Category: AKA

post title

only one month to go. one silly month.

when i was laying next to this new sweetie i met today. we did some sexy things. and we are laying next to one another. my body feels electric like an lsd experience. sex does things that spirit plants do. for one, this invites that i am a spirit plant. for two, that all plants are my friends, even the ones that would kill me, like tonight as i die in one of the best of ways.

dear tonight, i resolved, driving away in my cool car at whatever witching hour of the night, that i won’t be penetrated for a while, physically. i was imbued with something to be sure, so i can’t dismiss energy – besides it would be a discredit to Energy.

i’m my foster parent, and i have a good idea of how to conduct my blood, now. not before tonight.

sweetie taught me a trick about using my clutch. it was eye-opening, daresay mind-blowing. one can cook eggs for most of their life, in different ways and at different times, and still is bound to come across a totally new way to cook an egg. also, you don’t have to eat the egg to know how to cook it. (vegan shout out)

Here’s the trick:
when you’re on a steep or even steepish incline, and you don’t want to kill the engine NOR roll into the car in front of you NOR rev into the car behind you, just put on the emergency brake and give the car some gas in either 1st or Reverse, respectively, and when you can hear and/or feel that the car has enough rev, just let off the e-brake and ease into the movement. this is going to change driving forever.

rage-knife

Rage can be a powerful tool – but its so easy, with it,
to allow ourselves to become overtaken and become the tools ourselves

May we ride the fire that drives –
May we die the dying that dyes

Rage en rose
that stains all clothes
That bleeds thru all our precious veneer

&Mama yells,
“You dont trust my love!”
      – rolling up the stair again
      – get thee hence, into thine iron bonnet again
      – you cant even hear the sugar in a hateful strain

My knife knocks on the door.
It’s been there for years and
      itself has been slain

Estas canciones son / These songs are…

How is it – are these
places, artistic and affluent,
so “chill”, so “cool”, yet
so mechanationally White

Enumeration of safe
locations,
its a short list,
white and fey ones,
fey & Fair- skinned
obliviites,
all lottos in yr favor

I wonder what dead animal
ive ever become;
the god of me sits forever
side-saddle
at the edge of sleep –
no thought may attain
sanctuary here

My future self makes
a playlist based on me
sitting still in cafes
when it is so very nice
outside
in the early evening
springtime air
that my stuffy selection
of locus
seems almost shameful

Im all dead Olympians
before they could
ever live

I have no place found
yet in LA to lay
my throat in offering

A jester – here i am –
with a scintillating
red and blue dot
for a face and for
a head
–Take away the
powers abusers wish they
really had
(but still fucking yourself up)

Drums echo from the past
living in the gutters
along the roadways
of the brain

All is honky-dory
with a dwindling gasping
swath wishing every nigger dead

I blanch when i see
me coming,
dunno if ive ever blushed
in my whole life

Im red and black;
between the lines
my brown filthy arse
is advertised
and placed along
the wide bland way
of the hit parade

I won’t die in english
It feels traitorous(?)
but sometimes so does
breathing breath at all
and these frequencies
are all inside the guffaw
of the constant Fall

The prescribed god
has made joke and
travesty of my Sex

I see now we have
to sin in order to Win,
as far as winning goes

in the whitewashed world
in which we are constantly
batting away chains