#akrx

[dark-wackademia]

What it means to live.

If you knew you had but so long, what books would you read?

What would you draw, write, create in bliss and joy for the enjoyment of it?

What, rather, holds you to living?

You want to wake to it, again and again.

I'm proud of myself for finding it and dedicating myself to it.

Maybe too overzealous, at times, but that is how I love.

Why would it, my life's focus, reason to live, one true and lasting (eternal) loves be any different?

I will die content in any moment knowing I was always in dance with my true love: Love itself, Life itself.

I gave my best till my dying breath. --AKRx

(originally wrote on: 8/18/23, 4 am)

[nostalgicminutia]

Death is something that happens to you while your planning on life, on tomorrow coming.

So, carful of your next step but do not forget

To fly,

Live well without regret,

For we all will die.-AKRx

[imnotbitteranymore-imsyrupysweet]

He and I, sea and sky.

He meets me, For a time–all time–is all I see. He is lightning slashed across midnight blue, Bright and brilliant, blinding, as he pierces through, The veil which separates. In my meeting such destruction, he celebrates. Cracking thunder, Rolling, harrowing screams of breaking timber. This is a gift, like Ganymede, he cannot help but plunder. Where or when it is to fall is not for our knowing. All of us pours into one another—glowing. I look on with my heart as nothing more than tinder, For this rod ripping through Aithír for me—golden, The color of sap against tree bark—amber. Zeus’s ambrosia-drenched lightning, which sends men to their graves; The jagged noise licking through into the ragged, raging waves, As if thrashing against all that it does not see or hear, Stupefied as much as the knobby-kneed baby deer. Drunkenly consumed by my beloved’s Ichor, Let it rain down and run on through me anyhow. Thunder rolling with a violent roar, ripping into my very core, Burning kisses laid to furrowed brow. Let me swim in nothingness, forevermore. It is my choice of poison, Every time, I've come to find, In every life. The storm sings on. Fighting to say all it feels but cannot yet find words to speak. I return my own song, However broken, however meek. There will be no dawn. There will be no night. All is gone. All is light. – AKRx

[imnotbitteranymore-imsyrupysweet]

The Necessary Disgrace

Comfort—ah yes, the devil’s lullaby. A velvet gag, mistaken for mercy, the narcotic of the unconscious. We cling to its mask as though it were salvation, yet it is only a tapestry of rebranded lies, suckled at the breast like docile babes. We are fattened on ideals not our own, lulled into stupor so we might never face the unbearable task— the unveiling of our own face hiding behind the mask.

Ignominious, they would name it— from in- “not” and nomen “name,” the disgrace of losing the borrowed identity, the infamy of stepping beyond their gilded illusions. To commit such an act, commettere un’ignominia, is to embrace the scandal of becoming no one but oneself. Odium be damned! For it is the only true glory left to us.

Awakening is no hymn whispered to dawn. It is terror incarnate: the beauty that blinds, the disgust that corrodes, the falsehoods laid bare in light—such brittle bones. It is descending into the cavern of one’s own depths to discover one’s true home, and confronting the monster that dwells there— then daring to take its hand, without yielding to despair.

Yes, Homeric even, this descent. For within us Apollo and Dionysus wage their endless quarrel: light and dark, harmony and frenzy, the healer and the bringer of plague, the lyrist and the archer, the drunken uncle and the divine madman who rends flesh from bone. Each holds their extremes, and to deny one is to castrate the other. For Apollo too carries pestilence in his quiver, and Dionysus, laughter in his cup.

This is the truth: within the sickeningly sweet filth, within the holy terror and the luminous stain, there lies the possibility of being fully alive. Not the pantomime life, not the borrowed name recited like an empty catechism— but a life ignominious in the eyes of the world. And thus, paradoxically, the more you are shunned in your truest form, the more you are worthy. — A.K.Rx

[imnotbitteranymore-imsyrupysweet]

No Name but My Own

They called my choices ignominious— a word shaped from Latin roots, in- for “not,” nomen for “name,” a stripping away of honor, a refusal of the good label.

To them, I was a body without a name, a shadow outside their graced hall, an exile from their polished mirrors.

But in the quiet, I traced that etymology deeper: not-name, not-their-name. And in the absence of borrowed syllables, my own voice began to bloom— unlettered, unblessed, but unbroken.

If disgrace is only the loss of a title they would brand upon my skin, then let disgrace be my freedom. Let shame peel away the borrowed masks, until I am raw, luminous, a self unashamed of its scars.

I will not live ignominiously, not because I bow to their definitions, but because I name myself, and in naming, I become so much more than Self. — A.K.Rx

[imnotbitteranymore-imsyrupysweet]

(alt title) "aren't you ashamed to be so starved, so hungry, so raw and crudely open as deeply as anyone could be?"

I’ll Rot Your Teeth Down To Their Core.

“My greatest fright is that I’ll sleep alone for the rest of my life, never to hold another in that dead of night. My fear I examined just y

[imnotbitteranymore-imsyrupysweet]

The beauty you see in anything is a reflection of the beauty in you

And so, you see, no matter how ugly, no matter the level of disgust and distain, to only see those things, I always try my utmost to refrain. Only those most wise know the truth, beauty can be quite vile too. For I know best of all, there is not one without the other in a life well lived, just as there is never love without, at very least, a bit of pain. -A.K.Rx

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