It is a delight and a sensual pleasure to serve

I know it seems like I don’t listen, and I tend to talk way too much to let anyone have a chance to intercede… But that’s usually because people just interrupt and want to say their own thing. I normally don’t mind that, that’s just the way it is in life.

I guess I’m not used to “speaking” such short messages on the internet. That’s what Twitter and Facebook are for, inane single sentences that get lost in the dawn chorus quail. I’m not as simple as a pigeon or parrot. Maybe I am a predatory bird. But a little one like a kestrel. I usually play as Black Canary in Injustice. It seems to suit this whole “banshee” persona I am attempting to mitigate.

I find it much easier to write as if in correspondence with some person because I know how to talk and converse with others. My problem has always been myself… I have a tendency to get in my own way.

I’ve just been thinking about that last post. Say I did ever say anything, what would it even be? I don’t know. I don’t even know what I would say. I have these… Ugh, feelings? I don’t know. It’s just that feeling of the soul moving inside me, this unease at not being able to articulate or even understand what I may wish to say. Just knowing that there is an indeterminable – something – is so frustrating.

What am I working towards now? Being a good person? Being a successful person? Being the same person I was before all of this? Goals.. How do you know when you’ve even gotten there? It’s just this ideal in the distance that you run towards and never quite knowing how much further and longer will it be. With materialism, I could touch what the gifts offered. You can’t touch morals, you can’t obtain righteousness, you can never be sure if you’re close enough.

Give me something to work towards, give me something I want. What do I want? I want to give a fuck again. Oh wait, oops, that is not tangible either. When will I know that I care? You either do or not, I guess it’s not really something you can work towards.

.I don’t even know which aspects of me are reflected in these statements. I found them in my live journals and copy-pasted chunks into evernote. The collection of paragraphs or poetic prose began spanning from 2001 to 2012.

I started writing this post last night (11 Oct) because my soul was howling at the darkened sky, calling for home. And yet it is so distant and faint, I cannot express into form what it is that I seek.

It this the gate of hell that souls cannot pass through? Why can’t we just go back the way we came in? Inhale, move past my lips and rest on my tongue. Exhale as we prepare for the actual descent. Inhale and stop – caught in my throat, I start to choke…

Why it is easy for one to die, but to come back to life the soul has to make it all the way through to the other side?

A world eater. A soul drinker. A spirit shaker. A world maker.

In each of us a universe. In each of us a star. We are complete just as we are.

We may be whole but we are alone.

When we collide, it feels like home.


I want to thank you. You shared something with me. It’s only when I… the part that isn’t in J. He doesn’t have an inner goddess, or she’s still buried very deep. He loves my mind and he loves my body. He is a mechanical engineer and his artistry is in his designs and creations. I am a teacher by trade, but it is in the psychic arts where I want to be paid… I feel that is my art… navigating the astral world as a regular Helen Keller.

I have no way of knowing if it’s bullshit or if it’s real. But I love myself enough to be open to self trust.. but I don’t know for sure, I’m relying on the kindness and honesty of strangers. Because it is all completely made up to me, but that doesn’t make it less real.

You can’t know if the emotions I express are real except for the way it makes you feel. And you might have to trust that my intentions are pure, that I’m being genuine and reaching out for who knows what. I’m waving my hand as they watch me drown, my gurgling screams mutating in my sublimation. Am I sinking or swimming, screaming or singing?

I have to remember my submission. And practice that again. Whole heartedly it is was previously gave me strength. It was my Summer in the winter of June when last I touched the divine, and ever since then I’ve been defragmenting and fractalising. I am descending the underworld into the bowels of the abyss, I knew I was chaotic but to see her face inside I almost went insane…