my best

been doing it,
my best
no crutches,
real sobriety; feelings,
and a vulnerability that leaves me more aware than afraid
bc I heard the truest words last night, when the checker at the grocery told me: “be careful out there”,
and I knew just what he meant;
the vulnerability is palpable,
as real as the judgements – the looks, the hate – which, sadly, seems severest from women who do not accept girls like us as valid:
what more can I say: i’m so fucking brave, so fucking femme –
and no social media, no faux friends,
no dating apps, no lays –
guess I quit the sex after one yoga teacher followed another,
and reminded me that I am so worthy / as desirable as I ever was to a Shannon, a Sarah (hell, even that girl Dnaiella)
but I know it’s an inside job: so I’m doing it now,
and I’ve finally found love within, made it rain, cashing in,
so i’ll never be without again –
i’m me,
my lover and best friend, without a doubt, until the end –
but the plot’s still thickening;
it is all really happening,
and I know I can’t stop time,
so I’m making something out of myself,
and I need no one else,
just my family and my privacy,
just a little more leveling up;
we’re already magnitudes more than fine;
I’ve never felt happier to be alive,
on this glow-up of mine
pause –
bitch I am tranta claus,
granter of my own wishes ๐Ÿ’…๐Ÿผ,
self-fulfilled profit;
doer, alchemist, tantric animal,
celibate wonder
on a quest,
belly full of vegan:
plant powered, I’m a star;
and we can go anywhere we want;
bc I sign my own permission slips bitch,
and I don’t take any shit,
not from a soul
to think, I’ve really changed,
i’m really at home in the world
the most animal of all the humans
and I get it, I’m learning to use the hardware in my head:
long days at the cowork suite,
long walks at night,
self-talk, breath,
water,
early bed, clairo album before sleep,
norman fucking rockwell,
beatrice eli, showgirls live at dramaten ๐Ÿ˜
and a strength I’ve never known;
I think this is what courage looks like,
I think this is what making it feels like,
I think this is what it actually is:
being proud to be you;
totally forgiving your self,
letting go, holding on,
and never giving up on doing your best.

somebody / fated / nulled

I wish I was somebody, but I’m not;
Not that I’m nobody, but I’m not enough to matter to her;
‘It wouldn’t change anything’, she would say,
But it would: I know it –
And why, why do I miss the bitch who disowned me so much…
I guess you would have to have been seen and loved by a girl like Sarah to know what I live without,
To know how invisible I have felt without her innate understanding of the things she got right about me, the things she showed me
Sometimes it’s all I see of myself:
Just the vapor of her imago of me,
Kept alive by the mental doppelgรคnger of her I am fated to carry within me for the rest of my years:
God fuck it hurts –
And now that I went from a quarter a day to zero cannabis,
Her ghost is back
And I can’t do anything about it –
Because I already drank till I lost my appetite and went to hell,
And I already smoked till my throat hurt, joint after joint:
And I already got sober… but it no cure my hurt
Guess this is the punishment for my pleasure,
The price for the thousand-and-one skin-to-skin nights, and the subsequent oxcytocin that used to flow between us,
Bonding me to her like no other;
Only, this is “the pattern”
The same I dumbly did with two others,
Who also felt it was a great misfortune to know me –
But no, it was no tragedy of their love to disown me, but the great tragedy of my life to be made unknown to them, to have my paradise made mythical, my deepest love made Atlantis, sunk costs; lost cause –
For we don’t die at the end of life but all along, bit by bit, loss by loss, pain by lasting pain –
And I’m fucking dying tonight, no appetite, just the hurt, the empty
The loneliness of life on her bad side,
Which I have to hate her for –
Lest I betray my self,
Like I already did days before sober,
When I beleived all the things she does about me –
Because that’s the thing: I’m just a fucking loser not worth knowing to her,
So one day I’ll make sure she can’t meet someone who doesn’t know who I am,
Who doesn’t know I’m somebody –
And in doing so, I shall make my tragedy her’s,
And again: I pray this is my last poem for her,
But I had to write it,
To keep myself alive,
To prove that there might be a way out of this other than death;
For while her animus once brought me to life – it is my animus [towards her] that keeps me alive:
So it is, Dantes nears closer the Count tonight,
And my dark heart, this pain, nears me closer my self,
Further from the boy she thought she knew,
The one she nulled.

B.T.W; Nothing

I sweat out memories, releasing the salt in my wounds –
the real wounds: the ones that go all the way back to childhood –
the ones you unpack at 34, one monday night, while soaking in a hot bath after hiking fifteen miles –
the ancient salt comes out and you see where all the fuckery in your life comes from:
from helplessly loving those who did not conceive of you as equal;
from helplesly loving parents who did not love themselves truly and wholly, who behaved as if they loathed themselves:
escaping their lack of self-esteem with alcohol and drugs, because the people who lack self-worth are the most vulnerable to addiction:
not an easy family dynamic for an HSP INFP – but a damn telling future…
I had no value in the family;
my father was already estranged from his firstborn son when I came along… so I was the young bastard John Snow in his glassy eyes: a non deserving entity – and he was the biggest asshole I ever met – could be cruel for sport, physically too, but especially mentally, emotionally… loved to play favorites – just like his dad did… made him a little Napoleon over his siblings…
yes, mine was an ugly childhood, doubly sad for a super-vulnerable-late-onset-gender-dysphoria-trans-girl;
gifted and highly sensitive…
…or did the neglect and the whole dynamic of my childhood make me sensitive –
no you stupid fucks,
I was Born This Way,
all the more vulnerable, as runts are…
so my childhood taught me to unconditionally love people who were crappy to me;
my childhood taught me I was undeserving…
my childhood taught me to think this was all normal, my fault even, for not earning their respect, their love –
and there are millions of families like mine,
and millions of basically indigo children who are as sensitive to life as the afflicted beast Grendel was to the noise of the mead hall –
and it just hurts them so much, and everyone just calls them sensitive… or maybe just ignores them even more…
well, my friends, we can not normalize this: the trumpian reality is real – the masses are fucking sick and toxic and highly insensitive: inhumane, period
and if you disagree, you think fox news is normal, period
the empathy divide is bigger than ever, it’s Star Wars big: the empire versus the resistance,
well, my fellow snowflakes, just know that I am on your side, and you will have a lifelong champion in me,
so long as I live: I will dedicate myself to you, to me,
to us –
becuause our efforts are lost on them:
they are the guys with machine guns and bulldozers,
and we’re just trying to save the trees, the planet (Avatar)
and we’ve always been the oppressed, because we are,
but I aim to change some things
because nothing else matters in life;
what is more important than protecting the animals, the vulnerable, the marginalized, the excluded, the trans kids, the planet?!!!!
nothing. the answer is nothing.

A few dittys, one sweet, maybe more, totally didnโ€™t cry… ๐Ÿ˜’

it’s that time to feel free;
so I fasted, cooked a cactus
“it’s the only way to fly”
might watch the trilogy
t minus ninety, and I’m coming up @ 6:16 am;
yeah, we would have never worked,
i’m too me, but I wish we would have been friends,
sad for that fact
“do you want me, just how I am”,
bless you Dope Lemon;
wish I was Angus Stone, but I can’t be a smooth big cat:
blowing coke and pulling corks ain’t my bag –
give me some 2CB, for this alky, psychedelics are my whiskey,
and I can’t read the word whiskey without that damn Steinbeck character, “whiskey, whiskey?”
oh I remember my days in Hermosa Beach, listening to John Mayer’s “whiskey, whiskey, whiskey, water… yadda, yadda, sleep”… yeah fuck me twenty whatever sucked;
clearly alcohol gave me PTSD
so now I only take proper drugs and smoke a lotta weed,
DJ Taz Rashid please;
light one
I walk a tight one, my exes will always judge me, even if it is just as “unimportant”
so I’m here to write one:
what fear I, future dead guy
like is she gonna leave again after I die,
or am I brave enough to live through my fears while I’m alive,
including being persona-non-grata-dickhead or whatever the fuck you call people you won’t call your people
it is what it is, I am alive and I’m no longer a kid – I was the baddie – I get it
sarah’s just not a write off I’m prepared to take, but who am I to kid:
it wasn’t my decision to make
i have to live as the bad guy in her life, babe that ain’t – fuck that …
but I guess it’s new to me: to be on my own side,
without she who was such a great ally
trans lawrence could have used a good friend or seven or just one like you …
but I am finally my own friend
my vibe healthier than its ever been, I am deep-breath-new-age-man
6:47 am…
i got the girls on my mind, all the time.
but I’m haunted by her version of me,
its silent brutality
so I call my siblings up, my sister and my mom, to remember who I am… cause she forgot

nice weed delivery man

The nicest man came to my abode,
total ENT
god, do I watch lord of the rings today

waterworks

Did you know you were gonna haunt me for good or was that your plan….๐Ÿ‘ฝ๐ŸŒต๐Ÿ“… tho, in truth, I fear-hear you saying, “oh I could care less” about me, before crunching down on a mouthfull of chips or perhaps rolling your eyes, or maybe smacking your beautiful lips down in some judgement, dusting the tortilla chip crumbs off your capable pretty hands
dusting me
the wound you left me: the belief that I wasn’t good enough to know you,
your gift of vitriol, all for me
… how fucking nice that was
and now my best friend my enemy
so I can cry when I walk one dog and tell him about a dog named bubba who used to live in the house across the street… then reminded of us four:
I had a literal dogpile of love around me, and I was miserable;
well fuck you,
because I hate me too –
you were my Julia Stone.
waterworks
like how tf do I even cry like that

the real self pity

I am so so sorry for myself, for all the years I grew up believing crying was a weakness, and for the untold flood, which has hidden behind my face for 34 years, fucking let the rain fall โ˜”๏ธ

tbh

tbh, the best advice I ever received was from a woman of color, while staying in a psychiatric hospital where she worked… I asked her: “is everything going to work out?” And she told me, “It will work out if you think it will work out.”

postscript equestrian fodder from your gossip column writing aunt

Even Elon Musk would rather be an optimist and be wrong than be a pessimist and be right. Good horses to bet on, those optimists.

hatesies

Somewhere there is someone who is supposed to hates me who loves me and I love you too especially when I imagine you are _______________. The lust is a vibe, but you’ll let it die on the vine…. once, once a girl came out and told me she liked me (Leigh Ann Carmody). Could it happen once or twice more before I die… please lort, jesus I am asking you why … but, shiiitt, either way I’m gravy, she either loves me or I have a fantasy…. the risk of spoiling which is probably too priceless, our secret energy, worth as much to you as to me, fuck I am in deep, but it’s a fun, harmless rabbit hole … though you’ll recognize yourself one day, if I can ever make two characters have the hatesies so good for each other, you would never imagine I think about you, or maybe you do

lord shit

last one’s for my self,
because, she deserves it, he, they-them, whatever you want to apply to try and quantify this human animal that I am – and maybe I’ll always go back and forth, but she gave me the courage to be a dyke, and lord shit am I

DIY Jungian Alchemy Spell #888

All is clear,
Beneathe the planes and the people on them, whose lives seem so much bigger than my lizard-brained existence,
Which I can now see through;
It is all clear now:
That I must not walk the easy path,
But the rightful one –
As if I were my own father,
The missing archetype,
Absent my life;
Necessecary for my wholeness,
Owing to one hell of a father wound (in my bloodline) –
For the provisional existence of the puer aeternus – who lives in the shadow – only ends when the father archetype arises, Creating a life where the inner child has the space, respurces, and total security to just play…
That’s my big bet,
… To bring this bright inner child to light, that I will finally live.

Iโ€™m a Bit Glad Even

Come all the way in a year
To myself, to no more fear; and I know I’m pretty now…

Of fact, I must mention her here, who left a year ago, for whom I already broke my heart – back when I was without a friend and desperately in need of one –
Yeah, I learned a lot in the deep dark,
Singing “Dive in the water’s fine!” while they watched me on camera;
The mental health system kept me alive,
And cannabis gave me comfort when I had none – had no interest in life, when all hurt, and I wanted to die –
Months stuck at home in the mountains alone
Days and mornings Satan would have cowered from – I was Kylo Ren, a real dark, wounded one
Till Rey (The Feminine) saved me
Got sober at 33, after crashing and burning on my own, reborn
Mary Jane > Sarah Jane
LMAO
A bitch-boy no more
Bless my self-respect and the ability to spare my life such ungrateful blameful, shameful loathing as I knew –
And of self-knowing alone I will never open myself their way again
Oh sweet Lawrence
The dogs missed the best of you… (indiscriminate mumbling)… faaaaaaaaccccccckkkkk….
I hope she kisses them once for me,
And I hope she loves her self too,
Always all ways
But not once from me, never again like before, projected Madonna on Magdelane, she was Mary for me
Until the pain of discrepancy withdrew the projection for we (anima, inner-child, hairy-man [shadow]) – SELF sum emerged from the dungeon
Yeah, your boy did some heavy alchemy over thousands of hours spent listening to Lil Peep
And isolated for a long spell, in my loneliness, I magically absorbed her spirit into me, now I evoke her thighs in my bike shorts, her ego in my worth,
But I will never see myself through her eyes again, the thought hurts, lies again
What more can I say, I loved her and love all of me she released –
But she can forget about that friend shit forever
Now I know it is not she but my projection that is dead to me
RIP – I loved Lawrence’s Sarah –
And she changed my life
But I did the work
After I was left for dead, Dantes

Now I’m a Mountain Christ, and even have my own Haydee – fuck me ๐Ÿคฏ – she’s worth at least a few poems to me – but back to We:
I am my sun
And moon
Shopping kmart girls for cheap thrills on lonely nights when I was forgotten,
I courted myself,
And fucked myself too –
Oh, and then there was that part where I actually figured out my philosophy and “spirituality” after I wiped my library of the new age “higher power” sewage in favor of an eternally reccuring universe in an infinite space where Nature HerSelf is God!
SHE, running life like a secret co-ordinating agency,
More intelligent than her Agents:
You and Me
Too dumb to know we are pieces on Her board –
Born of DNA, telos of the big bang
I guess you could say it was then that my life became bigger than one judgy person’s opinion of me
In the end, my projection was cooler
And kind – not nice like her kind
So the letters I wrote went in the archive
Read em when I die
I got no more worshipping of others left in me in this life
Save sweet reminiscences in my memoirs, I’ll write what I write, and your price to pay is exile from the rest of my life –
I already paid mine
And it was almost worth it haha
I kid but I live
Half regretful so many lines were regarding her when I have nothing left to say, but that’s also something to say,
And you’ll never know the price I paid,
Needless to say, it was enough to call her big bluff and blow the worthless toxic bridge for good
It took a year but goddamn it feels good to not relate to her
Guess once you get self-esteem and a loving, healthy relationship with yourself, some people lose the right to live rent-free in your head… as if my love for a lifetime were a worthless thing๐Ÿคฅ
I’m obviously still pissed – bad investment –
All I wanted was her fucking friendship forever!!! DEAD. NEVER. NOT EVER.
So we’ll see who really made the bad investment
LongCon is a petty count of monte cristo motherfucker, I really am
My God How I Love Eternal!
Guess my exes got grandfathered in back when I was just a kid
Now my lovers all Sophies and their souls all trophies
Now healers and yoga teachers opening their hearts, getting high, making love w me
But back when we met I didn’t love me so maybe they just see what I do in me
Or maybe the love she did see helped shine a light in me –
Surely
But now I’m Berner415 cold on one hand and christ-hearted in the other
Tension of opposites, Jung: the older I grow the more you become a brother,
And I the grandfather
Shout to a wise man fuck a wiseman
Told you LongCon petty, yeah I have fun
Don’t worry, no one knows your stupid name
But they will
Though I’m really not vindictive, just petty enough to actually make it big
Come on, you didn’t think I was just some stupid kid, did you?
Even Trumpish David O. knew I would stand on his shoulders and piss on his head
But your peak at 23 had no concern for me
I’m going back 11 years, but it’s a potent healing night
Removing projections left and right
Because there is yet integration to be done
And when it comes to what’s in my shadow, you took a lot of my gold –
I know I’m dialoguing via anima when I use “you” instead of she
But there is only one You and that’s me –
I just need all of me
Including the parts of you that I hid from me when I buried (repressed) she,
Everything I projected when you tried on the 5 CT Tiffany and I wanted you to marry me
How’s the ring? haha I die
Even now I’m doing the work bc it never ends, and in this moment, when I realize my anima is possesed by the projection of my first love
Then I know it’s time for a broader me and a more inclusive self-love
What did I bury with you
Ambition
Because your ambition broke my young heart
So I lost my hunger, but I was given my art (see ‘stages of anima development wiki’)
‘The wound is where the light enters’
It just took a long time: a decade to remove these sutures
I was infected long, walking dead
Now I can’t wait to be the cleanest in the cut again,
(And also, just, to be in the cut again, ahem, hello LA)
But I know I can’t wait for the Lambo to feel like Bruce Wayne
The watch doesn’t make the man
But it helps when you have the love of a curly-blonde Katie Holmes
And you’re really a boss when you know you make her feel at home
And you’re really, really a boss when you’re already prepared to let go as she’s tightening, which makes you happy but you just appreciate her more, and let her breathe, like she needs to, because she likes to need you
(And not the other way ’round)
You see, once you establish your own worth, there’s no fearing what you’re worth, or even doubting
For the best people will always love you –
Kind of fucked how long it took me to learn all this but I wasn’t born with me for a dad, though I wish I had been; however, I was born as me, which is the second best thing,
And maybe the first, I mean, I finally think I’m not even mad –
I’m a bit glad even.

Blueberry Donuts

Rapid succession of saved drafts can’t express what takes away breaths,
Sorry, but I kind of love her
And I’m not just writing this to pat my own back, but let me try
Firstly, how lucky am I –
And she loves me something good too – casually but deep, hard
She, INFP, of uncommon beauty,
Yogini, would anger any Karen in her bikini๐Ÿ™๐Ÿผ๐Ÿ˜Š,
But her love takes no toll on me,
She is a lilypad charging station
Manipura love // om mani padme hum;
Sticky, wet, sweat, home
There are so many songs I want to play her
‘Mississippi’ and ‘Isolated’,
Rolling through mountain backroads, smoke rolling out the windows: my hand on her dank thigh
Babe obvi smokes as much dank as I
Right happy she is mine for a time
A season as seasons go,
To unwind the energy at the base of my spine,
This is a level 10 love
Kundalini flow –
It was a perfect day,
Her beside me in every way,
How my cup runneth over, oh babe
And I just had another blueberry donut too

Power is the ability to choose how you respond.

There are many ways to see things
Your perspective determines which and how much you will suffer

The quality of your consciousness is the quality of your life:
We are our thoughts – but more importantly, we must live with the feelings our thoughts create

Weโ€™re touching the surface now,
Joseph Campbell told us how:

“All the gods and all the devils and all the heavens and all the hells are within you.”
The gavel is yours, a double-edged sword only you wield

How often a sour eye for the world poisons a whole family’s hope –
Only now you’re an adult, and so must own the world you live in

But unless you accept that you have created the life you have,
You’ll never have the power to create the life you want

Because power is the ability to choose how you respond,
And we have always had it, whether we were consciously aware of it or not

This is no heavy weight; you are not here to “take” responsibility,
You are here to take it back

Because only you giveth and taketh away,
For your entire adult life it’s been that way

But now you’re safe, knowing if you didn’t consciously chooose a response,
Its just a reaction anyway

The patient wisdom of the space between stimulus and response, is your coup de grace,
By which you dead all automatic reactions, seperating danger from fear

So develop control of the avatar (response ability) or allow your body to ride you like a horse unto the grave (reactivity)…

Which will it be?

Re-Accessing The Guardian: Inner Child Mind-Dump Vol 1 ๐Ÿ™‡๐Ÿปโ€โ™‚๏ธ๐Ÿง ๐Ÿ’ฉ

I did not receive the programming for peace early on,
Which means neither did my parents, so the cycle went on

Now I’m finally giving me,
What I wanted all along:
The self-esteem and inner-security, oft accordingly passed on,
Based upon the family, into which you were born
And perhaps like me,
You were similarly forlorn,
In not being destined
To be enpowered as something handed down

For we learn young,
Our adult disposition formed earlier than we know,
Out of the impressioned youth,
Into which we grow
“Give me a child till the age of seven, and I will show you the man”, goes the Jesuit maxim,
Spoken by thise who understand,
A way of thinking that’s taught,
Learned secondhand

Scared nervous people,
Raise scared nervous kids,
Lacking the psychological security,
The ‘fortunate’ give theirs
Yes, it’s a class issue,
The socioeconomic status of those from whom you receive your DNA
But birth is not a fair lottery,
And it’s always been that way

Until we can time travel,
We will never have a say,
In the life we were given to,
And what led us to today
So reject the fatalistic resignation,
Which the victim always sees at play
And nurture your nature,
With what you think and say

And neither be afraid to ponder,
The past and the role it played,
Because we have to understand,
Or we make the same mistakes again and again
Yes, I’ll be 35 in a year,
And I’m just now here:
Seeing why I am the way I am,
And how I can change my thinking, to change the way I live

And I know it all goes back to the start,
Inner child, sometimes without dinner child
Whose magical consciousness is full of gifts to give – inner truths
Yet eterneally vulnerable,
To how you feel and live:
Needing the ever present safety and security, like you needed as a child – but from you,
To express through you –
Given that, just imagine,
What the two of you could do:

If you could give him,
The worth he’d want to give to you
For there are no time machines,
But there are centers, containers of consciousness, called archetypes –
Through which we can reprogram the inner you –
And the inner-child, most deserving and pure (Does not mean non-sexual – love, sex, between adults can also be pure :)
Warrants nothing less than a seat at the table, replete with a voice
For he has much to bequeathe unto you, deserves your heart and the power of choice

And we ourselves most should invest here;
For inner child wants the best for us,
Just to share,
In the dreams he can conjure, and the desire to get there;
We ought give the reigns to inner child
– As is their proper inheritence –
But this is not to give license to the puer,
The eternal child, who likes too much to be master of his lair:
Think Peter Pan: he’s rather Lizard brained,
Whereas inner child is now wisened, with access to his guardian and not control over him

It’s a choice distinction,
Between the two
For we want to open to life,
Not be swallowed by its shadow
For that’s what this is about:
Re-accessing the truest part of you,
Who is always there, though sometimes long unbeknownst to you,
For inner child often goes “underground” to protect itself:

As is the case, when we have not made inner child feel safe
And silenced the vulnerability,
Refused our softest-self space
Yes, even inner-child hides in the shadow,
Repressed
In the unconscious,
Without the means to express
For if we don’t listen to our little self, we’ll have neither the wings nor the breath:

To reconnect with us,
And work together on what’s ahead
Focusing on the future,
And not living in the past,
But never forgetting, the rawness of our path:
But what breaks my heart most, is that my inner child is older than I,
Had to face all that without so much as a ‘Self’ – much less a persona to chill behind
Dearest inner child!,
Greatest hero of mine!

Tell me where you want to go,
And I’ll take you to the stars!!
We know I’m sorry, for all those nights spent in bars,
Or behind them,
Once or thrice
You suffered most, through all my vice (fear and self-pity greatest among them)
Betrayed my very heart, and put you in the dark –
Had no time for something I didn’t know held my brightest spark

Till I re-membered you,
Put you back together, and me too,
With compassion for what I never could forget:
The childhood we endured –
You without my strength around,
For so mang years,
When it felt natural to be down
Oh man oh man, we finally made it out – what a mindfuck that was

Till together again at last, a second childhood of sorts,
Me like your adopted dad,
Reunited with my boyhood self –
And I could not be more glad

Nor more surpised to find myself a solid man,
Who knows that without the boy, I could never create such rich, exciting plans ๐Ÿฅฐโ›ต๏ธ

True-True

I remain unknown,
But I am finally known to myself
The pearl of great price at the bottom of my sea took me thirty-four years to reach,
And I grasp the meaning of life in the baby oak leaf fallen on the stoop this morning: tempus aeternum
I am realised, released:
My id no longer riding me like a horse;
My libido, the dragon, now in service of my anima, my heart
Oh how it has broken
These queen pieces on my chess board, all fallen
I could name them – and I used to – but they all know I love them, and no one cares
For what can I, the bard, offer but the intangible, which is always fungible to any but the rarest seer – who is both mythical and mystical –
The she-wolf to this sea-wolf
But my animus incarnation is deceased to many and dying to some,
How slow and painfilled have I wilted on the vine for them
Sour grapes, the lot of lost love…
Yet in others I am sweetness, still ripening – or yet born
And for Dr. Mia GoWell, I am stillborn, D.O.A, R.I.P, nulled
One day she will reverse-moby me,
Say, “I dated him”
And I’ll yawn…
Because through all of this, I trust nature,
Knowing She knows All, timing and purpose too
You see, I’ve been through these cycles, these seasons before,
Ends of chapters and of books in the tome of my life
Cities and loves and always the quiet lonely ends
Only time is easier now
In the midsummer of my life
But I don’t want Fall,
I want Autumn, auctus
Not Summer,
But sagma, to pack and leave
And I soon think I will,
Escape the belly of this whale
Take Blackie to LA
Simplify, succeed,
Need no more succor
Care no more about her everlasting rancor
Be at peace, anchored to the microbiome in my core
Intel-inside, I’ve nothing left to hide
Nature boy, the human satyr,
I’m a lover, the world will see Me later,
Until then, I’ll close my eyes for five or ten,
Just to die and wake again
My Self, My Truest Friend,
Whom I’ll remain faithful to, till the end
Until trillions of years from now, when the Universe and we are born again

How to Survive Vol 1: Self-Love is Our Panacea

Strong enough, you are
To ride the wave of Your Motherf’n Life

Many anxious, lonely, sad peoples…
Much depression in world; great fear, uncertainty, and doubt

But there do be a boss way to move,
Empowered by a self-love that’s more powerful than fear (hadouken!)

Love > Fear

Yet we all fall into the self-doubting insecurity of the LVL 1 crook

When, really, there does exist the strength in you for all of this
And the purpose too

You just don’t know why you’re still struggling,
Why your life isn’t this yet:

But it will be,
Whatever you commit it to being

And oneday, your heart will break for how hard it was on you,
How scared you were

And the sooner the better;
For self-love is our panacea

๐“‚€ signal vs. noise

The Goddesses and the Gods sing my song
(La la la la la, La la la la la la, La la la la la, La la la la)
Sirens and The Princes sing my song and they love me;
For when vibrations resonate with their own frequencies,
There is (always) harmony:
It’s how friends, lovers, scoundrels, and fools fall thick as theives

Conversely,
When the energies, archetypes, and their consciousnesses are not aligned and do not resonate, vibrate, or match,
Then there is dissonance,
And things are (always) inharmonious,
Their presence grating on us like a loud motorbike,
And not the calming eye of the gods and goddesses
๐“‚€;
People are energetic mirrors,
Reflecting and communicating,
From their surfaces and their depths
Back to our own conscious and unconscious minds,
Creating space
Where something is shared:
The transference of meaning:
The truth of inner and outer sight,
So that from the goddess there emerges the god,
And in the intellect of another, we find our own intelligence,
Which wants no mask,
(tired as it is of not being seen and thus being masked)
For others reflect back their counterparts in us,
And we see ourselves in them
And the stage is set for the players to begin and end