Miseryhead III

Oh, my god.

If I listen to Jimmy Gnecco sing one more note in that lush, clear, and brilliant voice of his...I think I'll rip my fucking heart out.

That's how much emotion he's able to wring from from me -- stupid Gnecco, with his barbed ropes of poetry and mournful tone.

Christ!

If you haven't yet, check out "Distorted Lullabies" by Ours. Too multi-faceted, depthless, dark, pretty, and diseased to -not- listen to.

Schism

"I know the pieces fit 'cause I watched them fall away,
Mildewed and smoldering. Fundamental differing...
Pure intention juxtaposed will set two lovers' souls in motion,
Disintegrating as it goes, testing our communication.
The light that fueled our fire, then, has burned a hole between us so
We cannot see to reach an end, crippling our communication."

I know the pieces fit 'cause I watched them tumble down --
No fault, none to blame...it doesn't mean I don't desire to
Point the finger, blame the other, watch the temple topple over.
To bring the pieces back together, rediscover communication.

The poetry that comes from the squaring off between,
And the circling, is worth it.
Finding beauty in the dissonance.

There was a time that the pieces fit, but I watched them fall away.
Mildewed and smoldering, strangled by our coveting;
I've done the math enough to know the dangers of our second guessing --
Doomed to crumble unless we grow, and strengthen our communication.

Cold silence has a tendency to atrophy any
Sense of compassion
Between supposed lovers/brothers."


I'm back. I don't know for how long. Nor why.

Oh, christ. I need to write again. I need to wonder and ramble and write terrible things unsuited even for myself in my blackest, most poisonous mood.

Love me now, because here I am.

accidentinautonomy

"I'm a monster singing through the side of a left eye."

Have you ever hung your insubstantial self on the hook jutting from Solitude's spine?

Have you ever kissed the coy mouth of ruinous Temptation?

"This is the sound of my miseryhead..."

I am well beyond the borders of self-control now.

Skirting the cemetary of sentience and laying bare my back for plastic-cast lashes (like the words from your too-labored lips!), I tiptoed along the track where the needle bites and sings. I hurthurthurthurthurt so like spit through silk, inaffluent wax words bleed "she needs." Ineffible effusion, here!

"We've taken medication so we can run away from another day..."

Meet me in the tower where along the ocean's bottom sliver-slaver slate plates lined in legs wait for a date with one who's how-can-I-have-really-died?

Losing the battle, now. Losing the battle. Losing the battle. Losing the battle. Losing!

Lost it.

She's lost it.

In tinsel screams allow me to proclaim the means for my escape...

"Back into curling wick through shells of self and skinicide."

Now I don't believe

I wish to be left alone, though "left alone" is not what I'll be.

All of muse's intimations are gone, leaving me as one made from bone and dried spit.

I often find myself this way.

Can you see how I've been made autumn-brown and dilatory?

I feel phlegmatic -- and I've never found occasion to use that word before.

I feel also as if I've set myself on a perpetual, self-inaugurative cycle of suffering. I often shortchange myself in order to shield others from things repellent.
"I am trapped in this world, lonely and fading..."

Is that an ugly, ungainly attempt at conveying angst?

I feel pathetically inadequate at expression right now...

She's in to superstition...

I am sorely bereft of things once pleasing to me. I am losing my mind. I ravenous, dark-lipped, and mutinous.

Did you know? I am poisonous. Not myself. It's thrilling. Liberating. Dirty.

Precisely how I intend to be this weekend. Not myself. Liberated. Dirty.

Are you taking notes?

Indulge my appetite.

"Lie down and stretch upon the sea..."

"Wake me up (wise) by morning --
I want to breath the day.
This is my final warning:
Keep all the clouds away...

We've taken medication
So we can run away from
Another day...

I feel alive -- I'm falling;
We dance until the morning closed our eyes.
I would love to stay here and never have to go,
And no one in the world would ever know.

We will never, never know...never know;
I feel the dream is real, watch it go -- go.
I blink and then another day is gone...
I feel the dream that we've been hiding from.

We've taken medication
So we can run away from
The things that pain us...pain."

There are tinfoil threads unraveling (to knit together internal wounds inflicted by an unsteady hand) and there are crumpled lip-leaves whirling (to form a hyperbolic mask worth wearing) and there are a thousand little eyes boring holes into my head.

"How can I have really died?"

To be is all that she desired. "But they didn't love you in our time -- nobody wants you in your life..." Bleed and they'll serve you...

True? No. Question -- idea!

I put my hands to the sky...and watched them burn for want of tender touch. If I fail to dam the flow of self-destruction issuing forth from a brain half-poisoned, is it entirely my fault?

I am poisonous. I am not myself.

I am worried beyond all reason, tired of the horror inflicted upon my mother, and wanting above all to comfort the only individual who's loved me unconditionally my whole life.

"If we beat him down, will he stay? He's a little dizzy, and I feel it starting to take me. Where did everybody go...?"

"How come we hurt the ones we need?"

None

Dead things dead things dead things dead things dead things dead things dead things dead thing dead things dead things dead things dead things dead things dead things dead things dead things dead things dead things dead things dead things dead things...

Dead things.

Dead things.

Dead things.

My mother has cancer again.