
You said. “Good. Thank you.”
You said “Vajrayogini loves me.” However, you failed to say, “I love Vajrayogini.”
You are a power hungry male fool. Selfish and hoping to extract something for yourself.
You ask yourself questions like, “What do I want from the Divine Mother?”
Seriously??? This is bad. Plus we all know what you want, to mount her. Why don’t you stop lying? Delusion and passive/aggressive mommy hate/obsession- domination. That’s why.
***Plus, NO I won’t talk about something else. This is it. All of it.
Same horrible selfish consumption.
Not, “What can I give?” Of course not ever. Lip service, no action. Word shit. Basically.
It’s all about taking. That’s the undercurrent. Using me, my eyes to work through your knots-
is sexually perverse and exploitive. It’s insulting to the very concept of giving and again, reveals
the desire- or lust- to use and objectify the feminine to pull something out for yourself. Not different than sucking whatever nipple has the milk. The woman herself doesn’t truly matter, and YOU are in danger with that sort of greed. You can lie to yourself, but you can’t lie to me. And sadder still, you can hide in the lie, underneath other lies. Masochistic and nobody cares about the mosquito bites and thorns but you. Don’t do me any favors. I don’t police anyone. At that point, the point is lost. Sexual energy is sexual energy. You get in any car with a woman- you know what you’re doing- what you’re mixing with- and after the fact, it’s dirty. Subtle- so what? It’s indicative of a deeper lie, a deeper insincerity. Nobody has me in a bag. Nobody touches me, gets inside. EVER. So unfortunately if the rings too powerful you shouldn’t put it on your little finger. It’s a destroyer. My ring. I’m a destroyer. I’m not gentle, peaceful, smooth like velvet. None of it. I am vicious barbed wire that seduces strategically. Set you up to fall. I wish you got to know yourself this way- the truth shines in the harshest ways and truly, I’m simply a dagger. Not YOU. Violent, perfectly professionally violent. No, I’m not wrong or in a self deluded fantasy fixation with myself. You come, see for yourself. I am effortlessly ruthless and rootless to the core. Dress up or dress down. It’s all just a light lunch for me. Bright. Yes. The bindu at the tip of my blade. Dagger. Lingam. I am the end and nothing else. Nothing sexy or old. Nothing scarred or insecure. No one abused or even angry. None of the above. Only empty hot vacuous fury. I’ll stick you so hard. You’ll get stuck. In me. That’s correct, it’s a vice grip, death lock. Trickery intended to torment liars such as you. I am not concerned. It’s all like papers crumbled on the floor or strings too short to tie in knots. Useless. Again. Go home. You don’t have one. Go anyway. Find her in another bowl, find her somewhere else but here.
I’m a very destructive person. All I think about is what I can destroy. I sit, like tonight and visualize myself throwing the glass table top off of the deck onto the large rocks below, shattering. Useless table. Of course nobody knows. I sit perfectly poised under the tall trees barely blinking and yet, absolute destruction is on my mind. Loud, big and final. Lethal with no regard or compromise. I have had this legion of spiders following me to make things even worse, a new sort of death defying initiation I’m told. Make it work, poison, Vajrayogini. Thunderbolt, and nobody knows I was even a storm until it ends and you’re dead anyway. You were dead when we met, you’re dead. I’m the flip side of dead. Deader than dead, yes it scares people. Apparently just “being around me is purifying” since “I’m so hard to take.” Right.
Take it like a man, all of you.
First we should find a man though to really understand what that means. Personally, I don’t know any men but me. However, I am also a woman. I am androgynous and can recreate myself at will. I can impregnate myself without anyone but me. I alone am. I stand alone. I alone mount myself. You are not needed in the fuck. That is who she is, foolish slanted self cherishing little girl. And I love little girls. Just not ones with beards and dicks. And I love little boys, just not ones who are decades old. And I can’t even be here writing, the spiders have covered the screen. Writing, all over me, biting for a juice long ago drained. Bloodless I sit, drawing blood on myself. Many legged dark and spindly. Eating without opening my mouth. Creating without opening my thighs. Killing without moving at all. You have nothing for me, nothing is needed. Dead weight. Dead water. Rice and beans. The fuck word. It’s all just weak juvenile striving. Go get magical somewhere else. Get off my screen, my ass, my face, my ears, my eyes. Spiders get off me.
In me, this is home.