Portals

Tuesday, September 19, 2017

Reflections Sep.19, 2017 -Action of Non-Action

Siddhi - the powers it is said in the Vedantic prose is not for one to seek. Although, Vivankinada wrote to the effect that it is a viable path. As of late, I experienced audible siddhi. The experience was more along the lines of understanding the bending of space by the mind with placement of force. Remembering the Gita verses, I did not pursue it further.

Constant Death and Resurrection -this is the thing we call life. Our lives are a never-ending Incarnation mixed with multitudes of transfiguration's, as if change were never enough upon the simple scales.

Moving past the wheel, the humdrum, it is possible to find that "experiential awareness" is the key despite all that has been said and done. Even without originality, because it is our choice to "consciously" create and express....there-in lays the difference.

The dream-states have become super-intensified. To walk between, among, and through the infinite worlds can have a tendency to blur. Perhaps it is the transient nature of all things that becomes the true gate through which you pass from this state.

I read that there are places where beings exist(or not exist in a sense) that neither hear us or know of us. Maybe it would take from their experience to know of lesser creatures such as ourselves.

Looking towards fall understandably brings me a certain sadness. It has been during the Autumn and Fall times of the year that I have lost so much in life. It is the time I burn much incense and candles to all the souls that I was indeed so honored to know and meet. And yet, not so merry the part.

I do not pursue love for the sake of pursuing love, but love lost is indeed a great cost.

Each rung of the ladder becomes so much further apart, already in the realm of the stars...I do so deeply wonder what shines beyond.

Watching candles burn, the incense dances in spirals in the silence. Perhaps it is just my eyes. I saw your ghost there.

Hallowed be the Divine internal, and eternal spark.

Monday, September 18, 2017

Goths in White - Milk Collection - Extended

Although it is true a majority of Goths wear "Black" I happen to love it when Goths wear "White". So, here are a few of my current choices. This isn't a fashion post as much as it demonstrates something different from "the Herd." This post demonstrates that Goth has a "diversity of aesthetics," and is not limited to the stereo-typical presentations of Goth.

See other posts (related Milk): #Milk, Milk, Paste, White

(This is a derivative information collection gathered and compiled from the public sector. If anyone takes issues with the use of these images as a derivative information compilation, please contact me here for further information.)








Wednesday, September 13, 2017

Modern Goth Blog and Media Problems

Modern Goth Blogs are every-bit the commercial nightmare that many in the subculture have grown to dislike. I will be the first "guy" to say that a majority of the only legitimate Goth writers -and bloggers- are "girls/ladies." As far as guy writers, well, they are how do we say "effeminate" and are comparably similar to the ladies who write. No offense.

Instead of any blogs cutting new territory, they churn the same hollowed ground, post in and out. The only claim I can make of being any different is not being another Gothic: craft blog, fashion blog, music critique blog, etiquette blog -most of the psuedo-goth-crap floating all over the "Gothos-Sphere." However, I do write about those things from time to time, but not as a means to an end, or, to prove knowledge, culture, internet fame or whatever.

Don't get me wrong, I support my expressions and culture as much as they return the favor. The truth of the matter like any other modern culture, "The reality is Goths don't support Goths. What they pay attention to and put forward is usually how they want to be perceived. That, or trying to keep up their 'online-Gothic-famous-internet-cred,' or some stupid shit like that. Or, money truth be known."

One false reason and justification at a time to prove who is or isn't Goth. Womp womp.

And no, neither New York, nor California, nor Paris, nor Tokyo, nor Britain are the "Gothic centers of the world." Truth be known, "They never were. History alone proves that much. Irrefutable proof."

I have to admit that I search far and wide for what is different in Goth culture that isn't "more of the same." Also, I am not saying that forgetting the past, or ignoring the present culture is entirely right either. Unless anyone is daring to do something new, without mainstream or commercial over-tones, then what's really going on?

The news media, the movies, and television still play the same tropped-out stereotypes of goth as being: trashy, fucked-up, losers, white-idiot-trailer-trash, social deviants, over sexualized perverts, and worthless degenerates.

The sad fact of the matter is that for some reason ninety-percent of all Goth-Culture completely endorses and supports such justifications. Heck, most modern day Goths, Stars, and Celebrities enjoy the blasphemous walk and expression of public shame.

If that is the type of fucking high and attention you want(?), then, what the fuck is really going on?

Often, I wonder -as a Goth- if "this is REALLY what it is all presently about(?)," - the Gothic future looks pretty fucked up, if simply non-existent or in some other bastardized form of crap.

Tuesday, September 12, 2017

Oh Lover

In how many incarnations have we met?
So many dances we have whirled; Our bed never made.
Enterwinded as vapor trails, ember swirls engulf the valted blue.

All that I have, without selfish possession, I give to you, unrestrained.
This moment, forever, and a moment forever gone, it is for you I long.
I still remember the name of your perfume, your voice and lips.

Worlds so differnt floating in space; Gravitation a force of passion.
Limited by time, I can only hope our actions were pure. They felt as so.
The adventurous journeys upon and within your frontiers left me breathless.

Oh Lover, so merry we met, and I dreaded the parting.
Water does strange things to the paper-esque mask of fronting.
Without desperation, but with sincere wanting, I have thought good thoughts of you.

This bed now empty...is not the same as your hands. The way you spoke to me, warmed the cold tinge from the exterior of my mineral tomb. If there was ever proof of the ability of words to give life, I lived it once.

Oh Lover, my lover, how I so loved you.

J.D. Salinger


Friday, September 8, 2017

Pedantic Doosh-bags (Free write)

Pedantic A-holes, like two faced forked tongue serpents.

Repent not for they are too good, sharing knowledge flakes, and
The truth is they are flakes, flakier than shedding snakes.

Talk like they are smart, out the side of their neck, break-it, you bet.
Don't love Pedantic A-holes, but hey, "They make good pet's."

It's like chess, fork strategy, pinned you, checks, mate.
You wouldn't realize Sun Tzu, covert, you fail, easy bate.

Seen your kind before, a handful of Rocket Scientist too.
To bad they don't really have a life, that's key, they can't get to you.

They have a problem with "people who are more real than real,"
Their problem is they are empty shells, full of themselves, no ability to feel. Their egos are this long, "*".

In the end, when all their "so-called smart writing and work is done," they realize "nothing" is what they won.

Knowledge only means whatever you decide to make it. I destroyed my cup, never to fill it up, in the "real world, that's how I take it. -Strait up." Not in a book or behind a computer screen. FkaDream.

I been around, got street smarts, used book store parts; keeper of real stories, and lost hearts -buried several loads of bodies, carts.

The difference between me and you (Pendantic A-hole), I actually live life, where you feebly try to use "what you think you know" as glue to hold a life together that you "never knew."

So true, so true, maybe it is "you who should boo-hoo."

Marinate on that shi, and stew. You might actually learn something.

"Word to the real Wise, and not those of Wise-azz-nezz."

Tuesday, September 5, 2017

Reflections - September 5th Ghost of My Past

At this point in my life, I don't really know what makes sense. I constantly reflect upon a past; a past composed of so many pieces, if I knew how to paint a picture I'm sure I would never find the right kind of canvas or colors.

This moment, sitting in this box -that noisy fucking clock on the wall; I'll admit it: I feel lonely, lost, done, without hope, without love, without life,...and yea, without love.

Can't even begin to explain what I've been through since 2003, when some of my family died, love died, and I...I really lost it all and just fucking died, and I have been dying every since.

To lose my lover -fuck....it killed me, it really fucking killed me.

When you are misunderstood, when people and the world have been beating the everlasting shit out of you forever,...it makes you numb, it makes you cry, it makes you scream,...it pushes you to the brink so many times, you don't fear death as much as you say, "Hurry the fuck up. I'm not afraid anymore. KILL ME ALREADY!"

I have never wanted much out of life: a home, a woman/wife/lover, some kind of 9-5 job, and a way to live out whatever time I have in this existence called a life.

Made tons of mistakes, most of which were completely unintentional -but, when your entire world has been falling apart, and is still falling apart in what feels like forever -I don't know what to say other than whatever happens happens, and when it's my time, I'll give up the ghost.

Think about the girl I loved beyond all else. Think about friends that used to be cool to be around and hang-with. Think about what it was like to walk through life without fear, anxiety, and stress.

I...................I feel really fucked up right now. Feel like I've been losing forever but I've had no chance to fight against odds that were never in my favor.

People delete you, forget you, curse and damn your name. I have no way to say that I have changed. Couldn't blame anyone if they didn't believe me. I'll admit to never being a fucking Saint. But I never said that I ultimately did not give a fuck, and I never said it.

I hurt.............I hurt so bad right now, I could break both my fists on my wooden punching post and the pain would not be enough to stop the way I feel.

Maybe it is anger I have about myself, how I had it all and fucked it all away, savagely. When I get angry, my eyes glaze, get red -you better be SuperMan if you piss me off. But, it's anger that I have about all that I have and haven't done, and no way to balance the scales.

People have said I'm crazy. I'm not crazy, but, when you lose everything and almost everyone you love, what the fuck else would people really say. It's like you're walking down an extremely dark path where you know it's all about to suddenly end.

It hurts when people fall away, disappear, and it's like they entirely die. No way to say thank you, or say you're sorry, no way to make up, or at least acknowledge life.

There is apart of me that would give it all away to have what I have lost back.

To the ones I loved -I have no idea if you really knew how much I loved all of you.

Trying hard to fight back again that "hollow evil cold." That kind of cold where you walk off into that long-dark-night-of-the-soul -just fucking letting it all go.

I'm well-past the cross-roads, one foot in each world -not really thinking about which way to step next.

I've done my best at attempting to free myself from pain and suffering. It is extremely hard to do. I can't even explain the things I have done in order to make the pain go away.

I'm sure if I never gave a damn, if I never care for anyone, and didn't give a flip about anything -who knows, maybe I would have never felt this way.

If I had some good drugs and some alcohol, I would be well blown out of my mind.

Kind of at that point where I don't feel or know if I can do it anymore.

Shit,...life,...it is a long, long, long...time to hurt.

Struggling to see the light, but all I see is darkness.

I think about nothing - the emptiness. Mu.















I'd rather have one day of peaceful, infinite stupid, than a head crammed full of worthless knowledge than can't be realistically used.

Buddha - "It'z better to conquer yo-zelf than to win a thousand battles."

Empty my cabasa, stiff shoot'n chasa, strait up tear yu-up flava, make you wonder, wtf is life for, shi, see yu later.

Cup fulla GomGibar, a world of a Googolplex of worthless minds, 
non-stop madness har har har, its all an impermanent complex, entirely asanine.

Don't reall-a needta think at the brink of the eh-thar, to hell with 
happi-nezz, bli-zz, or empty fickly fleeting ple-shzarrr. Look at the 
floor, bits'n-p-zez of mirror'd glass zhardz.

As long as I'm keep my head up n steadily clear, all my demons are gone, no illusions left for a need, tears for fears, the heart feed, root of evil damn money, will make us die, for what! - ego and greed!?! God-damn, ain-it-so-****in-funny. Word.

I remember for dayz n day-z all tha wayz n way-z wayz, playz I became zo crazy, I uh unwanted baby, itza wonder the ****n world e-ven created meh.

The end iz so real it's endlezz, the message of stillnezz, illness so hard still feel this, that I still spill this with infinite realnezz.

Empty with my cup, done,
**** itz been so damn rough, g-me none,
The world izz not enough, get up, fast, run.

I claim to know nothing, ain no time fono bluffin.

World is hard on demand, choke you out faster than quick sands
Desperate fo stackz up so high they break a pack-uh-rubba-bands

This is why I do not think, ****-it, maybe one day you understand.

~~~*Goes back to the punchin post; bloody fistzzz*~~~

Sunday, September 3, 2017

Secrets of the streets

Written for a poetry contest:

*Shout out to the bones, drink, and weed I never had a chance to smoke wit my fam who died, the girl I lost, the graveyard stones*

*Shout out to the hands I held of the dying, and those I watched die right in front of me. I will smoke it and drink it to ya name*

Secrets of the streets
Back-pack rabbits, hoodrat squeaks, jack habits, death wreaks

Dark-side no-ride, collective street-gangs, elite, damn-hide

Ally-way-no-play-bums-asplay-no-han  gin-with-mypast-friends-oh ay ay

Kids a crying next to a piece of bread, pa dead
Couldn't believe when I saw it, 45, shell casing, unfed
Was my younger blood fam, lookin thinner than christmas sliced ham

At the hospital, like a tied up-head-bled, all eyes bowed, red
Like a ridicule, body-bandage bed sled, realized howled, no cred

Secrets of the streets
Ain no way to climb out the hole
Bullets n buildings, impossibly cold
Blood n concrete one in the same
Ain enough tomb stones for players in the life game

I've lived in a rainbow of hoods
Wonder which wicked wonder whisks you away to wonderful
One small blunder become a blunderful for the fool
And I always step like I sleep, one eye open
We always lookin up, and no promises, weed token

Millions of us, pain like pennies, copper melt bars n bend
In the one day you gone, no amount of tears keep loneliness tend

If I was ever lookin for a reason ta smile,
God oh God, let me not know death as I walk this last mile

Secrets of the streets
Back-pack rabbits, hoodrat squeaks, jack habits, death wreaks

R...I...P... - Family

I Got My Machete Stuck in your Grill Under My Pillow

Written for contest about Halloween - don't get me twisted, lol

MU-AH-AH-AH (Whipser...ARE U READY?!?)

Ha ha ha, stompin down the hood, ready, crazy, CHOP CHOP CHOP
Blah blah blah, scream, heads everywhere PLOP PLOP PLOP

*creepy music kicks in; hot skeleton chicks pop lock n twerk*

(Intro Verse)
Yes, you can call me psycho - psycho(echo) - psycho(echo)
I live in the house on the hill (the ones with eyes), murder cra-crazy zolo(echo)
Cops so scared they nevah wanna touch a bolo(echo)
I Gotchu girl spread on my head lika pizza bread -ON NO!

(Verse, going murderous inda house on the hill Psycho Hard)
Uh, gonna take yu down into my dungeon, 
UH,
spank it hard im sweatin plungin
UH
Sharpen'n knives I'm stroken(shwing)
UH
BDSM style you choken(mmm gurgle mm MMMM!)

(Chorus)
I Got My Machete Stuck in your Grill Under My Pillow - OH NO!
Trapped in my House on the Hill(Echo)
Every torture thrill you take, is the terror I will make
FOR YOU(Echo)

(Verse)
Going to show you my haunted keep; Your bones in my house will forever Creep, BOO!(Echo)
Luvta luvta scare the hair and care outta you, not one thing you can do, UH OH!(Echo) 
Welcome to my parlor said the spider to the fly, if you try'n run away, I'll stab out both yur pretty eyezz (hehehheeeehhe)(boink)
(Gasp, woman screams!)(Echo)

(Chorus)
I Got My Machete Stuck in your Grill Under My Pillow - OH NO!
Trapped in my House on the Hill(Echo)
Every torture thrill you take, is the terror I will make
FOR YOU(Echo)

Your Murder...brought to you by: MACHETE'S INCOR, "We love to love your head, on a block."

Haha Hahaha HHahAhahHAHaHAHHaHAHhAHhaHahH

Shout out to Bates; Hitchcock

...T...H...E...E...N...D....

Tongue of God in my Hand

Warning! Warning! DO NOT Read This IF YOU ARE A Hater AND Suck! (Kidding, kidding, you know you want tooo.)

I got angry and wrote something. So sue me. (RANT RANT RANT)

Who knows, this might change your life...forever.

Du-Wop!?!

Huh? *Pft* Watch this, better step back and put on shades

Betchu didn't know that I glow in the dark, come with me, let us -embark, ooooo-I'm angry - Beast Mode Flex!

You kno yu wanna read this ta see what comes next. Muhaha!

*Push-Play* "Kick-it, na na-na-na-na na-na-na-na na-na na-na na-na na"

You smell that - "It's the Dutchy supposedly grown by Bone N Thugs at the CrossRoads, blessed by Tupac, Rolled by Dre."

Whachu know bout scribe by fire, I have ascended
Your words are flat, here's my blender, now F-off, get blended

My expressions multi-dimensional lyricism, Angels desire, Your words -just schisms and ism's -and what? You say something, *ptf* nothing

One word of mine is a triple Decker with real cheese, here's a squeeze -cheddar
You stumble over your own thoughts and tongue, mental defect disease , I come to please -better

When I write or open my mouth, Boom !, you get sprung -unless your a corpse of course - *pft* of course, *beat* dead-horse

---Hey, when I drop the mic, that's right, your bell *pft* rung -here's a cleanex -what? Hater I detex ? Uh-hum, Uh-hum, dum dum dum

*Interlude - please put your seat-belt on; the ride is about to get bumpy, weak poets, word - "Lumpaty Humpaty Dumpaty"*

*If for whatever reason Sh** get's deep, remember ROW ROW ROW your boat gently down the weak poetry stream -Hahaha, bite me

How many words could a chopper chop chop til a chopper chop stop drop open up shop with a new flavor in your ear - *Boompop!*

Yes, that's right, super triple decker double-sized X X X GOD Sized Swell, Huge, your words cute? Nah! Fail !

Maybe your just a lil bit jealous, I got whachu want is ha-ha-lacious, yes, I love girlz, vivacious, flirtatious, i bust like a dam, spacious

Madness to my method I wreck-it-take-it-make-it-mine-I-shi ne-blessed-wit-tha-gift-ta-blow-yo- mind, Uuuuhhh!
(All over yo face, hee hee!)

*Kicks back, lights one up*
*Put tha needle to tha wreckord, wreckord, wreckord, wrek, wrek, wrek*

Oh yes it's true, "I Crush Alot, like B > I > G", get you some of this, break you off fo free

I write just as well as I write the letter "P" freely -watch me swing my - UH !

Remix!!!
When I SAY Scream YOU - "mic in your face"

When I SAY Clap YO Hands -" you clap your hands, geez, you suck at this"

When I SAY YOU SAY This Flow IS THA -"go ahead, thank me now, it iz zo totally Grrreeat!"

Don't hate on my creative writing, cause 99% of you writers and poets can't even get near it.

BOOM SHAKALAKA!

Saturday, September 2, 2017

Fake Churches - (Free form free style)

So, I live in an area where there are about as many churches as places to live. They use people up, take their money, never do as they say or preach. It's like a whole lot of air and empty nothing. They do all the "evil" they supposedly preach against. Sort of like hypocritical hives of brainwashed, cult-like haters.

So, here we go:


Constantly accosted by crosses false causes

Fake services disservices the masses vices they lie to us
Tell us all to die they won't die for us so useless
The fruitless, heartless, holy rollers pushers of false reason
Season their slacks and pockets pillowing with cash bleeding
Souls suckered as sinners no winners, table empty, no dinners
Their fingers pointing, weakness disjointing, where's my anointing?
I'm enough, rougher than the roughest dog without a woof?
Know I'm a sinner, not suckered, for the sins of a serpents sake
Modern churches, where the demon lurches, lost soul searches
I angrily and sadly feel all of today's churches are fake.

Thoughts, a Past Lover

Trapped in a meditation, torn between now and unknown
If I had a heart, I doubt you know that it roamed, alone

Making the table, sitting, placed before a moment, drinking
Forsaking unable, admitting, face torment, rethinking

Path of ways, eyes up and on glaze, the path to you unknown
If I had a life, I doubt I remember the dream, moan

Living past, if I had now, now would be ever-last, bound
Not enough cups to take me down, swallow the sword, no sound

To say I am not sad, what would be the lie that is glad
If I had a way, taking the moment, you, beauty-clad

So much time, but no time at all, you knew me, before fall
Try to explain it, good times, I remember dew-fall

Paralyzed, no means to reach out to you, imperfect hue
Though I sacrifice, give it all away, I, alone, cold-blue

Your kiss, more should I miss, without is the pit, changeless
Reaching for you, yearning, suffering, your pain, faceless

To know what I know now, your palace scented, holy, so pure
Falling into lifeless shadow, illusion, obscure

Regret now, the love I can not get, you are far and gone
In limbo I, rank high the desperate, you, the life dawn

Not enough drink to make me sleep, not wanting to forget
There was no gamble in our shared time, I inconsiderate

Across empty space and infinite time, I wish, you, mine
Empty chair, silence abounds, my tears, aquamarine pine

Everything

Friday, September 1, 2017

Livin in a world of haters

It's scary
So scary, I have to come off dirtier than dirty harry
Strapped with a fist full of, oh no, scary
What's that, yes, the air is so hairy so bear with me.

Plenty of haters to hate, reputations strangled til eyes dilate,
Meditate and medicate until sedations a sign of wonder never to late.

The fate like legions, skin disease, their demons, fickle mental seasons. No reasons their evil, shallower than a thimble, I remain nimble.

Humble under scores of messed up comments, more demented than a crow squawk, intelligent haters read your words and gawk.

Internet talk of gibberish, images, viciousness, the evil so real, the realness of us,

Was that we were, were who we was, and never did they really mean it just because.

Even if I could end the hate, mend it away, the world of haters ever at play, Lay me down in the silence so sweet, away with the haters from my golden keep.

All Hail the Heirophant

(Written for a poetry contest - the subject and contest chosen randomly)
(The subject happened to be Taylor Swift's new controversial video.)

A crown so heavy, ready attacks to levy
Ouroboros, ending to begin, imagine expression unlimited
Riveted, the crazies and opponents scare, beware
Here comes golden thread, flowing, 3rd Eye Light Hair
Power over serpents, kundalini, No average Queen, X, Y, Z -there
Multiple incarnations, souls like dollar bills expectations -where
Oh, fear the almighty 13, gleam, sheen, master of diamonds
Best believe, all of the actress, the world moves -deeply breath
Power glamour, enchantment, vivacious thrill - taunting
Haters can't touch, oh but they all grow ill - wanting
Can't step to the throne, metal well done-nail gauntlet thrown down
Serpents scared, they whisper, trapped in inferiority, they pound
When you open her gates, all bow humbling
Her words worth more weight, bottomless oceans sound mumbling
A world of artists, they'll never come close
A dream is all they will ever have, never a crown or throne at most
Like a 13th shaped geometric star across eternity grinding
Taylor Swift, her life and lifetime and expressions,
With more power and shine than a tub of diamonds, blinding
The beauty, the taboo, the curse, the Gift
Who truly knows the Heart of Taylor Swift

Now I Could Tell You About Love

Ever so fickle I've felt the sickle
Not that our real movie lives make a nickel, the horror
Slash like ice through the eyes of a hollow
Been to the bottom of a bottle, wallow
Might as well cut me up and sink me at sea
Profusions of pain, multiplicity Endless
Shells of a nothing that sings,
Sally's already been here, her dirty knees
If I had a heart you'd step on it, Skull face
Laugh at it, a lucid past what brings
Thought if I ever were to dream
Gone like the passion you'd steal from me
Always longing, I the attribution foolish
Tool for your tinkering, planning my demise
Behind your eyes, even less than Motion
Fleeting in the bed, yea, that was my head
Here is my cup, here is my bread
Transfiguration
All I ever wanted was simple, elation

She says, "I'ma get it in."

She says, "I'ma get it in."
All night, skin tight, blunts, red bright
Smooth move, bounce, feel good alright
So clean, she a dream, vibrate cream
Kiss God-like, Ninja grip, gushy flowright
I hit the source, divine, so tight, ecstasy, light bright
Staying power, sweat, morning hour, she hungry, devour
Delight in her hindsight, pucker might, out of sight
Thirst, tounge roll, french, method swoll
Burst, hot bowl, stench, lotus pole
Inside, deep, bed unmade, wall shadows, charade
Together, twine, woven threads, abrade

She says, "I'ma get it in."
Smokin, Twenty-twen

Your Image; The Lost Touch if I...

If it was like "A" letter
Sent the message with a Feather
Light pulse the touch electric
Eyes wide open no mental Fade
Out of the mix into Composition
Element of inner fire spreading
Wide in the feel pleasure forever
Stories of glories untold never
Say the forget me not Ending
The golden glow of the corpse living
Gesture of all I have to give you
We're the one of three in two
Times we move as we step
Hard in the way we breath in
Love like a union state of graceful Zen

Tuesday, August 29, 2017

Aching to Make you....

No more twisted dialectic
Rolling like ima copacetic
venture n past a fear n deliver n
No food in the liver, sliver,...I ponder
Hit well wax then I throw a wrapper
Green to the moment spontaneous, I the giver
Make a mind quiver -ing, 1 2 meter sing
Kick back in the smoke filled sho-wah
Never mind the moment, let's work it over-hour 
Time be a strange thing, bout to swing my
Box of a heart into the box of a doubled petal ring
Fantastic, pour the milk down the spine
Take a breath and lick up the dew divine
Quiver, Lips sing