I dunno whence this feelin' ova took ma soul

flipped dah switch like a whip!

hauling all duh good outta me

in a swift lasso noose of destiny...

Say, somebody help me now? lend a hand

lend an arm, n' drag me back!

Pray there's a hula hoop here,

or some kinda boomarang...

Still thy Will's be done to moi n'est pas?

kein Wille von mir ist dies!!

that makes my speeches thus

ear hear these confessed tears...

But i was of Mater born, from Pater torn!

all good things come to their demise no?

The sacrifice's bigger than "we" ever was

in noble clause, of higher laws...

I bends from beggar to priestess and then

on my knees again simply humanS

with our belt of neutron discontent

in God all the universe ends...

Amen.

08.17.2020

YOU WAKE UP ONE MORNING AND DISCOVER THAT YOU ARE THE ANTICHRIST... @JD4

It was four fucking a fucking m and the sudden onslaught of sound triggered a dire need within me to slaughter something.

I sprung from my sheets like a soldier awaiting battle call, barefoot in boxer briefs and hair arranged like a modern art piece entitled No Hope in Hell.

The neighbor's chainsaw continued unabated as I yanked open the backdoor with an unceremonious SLAM and screamed into the twilight, "JOSEPH! WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK ARE YOU DOING!"

The chainsaw slowed, and behind a tall fence I could feel the object of my wrath squirm. "Uh, sorry - forgot to do this last night and what with it being chilly this morning--"

"GET FUCKING CENTRAL HEATING, PRICK!" And with that and another SLAM I retreated back inside my fortress of vinyl siding.

Anger rose from my body as I paced a circle 'round the house, taking deep yet not calming breaths. I kicked a dog toy, which emitted only a pathetic squeak that did nothing to quell my bloodlust.

"Hon?"

"Sorry," I mumbled, not at all sorry, to the sleepy form of my better half.

"Let's just start the coffee now, shall we?"

As the morning ritual recast its magic, the evil within me crept back to its wary slumber.

And Joseph lived to see another day.

“Fear is a spell.”

That’s what she told me the moment before the door got pulled by her leaking frustration. I knew she meant it to be something that would stick to my teeth for a while. Something to chew on.

Well, fine. Here I am with the cud firmly scoured and torn in my mouth: I’m a witch. So be it.

I am sitting by the kitchen window, watching the butterscotch sun pour over my coffee like honeyed milk. I want to drink it in and feel light. But how can I, when I know that everything is wrong?

I didn’t bother to pass the mirror this morning. I was so full of my wanting for her that I knew if I saw myself, all I’d hear was, “How can you have hope in a world such as this?”

I can’t bear one more thought.

She had come over like she always did. A burst of affection and life-fire. She must’ve gotten something out of being with me, otherwise why would she keep coming back?

I always thought we were a balance to each other. Yin and yang. Now I’m not so sure. I may be overwhelming.

Just hours ago, we were sprawled out on my bed. We were ready for a feast. Her creamy hands eagerly twisting at my dark silk sheets in anticipation.

Some blackness was dancing in my eyes. It often was, but this time I couldn’t keep it hidden from her scorching, searchlight eyes. She spotted me. And I was left the clueless criminal.

She placed a finger solidly on my temple and began to rub me there. “There’s no doom here, my love.” She sighed my sighs. “Only possibility.”

That word. She knew it was the one that would ring the church bells in my ears. Possibility. Possibility. The great spell-killer. “Just come right here, lay with me right here and you will feel the magic of which I speak.” An ancient trick to snap me back to where everything was perfect. The moment.

My shining star and all her wishes. She knew I couldn’t do really that.

She was always talking about creating. The latest painting, the newest friend, the growing excitement. I was stuffed on my envy of her joy. Yet she never belittled me for the lack of mine. She just smiled at me in a funny sort of way. Bemused. She gave herself to me all the same.

But that blackness. No. This time would be different.

There was something she wanted me to get. Something this whole time that I was utterly blind to. She knew I was afraid she was beginning to doubt me.

See, I was always talking about destroying. The latest government scheme, the crumbled social calls, the growing anxiety. I thought she understood, but suppose she didn’t? How could she, when she was so different?

When the shadow over us didn’t pass, no matter how many times I softly pleaded at her chest, she chose to remove herself from my manipulations. She said it wasn’t because she didn’t love me. It was because “some of the best transformations come when we look at our desire for separation.”

Did I want to be separated? No. Not from her. Not from the whole world. Yet here I am, away from them all, knowing that were it not for the sorcery upon my mind that I then imprinted upon the world, well....we’d all be a lot happier.

“I am my own undoing.” The most destabilizing thought. She wanted it to motivate me:

“You are also your only hope.”

Fine. Fine, sweet angel. Then why do you want to save me?