Faking it.

Like a smile that doesn't quite reach the eyes, sometimes we're faking it. Pretending to feel things we don't feel, saying we want things we don't want, acting as though we give a damn when, in reality, we really don't. We do them because we fear hurting others or revealing a deeper truth. We do them to appease bosses, coworkers, friends, and even loved ones. We do it to keep the 'status quo' and maintain a comfort zone.

Assumed identity, imitation thoughts. All these things are a wall. A barrier that keeps everyone out and crushes the real you that dwells within. Hiding behind a wall of cynicism you keep faking it. The words spill forth, unbidden without thought. After a while, so used to the guise, the line between reality and the fallacy is blurred.

It's in the eyes. It's in the manner. Faking it. The truth is always there to be seen and everyone knows. Everyone can see it, but yet you keep going with the perjury. You don't want to reveal the real you and what you feel. You don't want to destroy all that you have built on these tales. You fear what will happen when reality sets in.

Sometimes we spew lie after lie, so we can keep on faking it. Do it long enough and you can't even recall what the truth is any more. Do it long enough and the false you becomes real, until someone or something shatters the illusion and leaves you desperate and clinging onto the memories you have of the false you. Your heart breaks at opportunities missed, lies told, and farcical dreams built.

Someone ducks behind the barricade and sees the reality. They accept you and all your flaws, yet you keep going with the lie to others. It feels impossible to start life over. It seems unbearable to believe when, for so long, you didn't and couldn't. How do you show everyone the real you? Will they accept it, when all they knew was the front? Will you be left alone, unregarded, and abandoned? That's the fear.

Fear keeps the real you in check. Fear of the unknown. Fear of exposure. Fear of the real you not being good enough. Fear of your real desires affecting things you need. Fear at losing what matters to you.. fear of losing.. everything.

Where do we go from here? What do we do when someone or something sees you, laid bare? How do you cope with that? How can you go on? What do you do next?

I wish I knew...

Sometimes you'll get a new toy or plaything. For a moment that plaything consumes your existance. You love it, you want to play with it all the time, you don't want anyone else to touch it. That toy is YOURS and yours alone.

However, in time, that toy becomes nothing to you. You've seen all it has to offer and, while you still enjoy it, it's just not worth bothering with. Every once in a while you'll take it out to play with it but, by and large, you're done with it. It was fun, for a time, but it's time to move onto something new and special. The old toy sits upon a shelf... collecting dust. Small, crystal tears appear on it's form from neglect and being lost in the shuffle.

Then.. then, someone else desires your toy. It's yours! Even if you never play with it, it's YOUR toy. How dare anyone else want to dabble with your plaything? Obviously you love it more. Here, take the toy down and play with again. Show how much you love and want it, even though you'd ignored it for months.. years. Someone else wants it, that makes you want it MORE. It... is... your... toy! You had it first.

"A gun on the floor
A hole in your head
Just like a whore
You wish you were dead

Such a pretty toy to play with"*

Does that toy not deserve the attention it craves. If it's no longer fresh and and new, does it cease to be important? Does it deserve the quiet death of a back shelf... unregarded, unloved, and unimportant?

Cut it.. it will bleed. It will feel pain. Just notice it. It hurts when its ignored and disregarded. Acknowledge its existance and it will live again. Such a pretty toy.. left alone on a shelf. See it. Know it. Realize it.

Leaving it to collect dust and it will cease to be the beautiful toy. It will become an empty shell. It will become nothing.. Emptiness.. void..

It bleeds. It hurts. It knows. Take it to bed. It will know and feel love again.

Its just a toy though.. so does it matter?

"Such a pretty toy to play with...."

*Lyrics "Pretty Toy" by Velvet Acid Christ

I was going to write a poem
I tried to work it out
I couldn't think of anything
No epiphany to write about

I was going to make a rhyme
and make it something deep
I couldn't find the inspiration
Perhaps I should just sleep

I thought about a haiku
or maybe a limerick, I'd jot
No syllables or jokes
not one thing have I got

Maybe I'll write a song
I think quietly to myself
Now I have no music
and dust on my brain's shelf

I thought I had some rhythm
It's usually easy for me to write
Instead I sit here befuddled
and my neck is getting tight

I just know that if I leave it
the thoughts will come around
but of course I'll have no pen
or paper to put it down

I guess there'll be no poem
no silly rhymes to read
You're stuck, instead, with nonsense
And the hope that your eyes didn't bleed.

Shallow. Often I try to justify my existance with supposed deep thoughts or ideas. They're meaningless, though. Drifting through, day to day, I ponder the shoes I am going to wear, the books I wish to buy, the calls I want to make, the voice I want to hear, the place I need to go. Is that all their is? Is my daily life so reft of meaning I actually have nothing better to do than worry about these mundane, plebeian, and drab things?

Thoughts will tumble over themselves, sometimes chittering at the edges of my conciousness, but they get lost in the shuffle of the every day. If I could hole up, just for a while, would that make it better? Would I then be able to say that I am truly a better person, for taking the time to take out my soul and wash the stain of banality away? Am I deluding myself into thinking there is more? Am I just trying to appear as though there's more substance, when in actuality this is all that I am; my existance wrapped up in the insignifigant details.

I try to think, to learn, to know, to explore. To what end? Am I looking for meaning, justification, fulfillment, enlightment? Is some small part of me looking to laud my thoughts over others who do not even try to see deeper meaning? What manner of being would do that? Am I really that shallow? Why do I even care? Do I always feel this way?

Existential crisis. My life is laid bare and I am left to wonder. I wonder who I am, where I am going, and what I have done so far. I look back, not with regret, but with sorrow at decisions made and choices that cannot be undone. I wonder at my motivations. I wonder at the logic, when logic seemed to fail.

I dig deep down into every nook and cranny into a life and find it wanting. It's not that I don't like it or that I am unhappy or that I don't appreciate what I have, I just wonder at the missing part. There's a space that needs filled, it's not spiritual. In that way I am blessed, but it's something else. I can't explain what it is. It's like a sore spot in the mouth, your tongue keeps finding it and prodding at it. You can't figure out how it got there, but you keep nudging it just to feel the pain.

This sounds angsty as hell, but trust me, this isn't bred of angst. It's moreso a mild discontent and a random collection of thoughts. Verbal vomiting, if you will, a stream of conciousness. I doubt I'll even be able to make head or tail of it later. I don't expect anyone else to get it now. Maybe I'm just trying to purge the ideas from my head, freeing them and making space for something else. Something different, something new.

Shallow. Am I?

Sex is a beautiful, wonderful, natural, and obviously, very pleasing thing. However, we still speak about it in whispers or with giggles. There's still much judgement abound in sexuality. We shield it from our children (though we have no problem showing them violence). We tuck it away or make broad generalizations. We're fascinated by it and hear about it all the time, yet we're so puritanical. Sex is oft considered to be locker room talk, or something best left discussed in private.

It's shrouded in myth, mystery, lie, and bias. People are led to feel shamed by their desires and their actions. Then there's double standards. What's good for a woman, is not for a man. What's good for the lover, is not necessarily meant for the spouse. It's acceptable to be "kinky" with 'certain kinds of people', but if "normal" people have a kink, they tuck it away so no one can ever know.

It's so sad that we hide our sensuality and our desires. It's tragic that we feel we have to hold ourselves up and compare ourselves against others. What's too little, too much, too many, too few? How is a relationship defined? Polyamory vice monogamy - one is deemed normal, the other deviant. All are cause for judgement to far too many people.

Why?

Why can we not embrace our desirous selves? Why is there even a percieved norm? Are we not all different? Are we not all unique? Do our desires have to fall into cultural norms in order for us to gain approval from our peers?

Tragically, that seems to be the case. We're conditioned to accept a certain standard of behavior (different for men and women, single and attached) in our sex lives. If we do not, we don't discuss it for fear of rejection or ridicule. That's ridiculous.

We're creatures of desire, lust, love, and hope. All can be encompassed in the act of love. All can be experienced very deeply in that most intimate act. The form it takes shouldn't matter. One shouldn't be judged on what they do in the privacy of their homes, even if it breaks the societal mores (illegal activity aside, or that which hinders another).

I embrace my sexuality. I will make no apologies for who I am, what I've done, or what I wish to do. I will not feel shame for any of it. It's part of me and I cherish it. I am free and unfettered.

Will I be judged for feeling this way? Likely. Do I care? I would be lying if I said no. I do care, but it's moreso a sadness than discontent at being mocked. It's sadness because people judge based on what they've had drilled into their heads about what's "normal". How do you even define normal or moral? Doesn't that change based on the moment or the context or even the person?

It's truly tragic that we've taken something so beautiful, pure, and intimate and turned it into something we hide, laugh about, judge, or shy away from.

Throw off your chains and live! Embrace your sensual self. Accept that there is no mold. It's your life, your feeling, and your joy. If you're consenting adults and you both wish for something to happen, don't let anyone else hinder your pleasure. The only bindings are the ones you place on yourself. No one else.

If they judge you, remember.. it's their loss. They are the ones shackled by their own morality. They are the ones who see the body as something to hide or sex as something to mock, judge, or shun. They see it as dirty...

I see it as a "growing closer".

And really.. why is that a bad thing? No matter what form it takes.

"Beauty is the Enemy.."*

The trappings of the aesthetic can lead down a dark and lonely road. I don't refer to the beauty within the natural, I refer moreso to the common concepts of beauty and the modern, industrialized world in which we live. People strive to surround themselves with beauty, only to succumb to the trappings of an existance that's essentially meaningless. Work and work, no time for the appreciation of what they acquire and never satiated. The cycle can be never ending. What is it when one is enrobed in beautiful "things", but lost the soul in their pursuit?

And what of the concepts of human beauty? Our natural selves, in their pristine states, no matter what the form, are oft seen as grotesque by many who judge us. The real beauty of mind and soul is forgotten in the pulchritude of the shell (or in the lack thereof). One rarely notices the mind and spirit of those with which they speak, nor will they even bother to scratch beyond the surface of one they deem unappealing.

Some strive to see beyond it, but it seems a nearly hopeless cause. Even the least visually appealing of our race will sit in judgement of others whom they deem to be 'ugly'. Some work so hard to be seen as outwardly beautiful, they become inwardly hideous. Some destroy themselves, slowly, so as to appear better or more desirable.

"those who dive beneath the surface glorify the grotesque.... Acceptance of ugliness is the redemption of sanity"

With the advent of electronic anonymity, we can dig the further down, beyond the surface and find the beauty within. We can see into people's minds and hearts. We catch glimpses of true elegance and intelligence. Dig deeper and deeper and we'll see the soul. The external rarely reflects what lies within.

If the world were blind, would we worship the false idols of perfection personified? Would we see them as heroes and people to be adored, or would the ugliness finally give way? Could we live in the dark and 'see' true beauty?

"They are the elect to whom grotesque things bring only rapture"

Devotion and dedication should be earned by merit and an alluring spirit, mind, and soul. Open your inner eyes and seek out the lighted soul of one who may not be outwardly beauteous. Notice the essense of the individual and not their physical attributes or their monetary accouterment.

The light you see will be your own, as you experience that which is truly beautiful.

Redeem your sanity..

"Ugliness my flag.."


*Quotes are from "Beauty is the Enemy" by cEvin Key

Is it necessarily a bad thing to recognize the dark side of ourselves? Denying the macabre is a denial of part of our souls. To truly appreciate light we must embrace the dark. To feel the fullness of joy, we must understand and have felt pain.

But what is our responsibilioty when working with dark magic? Should we ever call upon the darker gods and goddesses to pay them homage? Why are the darker aspects of the divine ignored? Are we afraid they will be unleashed?

Is the darker side of self something to be shunted aside or banished - or should it be embraced as an aspect of our own personal polarity? Everyone has thoughts ans feelings best to keep to themselves or thought to be such. Such things are normal, but we hide them. We leave them in the recesses of our mind, out of shame or embarrassment.

Nature is not all kind and benevolent. It's peaceful and violent, light and dark, birth and death, mating and murder. Those aspects seeming darker are just the cycles of nature. They are normal and carry beauty, even in the grotesque.

What pure nature lacks, it seems, is the petty vindictiveness, the arrogance, and the selfishness of man. But not all tenebrous thoughts are bred of those; they just are. We can respect the darker part of self, without giving in. By accepting it without shame and embracing it, we can seek to understand our selves and be not ashamed of what we are.

We are part of nature.

Creatures of and kin to the divine.

Both sides.. light and dark.

The goddess was dying. Through greed and corruption of kings, emporers, and popes; her voice was being silenced, her people slain, and her once fertile and thriving culture was laid waste. Her dying voice echoed quietly in those who remembered and knew her, in secret. Her songs were hid away, like so many of her brave daughters.

Yet she lived. She lived in the recesses of her children's hearts. She lived in the gentle thoughts and beliefs of those who spoke her name, privately, so that none could hear them chant to her and keep awake her memory. She lived in the annuls of time, she lived in the back rooms of people's homes, she lived in the very Earth we stand on.

Now she begins to thrive. Voices once hushed and hid, now rejoice loudly and call her name. The dying goddess reawakens with each new heart that knows her. Her rebirth is slow, but each phase is marked in celebratory joy. Each moment that passes, another calls to her, quietly but with chants loud and ecstatic. With each dance, each moment in love, and each utterance of her name, she grows stronger.

The goddess will live, truly, again if we remember her and keep her from darkness.

Sometimes, I have no idea what to think or say. I sit back and ponder life and think about its meaning. Sometimes, I ponder my own selfish needs and wants. I feel powerless over my life, my feelings, my cravings, my desires. In those moments, I see the big picture and know my needs and wants are insignifigant, but I still long for them.

I feel as though I'm just a being who drifts through, day to day. Moment of desire to moment of desire. Is it merely sensual, is it merely spiritual, is it merely cerebral? No, it's a combination of all.. yet, it's a combination of none. I am whole, I feel all. I cannot box or pinpoint the cause of my worry or my discontent.

I want love, I want to be desired, I want to be wanted, I want to be needed. I want to feel as though my life truly matters. Not in the cosmic sense, but in the here and now. I want to feel as though my life intertwines, bisects, and matters to someone else.. as much as their existance and life matters to me. I want to feel I am as important to someone, as they are to me.

Is that a lot to ask? Is it selfish? Is it arrogant to want to be unique, special, and be thought of as important? Perhaps.. but don't we all want that feeling in some small measure? Don't we all wish to feel that we're valued, cherished, loved, and that we are truly important to someone else?

Does it not cut us to the core, when we feel we are not? Who are we, if we do not see ourselves mirrored in someone else's eyes? Is that not the mirror where we seek to truly judge ourselves, our being, and our place?

Do we not all wish to feel as though we are a star...?