A Penny For Your Thoughts

I could use someone to talk to but most of my conversations with men seem to revolve around music… oh, random ppl of the oolusphere! How much would it cost to buy you out?


Mistakes & Regrets

My mistakes haunt me. My poor decisions make me want to scream. My long memory makes the years feel like an interminably long time.

I am afraid that I’ve lost the spark. Terrified, in fact. Because, what is the point of living if I don’t feel alive? And what will it be like afterwards? Is it better to stay here on this earth and hope, or to cross the boundary and see what’s on the other side? The knowledge of my past decisions holds me captive – a slave to a thing which doesn’t exist; to a person and a time which no longer exists by a human-centric metric.

What shall I do? I am wounded and scarred and all I see when I look into a mirror is an ugly mess of flesh and bones. And I put on my face and go into the world full of confidence and ego and everybody thinks I’m great and I do too. And then I go home, and wash off my personality and cry on the inside. But only on the inside, because with allathe misery in the world l haven’t any real tears to spare for myself. And they build up and then it rains and I finally feel like the world knows what I feel like inside. But eventually the sun shines again and I have to get dressed and show the world that I am strong and capable and I have to take care of my obligations.

How much longer can I do this for? The idea of another 40 years seems insane. There was aass shooting in my neighborhood yesterday, and all I can think is that I was in the wrong place, at the wrong time. This all could have ended acidentally and I’d be absolved of having any hand in it… Jesus, how selfish is that? How horribly, pathetically self-absorbed have I become? Fuckkkk.

This blog has gone from a place where I shared my creativity and inspiration, to a place where I piss and moan about my lot in life. As if I never had a choice in the matter.

I made this! In many ways, I chose this! So why do I make myself suffer? Do I hate myself? Am I the cause of all of this “suffering?” And if I peeled off my skin, what would I find? A demon who exaults in misery? An angel who fell from heaven and is desperately trying to claw its way back onto heaven? What am I? Tell me! Tell me! I need to know! Tell me!

A Strange Kind of Empty

All I want in life is music, my child’s love, a connection with godliness, and time alone. A relatively stress-free existence isnt too much to ask, is it?

Maybe it is. Maybe I’m being selfish in asking. But this pain in my gut and this near-constant ache in my bones says something different. It says to me that my unfulfilled desires are eating away at me. That this stress that I cannot unload is slowly killing me… And I know that suicide is something I’ve contemplated. Something I’ve tried to do, in the most half-assed way possible… Are my only options truly either growing the balls necessary to do the deed, or suffer this for the rest of my time here?

I keep writing this stuff, hoping that it will help. But writing isn’t helping. It only reminds me that I’ve lost the connection; that the pipeline has been interrupted; that God is a theory in my life, and no longer an experience. And without God, I don’t know how to be joyful. I feel a strange kind of empty. I guess other ppl would say “going thru the motions.” It’s more than that though – and less than, too.

I don’t want to die, I just want a fresh start. I want to fix the unfixable. I need the impossible. I just need

I still have a chance to leave a good looking corpse, if I act quickly

Every month feels longer and longer.

I no longer keep track of time by the changing of the seasons. The seasons take too long and have too many things happening in them that I can’t keep track of.

Time is growing shorter


I am disappointed with my life.

My heroes would be disappointed in me, as would my ancestors, I think.

If You Must Speak

If you must speak,
Speak a new season:
Speak to the benefit of others.
Speak that which is honest.

The people you have to lie to own you.
The things you have to lie about own you.
The identity you cling to owns you.

And when your children see you Owned, then they are not your children anymore, they are the children of that which owns you: If money owns you, then they are the children of Money. If your need for pretense and illusion owns you, then they are the children of Pretense and Illusion. If your fear of loneliness owns you, then they are the children of Loneliness. If your fear of Truth owns you, then they are the children of the Fear of Truth.

And you read this, and you instinctively know that there is something true in these words – that there is imbued within, a mindfulness and compassion – and you know that in these times where Truth itself is in question, that we must sit here in the Now, and quiet the mind and tend to the heart. That we touch that part inside of us which knows that “THIS is really what matters to me.”

And slowly, we do better.
Better for ourselves.
And better for each other.

Seek out and care for the Truth, always.
For the path that you walk leads the way back to You.
It has always been You…

The Destination,
That fundamental Truth,
which is Love.