I've never wanted to be around someone or something as much as I have them. this group of people. These, things i view as one thing. Parts making a whole. I don't know what I'm doing anymore. And I don't even care right now because it just doesn't matter, in the end. We all die anyway. So no matter how far anyone goes, we all end up the same. Right now the thing I want and feel that I need is far away... really far away. I'm caught in this web of going back and forth and doing this and doing that when I just want to scream to the rest of the world "Hey. I'm done." and then lay down and sleep for a million and so on years but I can't. I don't know what I'm doing anymore. I can't stop. I have work to do.

Bird Soul

Barren rock, Snow as wild as his hair, The Quest For Knowledge In Frozen Earth. He seeks not the voice of man to guide him, But the calling of the wilderness. It gnaws inside of his rib cage, And his heart, Like a pack of infinate Northern birds. Swooping, Diving, Pecking at bone, Sending bird calls to the brain. They caw and coo for him to tear at the fabric of his fake furs, And expose skin to ice, Expose birds to sky. His soul birds are screaming to the wild, And his body is tired, Seen as useless, He doesn’t need it anymore. So he opens his shirt, And lets the birds out.

Under The Moon

I have walked in the light of the moon, To expose myself to dreams, I lost myself in his starry gaze. And then we danced. On glittering roads of sand and stardust, We danced by the light of Her Grace. By the light of truth, By the light of the moon. Our bodies turned, Twisted, And then became one. A burning flame of love and desire, Like a forest fire. We walk the moon road as lovers, Him and I. We waltzed and walk under the light of hopes and lovers and truth, We waltzed and walked in the light of the moon.

Untitled Dream Poem

It was dark where he rested, Save for purple flickering candles. “burning fairies,” he chuckled like a little boy. I giggled, he makes me giggle, and placed them on the floor. The candles made us swim in pools of soft light, but they weren’t as soft as his lips against my shoulder. Or the words he whispered, the poetry that came like rain in the summer. Or his fingers like frantic birds making nest in my hair. The light will never be that soft, or that wonderful, his heart beat is gentle as is mine and in this ocean of cotton and smoke and shadow we are one. Until I wake up.

I feel pretty

Hair cut... or... shave. Whatever suits yer fancy.

Margaret by Aleister Crowley.

The moon spans Heaven's architrave;
Stars in the deep are set;
Written in gold on the day's grave,
"To love, and to forget:"
And sea-winds whisper o'er the wave
The name of Margaret.

A heart of gold, a flower of white.
A blushing flame of snow,
She moves like latticed moons of light--
And O! her voice is low
Shell-murmurs born to Amphitrite,
Exulting as they go.

Her stature waves, as if a flower
Forgot the evening breeze,
But heard the charioted hour
Sweep from the farther seas,
And kept sweet time within her bower,
And hushed mild melodies.

So grave and delicate and tall--
Shall laughter never sweep
Like a moss-guarded waterfall
Across her ivory sleep?
A tender laugh most musical?
A sigh serenely deep?

She laughs in wordless swift desire
A soft Thalassian tune;
Here eyelids glimmer with the fire
That animates the moon;
Her chaste lips flame, as flames aspire
Of poppies in mid-june.

She lifts the eyelid-amethyst,
And looks from half-shut eyes,
Gleaming with miracles of mist,
Gray shadows on blue skies:
And on her whole face sunrise-kissed,
Child wonderment most wise.

The whitest arms in all the earth
Blush from the lilac bed
Like a young star even at its birth
Shines out the golden head
Sad violets are the maiden mirth
Pale flames night-canopied.

O gentlest lady! Lift those eyes,
And curl those lips to kiss!
Melt my young boyhood in thy sighs.
A subtler Salmacis!
Hide, in that peace, these ecstasies
In that fair fountain, this!

She fades as starlight on the stream,
As dewfall in the dell;
All life and love, one ravishing gleam
Stolen from sleep's crucible;
That kiss, that vision is a dream:--
And I--most miserable!

Still Echo wails upon the steep,
"To love--and to forget!"
Still sombre whispers from the deep
Sob through Night's golden net,
And waft upon the wings of sleep
The name of Margaret.


My friend showed this to me. I thought it was cute. And hey, maybe it fits me.

It's Going To Be Okay

I had a dream where I was watching my friend, you could even call him a step father, dying. Everything in the room felt tense, everyone was sad.

Then David Byrne walked in, wearing all white.
He hugged be from behind and said

"It's going to be okay." And we both twitched.

I have to believe him. He's David Byrne. He wouldn't lie to me.

We twtiched again, and we both walked out together.

"It's going to be okay."