Heritage Day

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Today is my last day

 

I manage to crawl off the bed that ceased to be coupled almost a decade ago

then land in my still relatively tiny bathroom, though my own physique seems to be shrinking by the second now

I look up at my reflection and I realise the purpose of mirrors

There is a headline,

my face

wrinkled and grey beneath its letters seems to unfold like an over ripe flower without ever having been touched

it says;

Heritage Day

I shuffle along until I trip over the now almost dry white board marker and I begin the list:

One: I inherited the dark lines of deceit off my mother’s core

Two: I learned how to live with being a liar

Three: I came as a foreign being full of love

Four: I was denied love but I’m still leaving filled with only those four letters

Five: Life was beautiful though the darkness is always the beginning of a new story

Six: I inherited the art

Seven: I will never forget

 

I rinse myself off and decide that it would be better to leave full of hope

After all

3 months before they expected me I was ready

13 years before I was

they weren’t

my family

 

The wardrobe whispered the call of majesty

I obeyed my longing eyes

past the dioors and my goodbye suit

I found the two letter phrase barely in disguise and I remembered why

Heritage day:

One: I learned how to judge myself better than anyone had ever judged me

Two: It wasn’t always sunny

Three: How to fake the smile through heartache

Four: How to cause the same

Five: My clothes are cheap

Six: I am unworthychocolat_l

Seven: I knew this each time we made eye contact… after all; we are self proclaimed judges

 

So neat, tidy and fresh I walk towards the lonely seat and the non functional tv

and on the top right hand corner of the screen

A phrase in white paint screams out at me

Heritage Day:

One: My skin colour murdered my first love

Two: I inherited the skill of not caring much for those attributes

Three: My father Died of a broken heart

Four: You saved mine

Five: Our life was puzzled together by vibes and muted sentences

Six: In the end, my quirks were irrelevant and your were my indica

Seven: I fell eternally asleep with the very thoughts that days and nights before had always haunted me.

 

Palm on palm now

My eye lids find their space

No tears left in me

My heritage day is eternal

and I only grew to know that the moment I looked into you!

 

 

 

 

The Fire

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She is learning how to be grateful.

The steps are small, barely noticeable as the world calls and keeps on… There is not much to protest against, though the monsters in her head growl in a constant chorus of unfortunate beginnings and endings.

Nothing ever really ends where there are memories involved, and doubt is a frozen statue, alive enough to keep haunting her and misleading her… it wants to be a pillar and all she really wants is for it to disappear.

It is cold.

Everywhere.

Her teeth speak their own unknown language as the piercing breaths let out their steam and she knows she is alive and alove. Perhaps alove is the problem, the threatening to word alove out her mind and into the hearing range of that other…she is so alove it hurts, it wobbles her walls and her frozen castle begins to melt, but it is cold…

Everywhere.

She smiles unintentionally. There is a face, there are hands and lips and traces of traced bodies in subtle nights without beginnings and without reservations… or were there reservations? She wears a scarf

It is cold.

Everywhere.

So alive and alove she waits… she anticipates the return of her strength which is barely a word away. She imagines being sucked into that warm embrace and the doubt disappears. Her breath becomes natural and it lightens up like the darkness in her eyes as it begins to fill up with light.

She knows that this is it, that this is visible for the first time and once a problem is shown, it is also known, thus becoming an advisor rather than a nightmare.

It begins to change her perspective and she begins to understand… that warmth is not only a touch… it is a letter, it is a name and comforting kiss… It is hearing how much you’ve been missed and out of nowhere –  a sun appears; though

It is still cold.

Everywhere

Gentling A Wild Cat (Again) ; the self-fulfilled prophecy

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I.G. DIDOVA 07/03/2012 12:01PM

GENTLING A WILDCAT (AGAIN)

My head hurts

I am irritable, sweaty and jittery.

I have been stuck on the same sentence for what seems like a week, but still no word fits…

Giving my tired, short-haired head a rest on the palm of my hand, glancing at the tiny arrangement beneath my window; the continuation to the problematic phrase sneaks up on me in the form of a floating sapphire while the little blue box with its lid opened on the ‘Tuesday’ section reminds me that I am safe from hallucinations as the pill had been consumed shortly after dinner. Instinctively my head returns to its previous position in order to confirm the floating gem between the branches…

I give out a nanus-sized giggle as the single stone seems to have undergone a sort of transfiguration; it is now accompanied by what seems to be its twin and as a pair they have been pasted onto a leopard patterned body.

 

My world becomes a vortex of memories projected through the eyes of a cat whilst the last sound before the thriller is my voice repeating the phrase over and over… until the world is calm again and the filigrees of memories take the lead, like a mirage caused by the sudden dehydration in my mouth.

 

Prelude, is the word best used to describe the moment when she bursts into my flat furious… both of us knowing only one way to salvage the situation.

I can see it in her eyes.

The light of my living room arrogantly ridiculed the one in her sapphires. So much so that I am scared off and in doubt my lips know only to twist and coil in to a smile…that smile… her… smile.

This act in itself is something like a language that only the hunter and the hunted understand. Similar to a contract, signed, sealed and guaranteeing a collapse of murderous intentions, only to transform them into bittersweet gasps and insatiable shadows, switching position; momentarily being the prey and in a split second, rising again to feast on an expecting, welcoming lamb.

Our eyes meet, lock, and recognise each other realizing that the storm has finally reached its peak.

The following moments are to be a musical of thundering, feminine grunts, accompanied by an inconsistent back ground of whispers and gentle clawing soothed by a salty rain which magically seeps out from our pores; still fully clothed yet naked… those are the benefits of knowing a body that is not your own as well as Da Vinci knew the Mona Lisa.

 

These fragrances encompass the roots of our desire, as my half-naked anatomy stretches to an eerie length in order to turn bright, electric sparks into a grey-kitten dark; welcoming the rain with the moist odour of nibbling pain gentled by the fluffy fur of the moon-lit carpet where lion and lamb become glutinous due to the excess amount of yearning flesh on craving body. My icy fingertips run around her bare hip in torturous spirals, claiming ignorance with every brush against the pink; that same place they so intently dismiss.

“Ssssss” These are stolen moments.

Her snake-resembling movement is violently clawed to a halt with a clear nail grip on stuttering thighs and mischievous hips then pulled just close enough as if in surrender only to painfully be pushed away again.

I speak out through a cork tongue, “I was under the impression that we’re waiting for the rain.”

At that I approach with my waist between her impatient legs, providing a false hope of granting her antidote to this silent, overwhelming hysteria.

 

“Screw the rain!”

 

My hungry lips travel south with a continuous kiss, hurrying past a perfect chest, not paying much attention to all the rest either, and in god-like synchronization the rain drops mercifully begin to fall to the rhythm of those inspired by the fleshy sensation between our bodies; creating the first verse before our chorus: drip… drip… drip!

 

From walls to wind are dancing feet moving ever forward while her skin presently owns my embrace and me.

I walk behind her almost in a waltz; my palms covering her eyes, nipples cheeky and excited by the static created when skin rubs on skin;

this grass is dampened by the slow drizzles of rain and as our feet connect to the green beneath them the tickle prepares us of the flock of shower drops, so the gentle wind gives in and gradually stops.

My grip loosens and thus my hands are left to unnerve every curve, soft mindful and cautious as they leap in a water-like manner, where a downward current is magnetic.

My breathing becomes inconsistent, hers on the other hand is heavy and deep, almost as deep as my fingertips dryly moistening, diving in then out… in and out… in circular motions.

A moment is all it takes for gravity to wrap us in a blanket of soil, leaves, my lips on her collar bone… hands wandering, alone… just then; it is my virtue that she takes while in shaking intervals our souls levitate… like a pair of savage lionesses in an excruciatingly pleasurable brawl.

 

The moonlight pierces through the trees and falls like a spotlight onto the mistress, excluding me from the white even as my body moves in and out of the ray’s radius. Our movements are urgent now, they roam but fail to tease; I enter her as she enters me and then the rain speeds up in accordance, heart beating so fast that I can feel it pulsating in my throat.

With my lips to her ear I utter in a questioning whisper’

“What are you?”

 

“I am Katt’s mosquito bite…”

Her fingers slide out; they begin to impress with a mind-map precision the surface of my tenderness.

 

“Effervescent tickles and biting itches… if you rub me you’ll only make it worse, leave me wanting more”

 

I follow suit, waking a petite thrust before she continues the monologue in her spotlight.

 

“Bursts of pleasure are delighted in, only when you scratch the pinnacle of my swelling… I hide and reside erect in between your porous dwelling.”

 

My teeth sink in as I struggle to keep my trembling hand in place and moving.

 

“Hard to resist me isn’t it? Come on give it a little rub… but be careful you might want to rub me again, and again, and again.

 

My hand exits… leaving my jaw, lips and tongue in a free range of opportunity as they begin to kiss the inside of her thigh, still I listen careful not to miss so much as a whimper.

 

“I am Katt’s mosquito bite… that unsubtle tickling itch… scratch me a little bit…”

 

Taste buds can no longer resist the beautiful taste they know will be, and so they move in with that special kiss.

 

“Give it a little lick… Right… there. See how that feels. Kind of makes you wanna purr… making little silly sounds as you indulge your salivatory senses with my ambrosia.”

 

The tireless muscle residing in my mouth now vigorously inspects this tantalizing territory as it enters… then exits… then enters…

Her nails grip on to me as she passionately pulls down on my skin in an almost branding sort of manner.

 

“Making my pink cheeks swell up leaving you with red blemished racing down the spine of your arched torso”

 

She wipes a drop of blood and licks it off.

Irrevocably aroused, I feel the approaching burst and her raging ‘mosquito bite’ meekly agrees with me.

 

Lifting my chin out of harm’s way, she throws herself into my chest (teeth-first)… glides into me and continues the paired journey to our peak while her fingers circulate and pulsate… her mouth sucking on to me thirsting blood.

 

“I am drunk your sap and so must you suck mine…”

 

Synchronized yet again we race towards that sacred… sacred… sacred…

 

“Vamp of a ten sashays turns to vampire… no scars but trails of little delights devoured.”

 

I can’t concentrate, I struggle to listen, my back arches, I feel the first wave of glazing delight…

 

“That sweet, that bEttersweet taste of sin, sensual energy…”

 

I own her trembling breath as we simultaneously cry out, and with the well awaited kiss, confirm the wondrous explosion of pants, moans and rain escaping now through the core of our physical being, boisterous and ready for the creeping bliss.

 

“You want to touch me again, don’t you?”

 

Exhausted and breathless we lay under the shelter of a tree. The landscape and scenery now just a contrast… steam and rain, dark and light… and then the moonlight.

 

She holds on to me as my lips press on to her forehead. I smell a tear roll down the side of her face as she looks at me, unwilling to utter a word. I could sense the real storm ahead so I did not dare to ask.

 

This was a moment not meant to be spoiled by thoughts and questions about what lay ahead in the morning. I whispered the usual sweet dreams in her ear. We were like bats worshipping one another…

 

And like bats, with the sunrise we were no more.

 

My heart threatens to tear out of my chest while I run down the stairs and towards the little place beneath my window, the sound of milk splashing on the inside of the small bottle as I skip past two steps, then three, then four.

A sharp left… then a right… then another right… now slowly… carefully.

 

The cat looks at me, cautious, analysing.

I take two slow steps forward, this bringing me close enough to place the bowl of milk just next to her front paws.

 

She seems confused, then does a catish grin in ridicule while proudly showing off her fangs and tongue…

 

“Black foot? Aha! So you’re a wild one. I have someone you might want to meet.”

 

She tilts her head still grinning at me and then the unexpected… she lays her paws at my feat.

 

I scoop her up and hold her to my chest… just then… a rain drop.

A small tear wells up in my eye as I begin to walk on back to my apartment.

 

“Well she isn’t here now Katt, but she will come back! I have some meat up there, bet you must be starving.

 

My palm gentles the top of her head

 

Again!

 

Blue oR Black Days

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And the green light is illuminated next to the picture of your face
and I hate my own for yearning to touch it
Can I help it though?
Oh no!
How I search for the deeper meaning of life
beyond the sight of your eyes
the whim of the unfamiliar scent of you
I cannot smile just yet
I cannot
yet I do
With images as bright as the Canis Majoris
With the wishfulness of Canis Lupus soul
No backbone
Just dreams and wishbone
This composition of sounds through letters
This musical of broken word strings
Your wings
So keep them
Your Majesty
‘There’s green light in my eyes, and my lover on my mind…
And I’ll sing from the piano, tear my yellow dress and
cry
and cry
and cry
OVER THE LOVE OF YOU!!’
The florence passion of an untaimed wolf soul
spills out
screams back
There is green light in my eyes and I time it
minute through passing of silent minute
Do you think I do not see or notice your silence
so deadly
hollow
sharp
Yet I CAN
live without the addiction of the life you give me
the taste for thing I never had
It is yours won’t you take it?
So come on my morning
come!
Be the green light in my eyes
Be the lover on my mind
tear my yellow dress
Show me
That you will let me get around it
There’s green light in my eyes…

Lullaby! (To Dad)

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Dear dad!
I miss you.

It’s been a while and I know it’s my fault mainly
I really should write to you more often
You speak to me in a way that no one else knows
Like the chirping of the bird outside my window while my stone heart begins to waken
And it is pain at first
And hopelessness
But then a spark of life happens in my wolfy veins
That is barely noticeable enough at first
Then day after day you whisper breezes of wind in return of the scorching memories and fears…

Years have passed since I truly felt like a weaver of words;
I knew I died then
Perhaps with you – is it beautiful to finally be a part of everything again?
Do you miss her?
Whoever she was…
I think your love for her inspired me so that I could not help but fall in love with that planet; a woman!
The galaxies of female curves I have seen
Left me broken dead and empty.

I am much better now though
I’m learning to forgive
To let go of the things I cannot change
I think I’m learning how to live.

Are you proud of me?
I still feel like your little girl.
I have written so much just tonight only to avoid telling you for the first and only time : I am hurt

Hurt but still breathing
Crippled but healing
With every cell in me that yearns to be
Someone worthy

Tomorrow I will continue my quest and I will fail a little less at disproving the impossible
And fail a little less again the following day
Until impossible is nothing

Because I think not even you believed in what you chased
Not even you could dream that big
Oh but you insisted that I learn
And so I did

I dream a little less these days
I focus on success
Not in material value though I’m sorry; I’m quite alright with just being me
But I succeed a little more each day
I manage to keep me complete.

I have started learning how to be brave
And yes
Yes dad, she’s teaching me.

That nothing is ever really worth it unless it hurts a little at least!

The New Dead Genereation (X)

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‘Wine, song, food and fire (Wine, song, food and fire)
Clothes, shelter and seed
No more need for the old empire (Fare thee well to the empire)
The indigo children’

Puscifer: The Indigo Children

The most amazing part of living life after 1945 is that freedom of speech is once again an actual thing! This is why many people will enjoy this blog and just as many will look down their one sided noses at it. However, whichever group you fall under does not define your inherent character. It would just be proof of how ignorant and closed minded our generation is capable of being on the one hand, and on the other – completely liberal.

She said that the Nazi Germany and Her dictatorship made for an uncomparable one in the history of human kind;

Why?

She said that propaganda was the way of The Wolf… and yet in all of their museums and history books, all you will ever find is one side of the story – one picture – one victimized race!

Yet, to begin with the concentration camps had no interest in keeping Jewish prisoners – and let’s face it; the only reason this became the coldest of all dictatorships in people’s minds ; is because the Puppeteers turned it into a racial issue.

What about the soldiers who DIDN’T want to participate in the mass murder but had no choice? Does the world not deserve to hear their story?

Did the mass murder really occur, and if it did – who was the actual perpetrator?

Why did the wolf choose to attack instead of protect?

Has anyone even dared to ask themselves this? Surely it takes a lot more than slight insanity to become the most haunting name in history?

I am not trying to justify The Wolf’s actions in this blog, this blog is about whether you will choose to unlock all the barred doors in your mind or choose to live safely and comfortably behind the bars.

‘The Generation X, commonly abbreviated to Gen X, is thegeneration born after the Western Post–World War II baby boom. Demographers and commentators use birth dates ranging from the early 1960s to the early 1980s.’

The above statement is merely a half truth or in the words of narrow mninded historians ; propaganda.

In reality Generation X is the generation of Children born between 1965 and 1999 – these kids are a select few and yet there are milions of them – also known as The Indigo Children. However –  as all things that are not mainstream or that do not fit into the puzzle of the puppeteers, this generation of special kids (most of which are now adults) have been undermined and labelled as non-existant or unreal.

My mission is not to direspect the victims ; my mission is to honour the memory of those who were victims too but were not considered as such because the world instantly turned its back on an entire nation for the crimes of a select few people. This is why the Indigos have come; to create balance and equality. All that is light is not necessarily good or pure.

All hail the US liberators!

The true saviours of Germany. The men who revealed the horrors of the happenings between 1939 and 1945.

What a whole lot of bullshit!!!

What is worse is that there are still people who come to Germany with the intent to extract answers from people who had absolutely nothing to do with whatever did or did not happen. People who agressively accuse an entire nation because their great granparents are said to have been “victims”…

Nazi Barbarism!

And she says The Wolf was full of Propaganda – because that tablet had absolutely no intent but to tell the truth right?

The fact of the matter is that nobody except for the politicians and pupeteers and those now dead know the real truth. No matter how many books you have read, no matter how justified you feel you are to pass judgement – you would never know the truth. Nobody really knows the truth and those who have survived to tell the tale would obviously not be really credible sources of information; but then – that’s just my opinion.

Have you ever wondered why the US chooses an Eagle as Her symbolic power?

‘The eagle’s eyesight is especially remarkable. With vision about five times sharper than our own, an eagle can spot a target as small as a rabbit up to a mile away. In addition, an eagle has excellent depth perception due to the overlap, of the right and left fields of vision. The talons,or claws on an eagle’s toes are curved and razor-sharp for catching and holding their prey. This gave eagles the name raptor which comes from a Latin word “rapere” meaning to grip or grasp. Rough bumps on the eagle’s toes also help them hold slippery, wiggling fish. A raptor’s feet are important to capturing food and also as a method of protection. 

The long talons and vise-like grip can inflict serious wounds to intruders. Their diet consists mainly of fish, but waterfowl, small mammals and even turtle remains have been found in their nests. To catch fish, eagles generally watch the water surface from a perch or while soaring in the air. Then they swoop down close to the water and drop their feet right in the water to catch the fish. Eagles often steal food from other eagles or from other birds of prey like ospreys. They also eat carrion, the decaying flesh of dead animals, such as a deer hit by a car. Carrion is especially important in winter when other foods are not easily found.

Eagles are “birds of prey,” which means they hunt for their food. Unlike other birds, which eat seeds or insects and travel only short distances in search of a meal, the eagle must often fly great distances in order to find worthy fare. In order to do this without expending the inordinate amounts of energy that flapping flight would require; the eagle has become a master of soaring. Riding upon vertically spiraling columns of warm air called thermals, the eagle can travel up to twenty miles per hour virtually without effort.

The eagle is further aided in flight because its bones are hollow. Unbelievably, the total weight of an eagle skeletal system is only half the weight of its feathers! With a wingspan of seven to eight feet and a wide and rudder-like tail, the eagle was built to master the skies.

Do you remember your history lessons?

How did the US finally penetrate Germany?

The amazing thing about having a real history teacher in a neutral country to this event in history is that you got to see both sides of the story… while you still could. Of course now there has been legal action against any positive outlook or second story to WW2.

The above image of the Roll Call is said to have been taken by the Nazis, that the prisoners were picked out. The healthy looking, neat kind of person who does not seem to be suffering . Could be, however the images the Americans show in the German museums are the extreme opposite. How can there be no middle ground?

Let’s have a look at some of the reasons the Eagle had to get The Wolf to self-destruct.

Please watch this to the very end and find the lyrics if you must:  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=q_fRVtcQq2k

1.)The United States in World War I declared war on the German Empire on April 6, 1917. The U.S. was an independent  power and did not officially join the Allies. It closely cooperated with them militarily but acted alone in diplomacy. The U.S. made its major contributions in terms of supplies, raw material and money starting in 1917. American soldiers under General John J. Pershing arrived in large numbers on the Western Front in summer 1918. They played a major role until victory was achieved on November 11, 1918.’

PRIDE

2.) …’In other words, responsible for the post-war hyperinflation was not the German government, but rather the privately owned central bank in Germany, and its monopoly it had over the creation of money.  Germany’s economy was crashed and devastated by bankers…’

DEFINE CENTRAL BANK: at the time Federal Reserve NYC as the ‘mothership of all central banks’.

But wait there’s more…

‘refusing to play ball with the Rockefeller-Rothschild rules, one of the first things he did was fix the corrupt, debt-based financial system.  By completely thwarting the international banking cartels, the Nazi government issued its own currency known as Reich Marchs, which were debt free and uncontrollable by international financial interests.

Debt Free Finance = Freedom…

Would freedom from the talons of the raptor be suitable for the raptor itself?

Of course not; lest news spread of the raptor’s weakness. The raptor cannot be known as weak, for any future prey could then learn the raptor’s weakness until the raptor dies of hunger.

3.) …Just as Hitler issued debt-free currency for Germany, Abraham Lincoln setup an interest free banking system in the United States when he was President, and he was murdered for it.  Former US president Andrew Jackson issued interest-free currency, and two shots were fired at his head in an assassination attempt, but the shots misfired and he survived.  John F. Kennedy issued interest-free currency during his presidency and we all know how he met his untimely demise.

4.) …‘After Germany’s public banking system was installed, world Jewry responded by declaring war on Germany, including a global boycott of German goods. Within two years, the German economy was flourishing with its new-found stable, and inflation-free currency.’

COMPETITION…

I could continue to list these but I would rather move on to my next point:

The Baracke X – 

These were said to have been built in order to burn the excess bodies of the prisoners and war prisoners… they were hardly used however. Why?!

Rumour has it that it was because the 3rd Reich realized that the war wouldn’t end as swiftly or quickly and possibly not in their favour. They therefore began to try and keep their prisoners alive.

Hmmm.

Is it impossible that these were built as part of the picture that the Raptor wanted to show?!

Is it?

Enter the supposed gas chambers.

These were never used.

This is a memorial wall for “all the victims” – except the gays, the gypsies and the common thieves and criminals. You know… because the above mentioned are just … well, not considered as human enough to be remembered or mourned or respected. They weren’t victims; they were bound to hell anyway.

I mean does nobody else see this?? 

Árbeit Macht Frei – Work Sets You Free

According to historians the above is a way to mock the prisoners as they would be worked to “death” and so they really would be set free.

I feel the greatest amount of sympathy for the ignorant and even more for the persecuted.

If one hundred years from now you woke to discover that everything you have been spoon-fed was a lie; how would you apologize to the people the world (including you and me) has forced to walk with their heads down in guilt? How do you apologize to history? How do you apologize to a people who are so inherently good at heart, a people who are not afraid to help, who live respect, honesty, dilligence and softness?

How would you apologize to this young troop of officers in training who are forced to bow their heads for crimes that may or may not have been as the Raptor would like you to believe they were?

 DEN TOTEN ZUR EHR DEN LEBENDEN ZUR MAHNUNG: A honour to those who died, a warning to those who live

This is seen as a controversial statue; why?

Because the prisoner has warm clothes, closed shoes and a smug smile on his face.

Will you live as the victim and inadvertedly put the blame on a third party?

The more we refuse accept responsibility for the past, the present and the future – the more victims we will create.

So YES!

May the dead be honoured, but not JUST the “victims” we are told about… may ALL the dead be honoured, and finally may ALL the living be warned!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2A8u4Z13hUw

ALL MY LOVE: CANIS LUPUS

Bitter Mistress

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Here in the madness of everyday foolishness I give into my monsters. I allow them to coax my spirit with their anger. I swallow regret with a teaspoon of pride and suddenly the world makes more sense. There are no more sonnets or love poems to be expected from this being… unless the other appears miraculously and deletes the folders of mistrust which are frozen as a constant back screen on the system that is her mind; like an indestructible virus slowly eating away at the system as a whole. She finds comfort in the cradles of old songs, the kind that inspired the flowing red from her veins, but that’s unimportant… nothing really matters now. The other girl has managed to return, colder and meaner and more prohibiting than ever and I rejoice that I am not alone in my own brain anymore so that she may remind me that no-one is worthy of her honesty or truth… our honesty… our truth. If fate existed, right now; I’m riding her from the back doggie style.

Now feel the tingle of the sneer down your spine reminding you to stop being a hypocrite. We all wish to be brave enough to be the gods of our own universes, I’m just cocky enough to say it loud and proud and not giving a fuck about what that’s going to sound like or alternatively what anyone else’s thoughts are on the topic. This is my life, my struggle and all along I’ve gone through it all alone. I therefore have no obligation to be thoughtful of you because you don’t matter to me. This is the safe house of a soul, heart and spirit that are so worn out that they are beyond recognition. I know not whether these really are mine anymore-I’m even more uncertain of who I once thought I was and who I am now or what I am aiming for in life, but I suppose since I write my own destiny on a tattered little book I bought yesterday from ‘Spar’ for R4.50 … I make the rules and sometimes chaos really does rule over any other rule. I invited Delirium in; she has happily brought Death with her. To kill what once was the girl in a long-since shattered mirror now forming just a broken frame around a yellowing white wall and return to me in a dead, ghostly life the girl who once scared every feeling off before it could hurt.

Welcome home sweet bitter mistress.

Tonight I let you take over me entirely and what does it matter if the act of making love remains metaphorical to me for the rest of this existence? I will still create more art than those constantly active because I will be hungry for passion always when the bitter other me isn’t looking. In those precious moments I will redirect my gaze from wishing to create and having you experience what I want you to. I will be the rapist of your mind… bestowing on you the truth no matter how many times you deny it. I will repeat and scream it at you until you have finally believed that the “I” is the most important entity in your world.

Who can say that one reality is more important than another? It is the “I” of your world that only experiences what it does and it is that same entity who will deliver the information gathered to the greater whole when dead.  

Who cares why she lied and said the things she didn’t mean… the bottom line is lies and dishonesty, why cling on to those? Surely I deserve better than to be lied to? Surely I deserve to be cared for, to be fussed over, and to be a sun for another dark soul?  One wants not to question every ‘I miss you’ although that is why my bitter mistress has returned. Her function is to instill more doubt until I can no longer get hurt. My mind, soul and heart need to think always together, not allowing the heart to just feel as it pleases. Past experience has shown us that it is that initiative of the heart is what ends up breaking it in the first place. How much more anguish do I wanna allow into my life? How many humiliations and degradations? So Carpe-Diem little mistress and don’t you ever let me feel again!