Back to Identity?And scrambled transmissions from Planet Cod.

There used to be an order to things. A savage line that could be drawn from town to town, country, tribe to tribe.

Fuck this civility.
Fuck this Honesty.

There is nothing to be gained from bearing my heart to a heartless world.
There is nothing to be gained from meaning what I say.

I can only hope that the obvious futility, even ignorance, of my written record of being, is preserved for future generations which know Right from Wrong…Future generations which can hold up to the light, my work, examine as contemporary Man examines an ancient script of papyrus, and they can say…He Tried, He Persevered, He refused to give in…And He Was Crushed.

It’s a dog eat dog world and I’m a sick fucking puppy whose meek barks are drowned out by a symphony of dishonour, by calculating coldness held in the highest rapture by the Mob…

How I long for apocalypse…Destruction of all they have created, all their plastic, inorganic fakeness….This world is governed by nothing but chaotic brutality.

————————–————————–————————–———–

We are all connected.
We are all of one flesh,
One heart,
One soul….

I see it,
I know it,
But I can’t feel it…

Because most people,
Are so closed,
To the Outside.

Covered in character clothes,
Which are chopped and changed,
According to Company,
And Situation.

————————–————————–————————–————-

YOU WILL BE ASSESSED TO MAKE SURE YOU ARE GENUINELY HAPPY.

GENUINELY HAPPY. What the fuck is that*

They tell me: My conversation is inappropriate….

I’m sorry for being human****
No I am not.

————————–————————–————————–————-
I curse the luck that has brought me under the loving embrace of so many wonderful people who I turn to in times of need, in times of desperation, screaming HELP ME, PLEASE….

They are responsible, on countless occasions, for soothing my puppy dog heart when it has been wounded. Were it not for them…I would have sunk, or grown stronger, more resilient, more closed off…But alas…they have served to prolong THE PROBLEM.

My mother. She is different. Her love is deep but she isn’t one to mollycoddle, or hold back on hard words that need saying…

I remember last Summer…whilst walking along a street I had last visited with a doting fiancée by my side. The emotional remnants of just being in the same place, but this time without Her, cut at me like a chainsaw on a naked, proud but utterly defenseless Oak Tree…Tears bursting free, the body’s desperate attempt to rid the spirit of it’s pain…Mum’s reaction was:
‘stop crying. You are being pathetic’
I needed that, more of that, from others, during my other times of Horror.

A baby cries for attention, and though I was crying not for attention, but out of instinct, soothing words were akin to giving the baby attention NOT solving the problem.

GROW UP. HIDE YOUR HEART. TELL ONLY BEAUTFUL LIES. AND YOU WILL SUCCEED.

But succeed in what* as What*

I have never wanted that kind of SUCCESS…
I don’t deal in the currency of Beautiful Lies.
That is the currency of Swine.

————————–————————–————————–—————
I thought,
That he was just a 10 faced queen,
But I was wrong,
Its worse than that,
He’s a fucking bully.

How can it make him feel,
Deep inside,
Making little ones,
Want to cry,
Want to leave,
Want to run…

He ain’t a man,
Or a woman,
He is,
A chameleon,
Of spirit.

And I wonder,
If he even knows,
What he is,
Or who he is…

The bald eagle,
His wings need clipping,
I see this,
But I do nothing,
Just write…

And writing,
Aint gunna change a damn thing…

Who gave this prick his power*
Who gave him authority to abuse*
They will be next on my list,
But first,
Lets start with this fool.

Physically imposing,
Vulgarity to my gaze…

Does he get a kick,
Out of screaming at young girls*

I know people.
Who would put him,
Physically,
In his place..

And perhaps that is the only way.

Because,
I don’t like to see him upsetting little ladies.

It fills me with hatred,
Disgust,
A want for vengeance…

Which I have the means to exact.

What Right has he,
To belittle warm souls*

He has none.
He just has a Position.
A Title..
A different uniform.
Given him,
By other pigs.

Can he be fought with words alone*
I don’t know.

He is a bully.
The only way to beat a bully,
Is to beat him down,
To crush him…
Make him feel as.
Without remorse,
he makes others feel…

Just another example,
Of an individual,
Only out for itself.
Not giving a fuck,
Who it stands on,
Who it hurts,
Focused only on making money,
On maintaining his own Version of Security…

I am going to attack his Security.
With violence,
Or the Law…

The two mix,
As easily,
As oil and water…

If we were living in the Old Days,
I would simply,
Snuff him out.
And I would have no regrets…
The world would be better off,
Without him.
No doubt.

In the Now.
There’s gotta be a way…
Just need to find it,
Then proceed,
With an iron will…

The only way,
To gain the respect,
Of a man who gains respect,
Only through nastiness,
And fear…
Is to give him a dose of his own cruel medicine…

That much is obvious.
————————–————————–————————–————

It’s a cold world. We all know that. We all live that. We all feel that. But there is also Warmth…It is easy to forget that, to get so consumed with satisfying the guide book, with doing what we are supposed to do.

Maintain control. Maintain direction. But towards what*…who wrote the fucking guide book…*

Nobody writes my Story but me. I don’t live to satisfy others, to maintain the status quo, to succeed in the eyes of a Society whose roots dig deep into dead soil. I live to Experience, to Learn, to find moments of bliss and beauty. For Myself…She gives me those moments of bliss and beauty. Albeit in flashes, glimpses of what could be a prolonged exchange of mutual release from the hollowness and cruelty of Existence…

I cannot find adequate diction to explain the feeling she produces within me, deep down at the core of my essence, when she is in my arms, looking into my eyes, delving into Me with her gaze…But I will try. Because there is poetry in her embrace and I am a Poet…

I have loved several women. All of them have loved me in return…Only one of this illustrious group is of ill character. The other two are angels. This new solar flare sending light and heat through my atmosphere, through the land and oceans which cover my molten middle, is different to anything I have hitherto felt. There is Mental Chemistry between us. Sparks fly between our minds, and increasingly between our hearts, whenever we are together, locked in embrace, in my tidy cave.

For those moments I am holding her, and she is returning my glare with Interest, I am in Heaven. A cliché, but true…