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Blessed
Published Mar 21, 2020
Updated Jul 3, 2021
Offbeat
2 min
Offbeat
Published Mar 21, 2020
Updated Jul 3, 2021
2 min
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414 readings
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Blessed
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By dint of writing the tears of my life,
would I reach the flames of oblivion.
Misplaced, pissed, hampered the raisonment
I drift, I experience thee soul, but I'm scapegoat.
Everything was in me and I did not know.
I'm not against anyone and love is an illusion, a mirage, a chimera.
At the bottom of my being hasn't been found love.
Into my heart, I know what not to think about..
Cruel fate of a being perpetually murdered.
Which future?
I do not believe it, art is an hydra that pumps me my poetry.
I cling, I insult, I whisthle but I don't go out of me.
From bad to good and good into evil my moods are uncontrollable.
At the hatred and contempt that makes so many years that I do feel you,
but you never come.
Good bad I filled my understanding of dark love into an empathic flow,
I need friendships.
Libido Reapers, go away from me myself and High..
As a mercenary I made war to the bad souls..
Who resigned raving mad and I don't know what to do with my time.
Finally free to go where I wish,
I take my freedom after having practiced chaos jyhad so long.
I quit and take my sorcerer's life up to Valhalla.
Existence is a wonderful thing and we got only one.
I slashed thoughts so many years that I had broken my soul on the altar of chaos.
Metaphysical war but certainly not landed, the fanatics will never understand. I plot away into my satori ...
but mostly I breathe Chaos and Rinzai, shikantatza helps me seing clearly what's in the hell of my life.
It locks me, one internal me but coming back each time more powerful and determined against the fascists of the asylums.
My love is supreme, I now understand: my power not to let me love, to scuttle any story that smells like death.
Carpet in my sanctuary, I have gone underground and made me respect as much as I could but I'm the only Wiccan in this dead city.
Timeless, I enslaved them bad to my sacred silence, then I'll see what I can do.
Wodden, my life, I know that sooner or later I gonna cross the path of my Frigga.
Constantly in weekend since so much seasons I occupy my days drinking tea, making music and writing my book that I let the rush on this blog,
It's like a beatnick's cut-up, sincere and vengeful writing.
Faithless insomnia won't see me awake to exist.
Paris is violent towards me so I'm going elsewhere : to paname.
I'm from the aetheryte weekend.
Your ears bleed, your breath fled and I'm here to lock you down for countless years
Magistral, I was wrong: we must not be enlightened but sublime, corrosive and slanderer, unforgiving toward thoughts reapers.
My life is a book to write, a label to form and a shorten chaos jyhad.
I am a white rasta, an urban pagan.
And ultimately a schizophrenic and insane human being.
My resentment is spreading in the media world and I know that iwas, djinns and other healthens are by my side to see me exist.
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