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.