FEEL MY HATE THE POWER IS THE WEIGHT

Poetry. Prose. Philosophy. Rage. Vegan For The Animals. Straight Edge. Unavailable.

[mattywrites]

Time to go forwards. Same name, different attitude @mattydemise

[mattywrites]

До бога высоко до царя далеко

[mattywrites]

Time to go forwards. Same name, different attitude @mattydemise

[mattydemise]

С волками жить по-волчьи выть

[mattywrites]

Distance hitting harder than usual today. I'm in prison. Sometimes I forget my own name in here.

[mattywrites]

Criticise the legislators that criminalise and demonise addicts, those that make it difficult for people to navigate an already challenging set of circumstances harder and more arduous, and not the addicts themselves.

[mattywrites]

До бога высоко до царя далеко

[mattywrites]

we wrote poetry in the dark and whispered things better left unsaid is love not a sacrament built on ideas that terrify us into action moonlight whispered through cracks in the blinds and illuminated limbs entangled like creeping vines

'creepers' poetry by matthew marcel

[mattywrites]

I don't trust easy. What’s easy. It makes my skin crawl and itch. I'm sceptical of liquid ease, of something that presents a no adversity or challenge. I don't think it's possible for me to exist in something that is utterly without complication. There's this buggering, nattering desire for something to work through, to get over, and overcome. Fuck simplicity. Peace is for the rotting body and the mind as its energy is scattered to the four corners and traverses bounds of existence yet unimagined.

[mattywrites]

До бога высоко до царя далеко

[mattywrites]

До бога высоко до царя далеко

[mattywrites]

I am thinking about the devastating nature of love again. It's like having your mouth put against the concrete guttering on the side of the road and being curbstomped. You do not walk away the same man you were before the attack. It's an assault to the senses in every respect. I used to write about love like it was violence incarnate, never having dipped more than a toe in it for both selfless and selfish reasons. Now, I speak with the authority of someone that's holding a sceptre and a sword. I think to allow oneself to be gripped by its merciless hands is ultimately the fate of us all. We are thrown around like a ragdoll by life and love whether we choose it or not. Camus advocated that we choose life simply to defy the nature of the absurd. This universe is not a place of happiness, joy, or love, and yet humanity feels the barbs of each. We have been stung every emotion on the spectrum, for better or worse. What are we if not our collection of traits that are diametrically opposed to the bleak, infinite void that rests just outside of our sphere of perception. We must feel, because to not do so, is to surrender yourself to the pull of that very void that seeks an impartial expansion and erasure of everything in totality. To love, to feel, is everything. It's a blessing to be afflicted even though there are times where I acknowledge I am the man with the heavy boots than the one with his mouth on the concrete. I am again reminded of this quote from Scorsese's Goodfellas, "Every once in a while, I'd have to take a beating. But by then, I didn't care. The way I saw it, everybody takes a beating sometime." - Henry Hill

[mattydemise]

С волками жить по-волчьи выть

[mattywrites]

Time to go forwards. Same name, different attitude @mattydemise

[mattywrites]

I wept for the agonies in you and felt a love well inside me, more fierce than I could've conceived. It was a brutality. Sheer warfare. However, it's ours. That is what's important. You man the guns and bolster the trenches, digging deeper and fortifying the walls with whatever scarps you can find. Ours isn't a quick firefight with gun smoke that wafts away easily, but an arduous war of attrition. We fight with every single piece of will we can muster. Tomorrow will be profound in its glory. That is why we throw ourselves over the wall. Not for honour or glory, but for home, for love. Enduring the endless barbs cast so that we can charge forwards and in earnest say we fought the good fight. There is an infinitude more pain in regret than in failure. What a rare pleasure it is to love, to hunger, to die for something, anything, greater than yourself.

[mattywrites]

До бога высоко до царя далеко

[mattywrites]

До бога высоко до царя далеко