#ishiganto

[ishiganto]

"The trees sing up here. They speak too."

[ishiganto]

Rubbish

Son of the soil

Tainted from all of the places he's been

Goodness damaged

From all the things he did.

A soldier of love

Suffering

From post-traumatic hopes and dreams

Misguided realizations

Erotic visions

Comfortable nightmares.

Night wears.

Broken pieces

Composite cast-off

Out-of-the -box, misunderstood misfit

Embracing danger

As a way to stay sharp

Stay frosty

Stay woke

Stay alive

While zombies and vampires

Procreate around you.

You.

Your skeletal self.

Your hadal nature.

Your darkness reserved to preserve

Deep waters, holy ground

Sacred space

Ashes from burned bodies

Scorched rope

Cuddled under ancient trees

Swinging.

Breathing.

[ishiganto]

Water Sign

[ishiganto]

[ishiganto]

Stoned Woman

Does my bloodied eye offend you?

Does my exposed breast?

The same one you gazed upon

The same one you groped as I moved through the crowd

The same one you licked your cracked lips over before calling me a whore.

Does my black hair offend you?

Matted now, but once flowing

Filling your imagination you said

Fragrant with jasmine

You inhaling it as if it gave you life

But such a shame that I exposed a lock.

Does the sound excite you?

The thump against my flesh you dreamed about

The closeness you desired

Rejected, now transmuted into crime to compensate for your impotence.

You salivate over the sight

You hoard as fluffer fuel for nighttime fantasies

Sins you pray to atone for

Desire you pray to know more

Youthful stamina you pray to regain in hopes of performing acts you bellow as being taboo.

You clench the stones you wish were my body

Cast them in perverted righteousness

At your daughter, sister, wife, mistress, harlot, witch

Piling pebbles and tinder at my feet

In attempts to stone and burn

The force you love, hate, and crave to fuck

But you

Will never

Own

Me.

石敢當

5.5.2019

[ishiganto]

Palo Santo, Frankincense, and Myrrh.

[ishiganto]

SoulRebel Raimon at work.

[ishiganto]

“Book of Demons”

They actually brought someone’s “Book of Demons” to my office. Someone left it in the warehouse, coworkers found it, and now everyone is concerned. I looked at the inverted crosses scribbled clearly with a black Sharpie across the Skillcraft, hard-bound green notebook. I chuckled. The chief began his pitch in a serious, low tone, “Apparently this guy is into santanism (that’s actually how he pronounced it) and some kind of devil-music group...”, all the while thumbing through the pages of the notebook.

I stand there at my desk thinking: “Is this serious? What type of teenage grimoire is this? I hope this doesn’t contain a death list? Why are we wasting our time? It clearly says PERSONAL, in scary block letters.”

The chief finishes his pitch. At least he didn’t start preaching, but by now I find the whole event amusing. The chief says, “I’m going to talk to the Boss about it.” Now I’m laughing, out-loud and to myself. “Don’t bother. Just go find the guy and ask if he’s alright,” I say,  “And let him know we can connect him with free art classes, because his demon drawing skills suck.”