going south
|
Posted:Sep 20, 2012 7:48 pm
Last Updated:Aug 7, 2013 3:39 am
1447 Views
|
Dopesick on the dixie highway
its pouring from the back of my mind
i know it cant end another way
im jaded, ive come to hate it
...but i need it, to the end..
...from nothing to begin with
Fast driving or just along for a ride
they say i'll find it when im empty- left to hide
you wont believe i dont want anymore
stuck on the asphalt
its never been this hard before
more agonizing all alone
by myself again
...and running from
a likeness is kept...
a stranger
...my right mind he's left
Face how I got here cant fight anymore
my minds made up -
- like a dixie
beside myself again
.its alright! No such thing as a friend
jumped off, another highwayman
cant see past not comin back
just leave it alone
good parasite dont kill its host
everyday, i pay...
...a long ugly truth refused
Repent?
and take account of every balloon ive ever used
Fucked up throwdown
A curious knock off
A rock at the top
Chance in the arm of her taker
|
|
|
0
Comments
|
|
ode modernity
|
Posted:Sep 20, 2012 1:12 am
Last Updated:Aug 7, 2013 3:43 am
1555 Views
|
never ending dreams
time wont wait for me
as you know-
-he lays wreaths everywhere
wearing a uniform
made of white glove-leather
dreamer walks in
desert-like scenery
repeats the ritual
to the point of absurdity
bloodless command
stressing monotony
dirty formula
i alone and machine
never and never it seems
approach to the end
my mind wont stand still for me
everything i know is artificial
by electricity
necrophiliac character
in the heart of the city
two humanized swine
seen manipulating
it looks like they're dead
but i hope theyre just sleeping
deeper and deeper
steel, glass, and energy
no sign of life
modern industrial society
such a waste of rare time
crushed in anxiety
|
|
|
1
comment
|
|
missing bliss
|
Posted:Sep 18, 2012 2:03 pm
Last Updated:Aug 7, 2013 3:43 am
1465 Views
|
O Lust, lust and restraint, the crux of morality; listen! For I have not spoken of purity. One consequence of this sin of omission is my having been diagnosed and labeled a necrophile. My instincts urged me to dispute but I am not so easy to persuade. A false judgment deduced from faulty premises in an impaired mind?—more than likely. So what, I will not deny a certain disposition and what it has colored my attitudes with, and how these are pervasive attitudes. What do we live with if not, plainly, a realm of death? And is not our perceived mortality “The” effective impetus to the myriads of pleas that refute deaths low and echoing rumble? This exchange of consciousness and certainty of a shared demise, one and all, is the source of any metaphysic, and likewise, any fantasies that accompany us on our march. Our answers to this call, understandably, become the unfathomable necessity and richness and beauty in human creativity. And yet we arrogantly dismiss these as an antiquated vestige of ages gone; and then, with silly misgivings, pretend we need not the answer and float recklessly about the labyrinth sick and writhing with anomia, cynicisms, and nervous laughter because, whether we admit it or not, it makes us anxious and frustrated. Well then, if you are unfortunate enough to be blessed with the wish to penetrate the veil then you are unfortunate in enduring its mood. But is this emotive tendency to be conceived as some restricted fondness towards its underpinnings, as some dim-witted culmination of a spirit from which only deterioration may ensue? Or, have we here the appraisal of the confounded heart, that unfettered soul who would soar clumsily through the nimbus of multitudes to be beaten again and again by the lure of something further profound, led astray by the droning of a merciless logic, with only an apparent purpose, into the maze of religious intrigue, and then to divine the paradox therein; to arrive at the center of a mystery, where for all its fight, inextinguishable regrets, without much desire for victory and less for glory, with nothing left around, no witnesses, it finds its ultimate wisdom? The truth is appalling. Perhaps that is only a belief, but it is a pronounced one. I can never wrest my soul from this knowing. And that itself is a burden, a burden that stirs desires and hatreds in me that seem of their own wills. A vision of greyness without form and filled with agony and a careless contempt for all things evanescent . Still, I affirm the glimpse of truth afforded me and, probably, that is the whole difference. My demeanor and tastes would surely exude the aura of sickness to the uninitiated.
|
|
|
0
Comments
|
|
of knowing
|
Posted:Sep 17, 2012 2:34 pm
Last Updated:Aug 7, 2013 3:48 am
1459 Views
|
How could she? How can we now move on to new and better forms when we have not yet destroyed the old? Maybe that’s what she is; perhaps she is a gesture of that prerequisite de-construction. And I am, perhaps, so much an adept of that thankless melody that I cannot do otherwise. New religion?-All new temples are built over ancient sacred sites; this only possible ensuing miscreation. This, an apology for iconoclasm; an understanding and hearty yea-saying affirmation of an indispensable and archetypal compulsion? Oh this a reason to be, a wholesome contribution the character of the universe; a sign of the times, a spirit of existence, a slow and painful ritual of burning youth, an artful enforcing of a terrible and epic law. The pathos! The pathos and the utter futility to resist; the waivering and turning of my nose from the married stench of blood, semen and the void. Is it my purpose? My Purpose! Am I a mere instrument, a catalyst for ruin? For even within a of God writhes the tendency for dissolution. All that I would become flows from that dreaded tenor and seeks its species with a long-lived and worm-like sensibility. This, a pure and earthly quality of being, a being that stripped of mythic devices can offer little comfort and even less hope; a being that indicates and dignifies its occasion with disease and vice. My god, from what untold depths does this current spring, from what stellar expanse does it radiate? Have I fallen? Have I fallen as a speck of mortar from a structure that binds the order of an age? Shall I burn? Am I but an insignificant stalk of kindling desiccated by circumstance and ignited in passion to smolder beneath the superfluity of social undergrowth? But, at least, there are stormclouds gathering on the horizon, and there is a waxing of the breeze, a breeze that carries on it the rank promise of rot, the same breeze that fans small fires to conflagration.
|
|
|
0
Comments
|
|
charmed
|
Posted:Sep 16, 2012 10:05 pm
Last Updated:Aug 7, 2013 3:51 am
1751 Views
|
It wasn’t so cold except for the wind. The contortions of the branches seemed more than random. Taken by their interval I remember the knowing, that half of this dance is choreographed by negation; and this knowing was formed over a consciousness born with the first sickening smack of lacerating flesh, kissing me with a dreadful, savage and lawless kiss. Therein was creation- gravid with the unwanted knowing. Existence true is indeed tragic and on this day tragic in the sense that when I find myself cursing I am blasting the name of the almighty. With no one left to blame all true and sincere curses must descend upon the head of all those who cast them skyward. God hate, therefore, is the immediate precedent to the utmost beauty of an earthly and shocking type of falling in love. I had been seduced. And how do I love this witch, fate? Both wholly and forbiddingly, and no longer at war with being, and sentimentally, and of course unhappily with even a touch of contempt, like true lovers love. Though she is indeed beautiful, and beautiful in a more profound sense than that of mere appearance; I suppose it is a simpler beauty but one no less astounding. For she is wrought the uneven proportions of torture over reward, however, for this I have become a masochist. She speaks little of reason and has no need of account. Since it is strange to love and to expect, or even hope for, no love in return; I have resolved myself to strangeness, I have resolved myself to a grotesque affection. Cruel mistress, how many serve thee with adoration? How many have even come to notice thee lulling behind the masks of artifice, tempting and warning at once? But I have resonated with your songs of misfortune and joy. In my disillusionment, disgust, and utter frenzy I have become your stalker.
|
|
|
0
Comments
|
|
"life is too short"???
|
Posted:Sep 16, 2012 8:24 pm
Last Updated:Sep 16, 2012 10:14 pm
1529 Views
|
Here’s one “life is too short”, its in every other profile. Why don’t we just say “water is too wet” or “the earth is too round”. Obviously anyone could add to this non-sense forever, but the special point about the “life” judgment is its muted grandiosity. For whatever occasion is wrought with the stress of temporality that precipitates such an indictment is an occasion that owes its particular value to the condition that it is inextricably finite. Think what you will, but this line of reasoning is at the heart of this blog. This reasoning is the same that confronts the source of the dread and longing which keeps us dedicated to another attempt to free ourselves from them in the mouth, in the body, of a lover. I don’t mean to sound pedantic, I really don’t, I just find it excruciatingly needful to wonder about what makes me/us tick. So life is short, but if it wasn’t there would be no intrinsic value, good, bad, or ugly, to each and every consequence of each and every action, decision, word or lack. Well, does that suck? If it does it sucks only in contrast to oblivion. Give me the intensity and you can keep the infinity.
|
|
|
0
Comments
|
|
Hello, Im Bryan
|
Posted:Sep 16, 2012 2:34 am
Last Updated:Sep 16, 2012 3:15 am
1550 Views
|
BLA bla bla, bla bla bla bla bla Blog! I wont make many friends here, but...yeah, I wont. I will try and cerebralize in the midst of, quite literally here, a bunch of dicks, cunts, and assholes. So essentially this venue is completely on par for normal, very well. Anyway, I happened on a couple blogs.(I should not need to note that I shot my wad just looking at the freaks to hit up on the site so that, through some force of morbid curiosity that borders on the banal, I chanced upon the blogs on HotMatch.com.)I ran my eyes over a few lines when, immediatly, I was seized with an inplacable urge to chime in. This is my disease; my need to fulfill the roll of the antithesis. The irony will end up being then that my existence is, once again, questioned precisely in a millieu designed to abolish it. And that can only mean that, unfortunatly, yours will be too. Oh well, irony is overrated and ive come later in life to commensurate with its neglected little brother, that of plain contradiction. Talk to ya soon...-bryan p.s. if you notice any typos, fuck you, im tired
|
|
|
0
Comments
|
|
To link to this blog (rm_ashes1st) use [blog rm_ashes1st] in your messages.
|
|
|
| Sun |
Mon |
Tue |
Wed |
Thu |
Fri |
Sat |
| |
|
|
|
|
|
1
|
2
|
3
|
4
|
5
|
6
|
7
|
8
|
9
|
10
|
11
|
12
|
13
|
14
|
15
|
|
163
|
171
|
181
|
19
|
202
|
21
|
22
|
23
|
24
|
25
|
26
|
27
|
28
|
29
|
30
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
