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@beliefisghost
memento mori
I want all the things I ever had back
I want all the things I've ever lost back
You can't go back
You can't get nothing back
Once it's gone
It's gone for good
We've always got ghosts
But they've got no substance
They forgot us
I want who I was once back
I want who I used to be
To stop haunting me
All of me is memory
Memento mori...
7-Stage Redemption Technique (wake the living dead)
The 1st Stage of life is a creation and celebration of our bodacious being. Our intense interests entrance and uplift us. Our funky fantasies propel us... Then Stage 2 is us silly skeletons picking up a hardcore habit of conspicuous consumption and a potent passion for semi-controlled chaos. (Whatever keeps us entertained!) Stage 3 is where our odd and sometimes ugly obsessions stop messing around and finally take a shot at devouring us completely. Caaaarunch, they boldly bite into our brittle bones..... Stage 4 is getting down to the dirty-work of denying the dismal damnation and destruction of being (we can be obliterated so easily). Stage 5 is rapturously having a really revitalizing realization (this differs for everyone). Stage 6 is achieving an acceptance that both the awesome and the awful are absolutely essential. And the 7th stage is a return/a recycling back to the first stage to start the peculiar, perplexing, yet often quite pleasant pattern of living all over again. And with every reset we grow stronger and smarter. Fuck yeah! Don't give up.
A ghost is a gasp of a god
take a deep breath and be blessed
inhale exhale exist
believe in the self more than this
everything we know is just a guess
This.
I always tell myself things will be different this time,
but I can’t stop thinking about how they used to be.
Oh! To be a ghost without a memory
Disintegrated by self-inflicted entropy
Defying the futile chains of mortality
Letting go of the living tendency to bleed
Now haunting is the only mouth that’s left to feed.
I am not getting trapped in there without a light
On a Windy Night, ink.
Off on the haunt
Alien all alone
I only torment myself
Because I get pleasure
Being my bad dream
I am paranoid
Of becoming blind
Or finding out
My perspective on
Patterns has
Always been imperfectly
Defined in
The spiral of black hole
That’s called my mind
Beset by anticipation
Of imminent exposure
To elements beyond
The so-called Pale
Thence a tremendous trembling
Within this “bold” heart
Turned cold now
By damned design
And up to windy heights
My spirit does climb
What will I find?
Something spooky I feel
seems seeping spirit seeking
the way it used to be,
maybe mere moments before, inside of me.
For now,
I’m anxiously anticipating a realization
I believe will emerge from the eerie end that I envision.
Dreamed up,
any rationalization can begin an obsession
that could potentially paralyze me with paranoid delusion.
Misery is,
mortal mannequin movements marred
by hesitation marks showing my eternal indecision
This is everything....
Inside me, a fully hollow but heavy heart--
under my sick skin an eternally airy density--
this is everything of me.
As above So below-->
Outer (infinite) space
Inside (limitless) hollow....
That side (future) push
The other (past) pull....
Heads (hearts) both empty and full.
Bodies as vessels for (cradling) soul.
Spirit (as an entity forceful) encasing us whole.
Keep holding on until it’s (already) right now.
(We will mess up but still make this work)
We get twisted around, moving in a (lop-sided) spiral.
Kindness and patience are not (always) a waste.
We can (try to) tolerate our own disdain,
but we don’t have to like its (sour) taste.
As above So below.....
Nothing (0) is for sure though---
That’s the one thing we (should) all know.
Anything can change. Everything _will_ change.
In the end what is typical now will even seem strange.
Evolve, devolve,
or love?
Whatever we do, we can never get enough.
**Can’t See The Trees Through The Forest**
Covered in a shiny skin,
frozen snowy still spiritual,
about who we used to be
making no sound at all,
to distract from and drive away
many a maddening memory.
Fending off forlorn feelings, but barely
becoming somehow taller
towards trampling fragile virginity
wooden weight pressing down,
begging to be cradled
in a fleshy layer of calm cold,
bleak but streaked with Borealis,
cycles repeating themselves
endlessly bound by a biting insanity.
“Farewell,” we’ll say to
the barren landscape aging us
eventually, after seasons pass
where we are awaiting a thaw
that, like a doubtful dawn,
may never break
the ice inside our veins.
All we have is the idea of escape
growing thoughts that plague
inside anxieties we create,
and softly now we whisper on
a frigid breeze like falling leaves,
from limbs we hang
icicle-eyes a’gleem
from fires we struggle to see;
if we weren’t already so dismal
we’d just be embers of a dying light
creating warmth for us inside.
Once we had each other
the highs stopped
making us feel less down.
The world is a forest
and we are the leaves
on an existential tree--
We can truly make it
to Fall like holy seeds
upon gemlike ground beneath,
awaiting the equinox breeze,
to wrap our roots around
our ever-evolving reality;
and then we’ll be
sprouting in perpetuity upwards,
but always and forever,
without any particular point to pray towards.
We only know we are, but not what.
I see shadow and it makes me instantly shudder,
an example of how I fear some hidden “other”.
Like there’s always an entity in my home, in my mind
that I feel afraid I might find...
This is what I see in the dark---all the time
I fearlessly float, both frazzled and forlorn,
knowing all these feelings
should finally be gone by morn.
--
And knowing no one will mourn.
I sway in the wind as I hang from this limb,
the noose around my neck was not just a whim.
Get up. It’s a brand new damned day.
The air stinks of our fresh decay
but still our spirits seek to stay
from the suck of The Light, away.
Wake up! It’s time for us all to pay.
The things I’m terrified of are in the thousands
Feelings I fear, there are quite a few
Savage spectres shadow and surround me
Seeking to steal my soul for their sustenance
Gather and grab at me with grief’s grip
My heart gets so heavy with haunting
and death by design is damned daunting...
Push and pull--
Let me go;
You left me with your love
Like a ghost...
Seems like there is a presence unwanted here.
There’s something standing in the corner
waiting to surprise me as soon as I flip on the light.
I can feel the glow of its eyes.
But if I stay in the dark I won’t see it coming
until it is directly in front of my face
and I can feel the heat of its breath.
Seems like nothing can save me now.
We start out bad and only get worse.
We don't believe in spirit, just matter.
And nothing really matters.
--
We start out ill and only get sicker.
We don't believe there's much meaning, to sweaty fever-dreaming.
Not when our waking world feels so surreal.
--
And in the end there won't be much of us left.
Our faiths flaked away like layers of dry flesh, just to prove a point:
That there was no point. --
Here’s a plan that’ll give us plenty to do....
Don’t be so scared of life, because it’s just as afraid of you,
and really take the time to decide what you think is true.
