Mysteries of My Creation

    Today is your (un)lucky day—have all you’ve ever wanted if you can only reach it on your own. My money’s on: you can’t, and that’s why you pushed away what you claimed was such a great thing for you, you selfish hypothetical gene. If you genuinely believe deep down that all you deserve is the shit that you spread, that is all you will ever even be. The rewards won’t exist, you’re less than that to me. This is the time of your last feeding. I hope you’re as happy as you deserve to be.

You’re not going to shoot me down.

And I would die for hours, write for hours, supply the flowers. 

This is history in the making, 
now shut the fuck up and let me make it.

Fuck what you want, watch me stand on the world as I sit in a throne 

And if I jump I’m going to fly and look into the eagles eye 

and see I am lookin’ like you, why? 

Bitch see, it gets me how nothing gets me or get to me, 

And if you’re shootin’ for the stars 

then just shoot me.

Fifteen in the Sun

(From www.MansonWiki.com) 

     Over and over again in my head, the breathy lyric, “Yesterday everything I thought I believed in died, but today is my birthday.” I’m taking this in a different light than how I assume Manson intended it for himself. Allow me to explain.

     Darkness encompassed my yesterday, in a way I believed to be impossible. I didn’t predict my love for another clouding my true love of biology and cosmology to the length of existing nearly in oblivion.
     While drowning in the love I had fallen into, I was never caught in my love affair with the sciences. My love of another human being was a great muse and inspiration to care more for life in its entirety and my personal passions in their individuality. However, I never considered the consequences of letting that person in deep, for them to suddenly leave me under any circumstances—even those that may be justified.
     I learned my lesson, I learned about loss, and it hardly took forever. Now it’s my time to go under, I can only hope from the opinions of others—that I shouldn’t even care about—that I didn’t wait too long before gripping life’s reigns again and taking control of the only thing I can: myself.

     In this way, today is my birthday. I don’t think this is what he meant by the Death and Resurrection Show, although, maybe he meant it for himself… maybe he didn’t consider that it would apply for me too. Well, my rebirth will be different. The arsenal isn’t the same, I’ve been stocking up for a millennium, it feels. I am the motherfucking cosmos today, and nothing’s going to stop me from colliding into every other galaxy I know. I am everything, everything to me. I am driving into the sun because I am the motherfucking sun.

My heart has been ripped from its place in my chest.

     I just tried it. I tried so hard, without even realizing it. I looked for the beauty I once saw in everything alive, and I see it alive, I really do, but I no longer see myself living alongside anything. I am not substantial enough to be compared to the living beauty of the world because I can hardly recognize it. I am the dead, and we were once the dead together.

     When this finally ends please wake me up from this nightmare. You were my dream inside a dream. But as mentioned, you’ll understand when I’m dead, I suppose.

10 of Spade

     The hurt I’m experiencing right now is such an absurd type of hurt. It’s an oddity, a rarity—it’s what we always were except now it’s buried in our demise, the trigger you pulled to initiate “us” into becoming the “used.” There’s no room for regret because you jumped before the worms were even born, and how could you? I don’t blame you for my agony and I cannot even really blame you for this, but I can’t help but ask the hollow question of: How. Could. You. Do. It?

     You’re either the strongest person I’ve ever met, rendering you even more so into my flawlessly flawed ideal of the Übermensch, or I’m not the subject of much heartbreak for you. In the end, my value has gone up. You skyrocketed me to the top, and it might be unfortunate for you because I always wanted to take you with me.

You drained my heart 

And made a spade 

But there’s still traces of me 

In yours veins.

From Baudelaire to me, from me to you:

To the beloved, the beautiful being

who fills my heart with light, to

the angel, the immortal idol . . .

20 Questions You Should Ask Yourself Every Sunday

(From http://www.marcandangel.com/)

1. What did I learn last week?
I learned how to recognize the appreciation around me, and to let it envelop me.

2. What was my greatest accomplishment over the past week?
My “Wheeling Weak Week” series I’ve been working on and publishing to COSA18, and applying for a lot of jobs.

3. Which moment from last week was the most memorable and why?
It was a bad moment I don’t want to publicly reflect on, that’s why it was most memorable.

4. What’s the #1 thing I need to accomplish this week?
Applying for more jobs.

5. What can I do right now to make the week less stressful?
Prepare the Monday’s Excerpts and Thursday’s Thoughts so I don’t have to write them up on their respective days in a stressful, anxious frenzy.

6. What have I struggled with in the past that might also affect the upcoming week?
This last week especially I have struggled with events from my past affecting my present day. What I can do to make this better in the upcoming week is to continue working on pushing through it with an indomitable will of strength.

7. What was last week’s biggest time sink?
Sleeping in.

8. Am I carrying any excess baggage into the week that can be dropped?
Irritation with others over things I know they will not change and laundry. I should do the latter tonight before bed.

9. What have I been avoiding that needs to get done?
Laundry, haha.

10. What opportunities are still on the table?
Finishing A Lover’s Discourse.

11. Is there anyone I’ve been meaning to talk to?
Nope, I’ve spoken to a few people this past week that I haven’t in a while, but have wanted to.

12. Is there anyone that deserves a big ‘Thank You’?
Yes, and he has received accordingly with my capabilities… yet, I still feel as if I should stretch myself into more matter.

13. How can I help someone else this coming week?
I can communicate with others better so they feel more appreciated by me. Also, I can research some things that Jonathan asked me to look up a few weeks ago that I keep forgetting about.

14. What are my top 3 goals for the next 3 years?
College, job, car.

15. Have any of my recent actions moved me closer to my goals?
I study everyday in preparation of college, I’ve applied to quite a few jobs recently and haven’t stopped yet, and the aforementioned will lead me towards owning a car.

16. What’s the next step for each goal?
College—enrolling once I turn eighteen. Job/car—keep seeking employment.

17. What am I looking forward to during the upcoming week?
Nothing out of the ordinary, I should schedule something exciting.

18. What are my fears?
Giving up on my dreams by some ridiculous justification and the unknown.

19. What am I most grateful for?
Having someone who understands and appreciates so many aspects of me, especially now when I “need” it the most… I have many difficulties coming in my near future, and I’m scared.

20. If I knew I only had one week to live, who would I spend my time with?
I would split the majority of my time between my younger brother and Jonathan, I haven’t had enough time with either of them to be satisfied if life were to end.

Wheeling Weak Week: Day 7 of the Spectrum

62 01100010 6c 01101100 75 01110101 65 01100101 72

 From the dimensions of space-time we exist confined,
 gravity would crush us at the precipice of the hole we washed black and
  we colored our hearts before we existed at the point of stardom at all.

     Choking at the stronghold I had anything but a strong hold. I grasped what your fresh flesh offered and you tenderly touched mine. Caress is care and love and you feared me I bet. I hope you did with opposite opportunity.

     Some days I’d love for you to be hung up on the daily noose, my atrocities deemed justified, void of blank, but no, the Pensieve of silver lucidity would parry En Garde! of new catastrophes.
     In my future paintings I shrouded the currency of receptacle memories with shades of grey I may never retain coherently. Color absent ad infinitum yet, “it’s everywhere it’s in everything,” my lessons of loss from grief you committed in acts of the child’s annihilation. I was dead before I knew it was me.
     If I hurt you I’m sorry, you hurt me too. Passively unaggressive, let us recall the flood light released within, introduced to what gorge: I am unaware. But don’t fret precious, I’m still hear for the end(ing) and it’s Armageddon lying in wait by the dark.

     But… if you let him control me and I didn’t let him control me, we are all animals but some of us are more fucking equal than others and I’ve discovered my absolute opportunity at equality.
     Today the spectrum is problematic—the chasm is broken, twisted into a sickly grin of the dead old man and the estate sign is held for the state, I’ll hold the death banquet myself, in the motherfucking basement.
     The prism is shattered inside the worm hole—oh, there—no, it’s gone.

     Lost of desirable shape, I remain: colorful and loud and proud unmovable by propaganda, but my excitement isn’t guise for the actual gay. My faggotry is vengeful sweet nectar of something untouched and discovered by Monsters.

01110010

Wheeling Weak Week: Day 6 of the Spectrum

62 01100010 6c 01101100 75 01110101 65

     Hawks are our absurdities committing our atrocities more ironic than the (G) we together are(n’t) as p(r)etty (a)s. If I’ve built your thoughts to similarities with what I strive to be, it’s understandable on my behalf—love is alone alone alone and forever and ever alone.
     The scare tactic is: I’m falling in this time, it’s six feet deep from the bottom. I’ve done with stepping a toe in and stealing it back, from the beginning I knew it meant nothing but leashes and control and manipulation, so in that sense, yeah, I am a piece of the circus freaks dangling at the top rope. I devoured with a fork on the road, but I’ve kept my genuine pitch—haven’t I? I’m not dead in the deepest corner of the estate or putting out cigarettes on the dancing near-corpses for eventual star-sail…

     Shock hasn’t changed addresses. I moved my valuables from the basement torture of black mares to the comical tragedy: romanticism. Never a disciple of romanticism defining love of another now or together, I’ve even said so myself and—you remember.
     The labyrinth twisted my eyes for relocation to my hands. I’ve surrendered to the white flag begging to be woven into this reality of you all alone and all along the forking freeway of subtle expenses. So! here we are stitch free, I’ve added some buttons for flair… but yours are always going to be much much prettier than what I’ve become and become undone.

     Before the reaper we built the tomb together, but I will nebulously die in this shared grave alone. First, I want to ask you if it’s sick, fleeting love in instantaneous thought—how much of a distraction drowning it is from slathered slander of the grim.
     And now we can perish holding hands at the heavenly end of…!

01100101

Wheeling Weak Week: Day 5 of the Spectrum

67 01100111 72 01110010 65 01100101 65 01100101 6e 01101110 65 01100101 72

    Who knelt before you and whispered, “This will be the best choice for you, clearly,” to which you complied? Why was my pain your punishment of things I barely did wrong? Echoing through my mind, “when we get home you’re going to be punished,” and then you would invite over the torturing tools to build my skin’s prison. Dicks, hands, mouths, tongues, eyes, childhood genitalia; control was the only thing I didn’t know well at that point. You could have been the dam that saved me from a rapid tongue, but instead you were the condom that broke through the teeth.

    My fear idol, you provided the unknown with a greeting card smile of a greater ape than me. You fed with blood the fear of the deep. You blew onto the irrationalities of being swept away with cardboard, it never took you much at all to instill how much the world wanted to haunt me. How could I not recognize that you were the ghost of the Waste Land?

    Constantly shrouded in shame, you reckoned I’d always be frayed. V meant nothing then and nothing now, your conquering of me was your brightest virtue, and probably still your greatest pride! But why did you hide me when they had already taken everything, as if I really had anything left to show for myself? To my left, “maybe there is something left she can do to me,” and to my right, “everything I’ve done to my own.” We agree, I should agree too so we can hold hands and forgive you as we die. After all, you’re not to blame, but you will end when I conclude.

01110010