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Stream of Conscience-BAD WRITING

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I Drink Alone. [12 Aug 2006|03:49am]

I Drink Alone
© Crux Charisma
i want to run naked
through the city
this is bullshit
and leave nothing
but burning rubble
in my wake
i want firecrackers
to sear wrinkles
in your
botox smile
because the media
(and testosterone)
tell me
i must inseminate
the woman with the
largest breasts
and smallest hips
so another
complacent ingrate
can spill
from her cunt
and rape the planet

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[04 Oct 2005|10:30pm]

Entangled in the prophetic snare of idiotic sentimentality
Flustered by the insane rhetoric of the emotive and the applied
With the expectations of complacence in all of our convictions
We're forced into unreason for a place where we can hide
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"Feast Upon my Illness" [24 Aug 2005|09:40pm]

What loss the world can offer me in the light of my maligned therapy
Succumb to apathy and drown in betrayal, time and time again...
Intravenous whispers and synthetic pleasure, vile absurdities of common cause
A vivid disection of the penance of the pitiless...
Fixated by oblivion that drives my obsession with futility...
I stop, I read, I write, I die alone, eating my words with my bloody hands.
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[28 Jul 2005|03:31pm]

Retro, in the sanctity of dogma and doctrine
Bullshit flows through your veins like amphetamine
Gunfire sounds when the vocal heat slips
The violent skys have made them fear their apocalypse
A fist in the face, take your place and stand clear
Entombed in the womb you can smell their fear
And when money passes over the battlefield like bullets
They repeat it like a mantra until the cap fits
And the brokers become breakers under corporate heights
And revolutions are run from business class flights
So we'll jam the cogs on the twelve gauge machine
The hardline socialites run shit behind the scenes
And for all the land owners that think that they're safe
And to all the world bankers who think they can make
We can shut you down in the blink of an eye
How many governors are willing to die
When shit kicked off, where were they then
Deep in the pockets of IBM
How deep are YOUR pockets? Did you pay for the rockets?
Look into my eyes set back deep in their sockets
The world keeps turning day by day
But if you've got the money I'm sure you could pay
With a wink and a nudge or a nod or a cough
To stop the world because you want to get off
But wheres the logic in that, except that you can
We'd all get a kick with that power in our hands
Click click bang another rebel lies
How can you have a voice with a hole in your head
Wake up motherfucker you can sway the vote
But for sleaze in the headlines or an exploding boat
Or they could sneak up behind you and slit your throat
Or inject you with a virus with no antidote
We can hang from a cross and die for our sins
But it won't stop us yearning for material things
No, our souls are as shallow as the pits where we'll die
Like the propaganda we read we're all full of lies
And when you look in my eyes you'll see those I despise
A reflection of me, the suburbanite spy...

Okay, firstly I need to point out that I wrote this when I was fifteen (back when I used to give a fuck), so hopefully I have an excuse for this immature and uninformed piece... I still quite like it though (and don't have the heart to edit it) and as I'm sure the more observant among you have already noticed, its also the poem I lifted my user name from... Anyway, it turns out that I have writers block... Of the thirty or so provisional opening lines I wrote down, not a single one inspired me to write a whole piece... HELP ME!!!!!
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[26 Jul 2005|02:30pm]

Thanks to anyone and everyone who commented on my poem "24 Tears", there isn't a single person who wouldn't revel in that kind of praise, and thanks to you I now feel a little bit better about myself than I did a few days ago.

And to everyone who asked for more, I'm afraid there isn't much left anymore... After my girlfriend left me, more than a year ago now, I had a particularly self destructive and cathartic splurge in which everything I was emotionally attached to was purged. I think I mistakenly saw it as a chance at a new start, maybe it would have been if only the memories were as easy to destroy as the letters and the photographs... Anyway, thats beside the point, isn't it? The fact is, I don't have many poems to post, and most of what I do have isn't very good. Sorry, maybe soon I'll write some more, but for now you'll just have to make do with this...

A stern voice and an angels melodious call collide like stars across the universe... The earth screams in agony and waves surge high above the sky's... In a quiet corner a child feels his world collapse and slowly he turns to embrace his fears... Short days become an eternity of nights for the dreamer and he dreams... He dreams of an hourglass thats fast becoming empty... of fading embers and trees that choke themselves with their roots... Torn by reason and tempted by the innocence of rapture he walks into fate... hesitation bends the shape of time and what once there was has ceased to be... White blood sears the lost boys heart as he feels his soul being torn from his grasp... With a begging hand he reaches out but he sees they ignore his cries though they watch him closely... Broken faces with cracked eyes that speak of histories and the passing of ages....they taunt him with words that stay hidden in the cracks of the skull road he walks... Striving for recognition among the hopeless the whisper spins a silver web that transcends the obscure into divinity..."I Loved you once" it says... The dreamer awakens and dreams no more...
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[21 Jul 2005|11:20pm]

[ mood | tired ]

Twentyfour tears from a dead angels eyes leak black onto the pillow where she lays her head, cracked and faded like an old china doll... Her memories stir through her lifeless corpse and a smile breaks her blue lips. "Not here", she says, then shes gone... The blood turns to ashes and a sense of loss prevails, a disembodied voice tells me "No one wins" and I accept this without question... A scream transcends reality and a thousnd mirrors smash, oblivion becomes truth and we all become lies... Perceptions alter and what was white becomes red, the innocents have seen this before, ask them... The spirit of perfection is alive here, offering her pale soft hand to the blinded men who beg for absolution from the eternity they suffer, beg for the real death that both she and I know can never be achieved... Turning to me she becomes stricken with infinity, aware of the aware, and I see that where her eyes once were bright, shining endless time, now theres only lascivious insanity... A wretched soul, bereft of the compassion she had promised, become a vessel for the souls of the souless only to be deprived her own... No sympathy for the dispossessed, the broken or the lonely... "You'll never be forgotten" She whispers in my ear, "You'll never be forgiven" She whispers in my head, "You'll never be allowed to die" She screams into my dreams... The sickness that destroys, the certainty of demise, the abject humiliation of being aware... Glass shards reflect the hollow, force the truth and expect all that can't be given for their troubles... "Follow the future" Cry the beggars from the eternal damnation that they bare, "Don't be afraid"... Tempted by temptation, tarnished by a scarlet imperfection that appeals to the wasters and the the wasted, I accept the offer and begin to fall... Into the mouth of redemption the burnt soar, ushered on by madness and contaminated with the sanity of the unquestioned... Abandoned by my guide, forsaken and left alone, smashed and broken by the bones of everyone I once loved... A spiteful laugh echos in a thousand recognisable voices that pivot and crash against the walls of this unfamiliar cell, filling it slowly with the hatred I already drown in... The demons appear then, reveal themselves finally, these hideous wraiths of illusion and disillusion who wear the shrouds of shadow that blanket every corner of every consciousness they've ever consumed... "See, you'll NEVER be forgiven", I hear her voice and believe for a moment I'm saved, "Never forget, never forgotten" she speaks so softly... Porcelain blades swing, cut me loose from the umbilical binds that have burnt and slit my wrists, pools of despair join the rush as it spills from my veins... Acceptance wins the war, an undisputed battle of attrition that I always knew I wouldn't win... I give in... The pleas of the suffering are once again ignored as my angel appears and blankets me in the warmth that only submission has to offer...

Not exactly a poem I know but I don't know what else to call it... I could probably do with some guidance... Anyway, hope you liked it...

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HELP [01 May 2005|08:11pm]

Hey people,
Well I would just like for you guys to give me ya'lls advice. I have been single for a month. Me and my friend did it because we are never usually single. But it has torn us bth to shreds. I realized last night how much I just wanted to kiss someone. Then I thought about my past relationships, and my mind went to this guy named Cody. Best Kisser I have ever kissed. It was forceful and passionate... its really great. So my thought was I just go up to him and ask him if he has a girl friend and then pull him down to my level and kiss him. I haven't really talked to him since november...except a hi now and then. He is a druggy and I don't like that, when we were together he quit for me, but I just want a kiss...what if he pulled away, oh that would be majorly embarresing...Well Coment by saying ...Kiss...or don't... thx much love *muah*
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The Wrong Kind of High [12 Feb 2004|01:12pm]

[ mood | blah ]

You lay on the ground,
Your lifeless eyes gazed at the celing,
They covered you up,
So your mother couldnt see.
A few hours ago we were laughing,
A few minutes ago you were choking.
Not on a piece of food like the normal,
but on your own vomit.
Don't you remember-
We were just laughing about how we couldnt feel our legs?
You fell off the couch and hit your fucking head.
You got up slowly, and gazed around- I couldnt believe it,
You ran up stairs to puke in the god dammed toilet.
I sat there for a while and then i heard... nothing,
I got up, looked in the bathroom,
And i didnt see you moving.
I started SCREAMING- i dont know for how long.
It must have been when your parents got home that i stopped.
I was trying to wake you up,
But i tried to late,
The medics came and said that you were dead,
I screamed, "there has to be a mistake!!"
Your parents were crying, your brothers and sisters to,
I felt so bad that i wasnt sure what to do.
So the next time i plan to go get fucked,
i'll remember what happened to you.

sorry this was such a depressing first piece. I figured that i should start with some emotion. Please give me your thoughts.

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Oops [06 Jan 2004|12:05pm]

[ mood | blah ]

This line.. "I land cat-like, slowly lifting my gead ti glance around. " is supposed to be "I land cat-like, slowly lifting my head I glance around."
Don't ask me how the hell that happened...
And in the first line "life" is supposed to be "like".

~*~ Ciao :)

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[06 Jan 2004|11:59am]

[ mood | blah ]

Laying in bed, flat on my back, life those layed down for their final rest, a warm slow, flow snakes it’s way down from the center of my palm onto the white satin sheets. The flow of the elixir of my life quickens and the sheets are becoming soaked. I kick the sheets away because I do not want to further ruin them. Then, I bend my legs over the side of the bed, and because I am so far from ground, I must use my hands to push myself from the cradle- like resting spot onto ground. I land cat-like, slowly lifting my gead ti glance around. There is only the cradle, the endless flow of life from my hands, and nothingness. I bring myself up, and then I look down at the puddle I have made. It’s steadily growing, spreading, concurring the nothingness. Seeing this mess, I take off my nightgown and drop to my knees. Sitting there naked and vulnerable, I try to soak up the mess but I only smear it. I only…this mess…I’m only this mess, and this mess is not, without me. I lay down in the muddle, and shut my eyes, shut out the mess and drift.

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Give me what I want [04 Jan 2004|04:47pm]

[ mood | mischievous ]

Time allows no more hesitation
I am going to get what I want from you
To many lonely nights to refuse
You are going to do what I want you to

The strength of lust is uncontrollable
I will make you follow my lead
Impatient blood thrusts thru the veins
You will give me what I need

We will finish what is started - play no more games
We will reach new heights - our veins full of flames

Though you were the dealer, I am the buyer
Just like the rabbit, I am back in the briar

If this pissed you off, please send me a message, we need to talk

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I call this "My new pick-up Line" [04 Jan 2004|05:39am]

[ mood | predatory ]

My intentions are pure and innocent
I ask nothing but to know you
To touch you
To feel you
To taste you
To satisfy your deepest desires
My intentions are pure and innocent

If you think it is good: Fear not ladys, I swear never to use this on some wounded dove.
If you think it is not: Let me know, please, I hate being slapped (a little)

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We could not ask for more than satisfaction [03 Jan 2004|08:27pm]

[ mood | satisfied ]

omorrow the night will fall -

The night can be wicked
Taunting like an embarrassing memory
The night can bring sorrow
Take hold of a soul and lead it to darkness
The night can arouse desolation
Throw ambient sounds of torpidity to dilute hope

Tomorrow the day will come -

Tranquil thought of day can feel secure
Tantalizing the mind, sharing vibrant design
The melody of day can share visions of beauty
Transverse the tangle of obligation and demand
Trenchant determination of day can be encouraging
Temptation of affection, sufficiently subdues lassitude

Tomorrow the night will fall -
Tomorrow the day will come -

Tomorrow will repeatedly elude obtention
Today inspiration is nourished internally
Tomorrow will be circumstance of fate
Today destiny is determined by desire

Today will be a perfect revolution.

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Not ment to portray imagery (or spelling) [03 Jan 2004|07:04am]

[ mood | annoyed ]

Treasure the feeling of insecurity
though it might seem strange
it is the suffering
the invigorating tingle of uncertainty
the drips of cold sweat
That will keep you pleading
for another uncomfortable moment

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[01 Jan 2004|08:02pm]

[ mood | nostalgic ]

This was prompted by a freewrite suggestion, I failed at the freewrite, but worked a bit on this instead, the topic was something close to: 'write on a movie or album, that inspires you'... I was inspired by Pink Floyd's 'Animals'... It played a key role in my life and was the inspiration I used to completely detatch from sanity on several occassions.

I need only to feel something
I am numb; emotionless
No reason for thirsting
No desire to reflect
No plan to devise
What would I desire
What would I remember
Why make pointless promises

I need only to feel something
I am alone, abandoned
No friend to confide
No lover to please
No foe to hate
Who's opinion would I cherish
What good is gratification
Why enhance cruelty

I need only to feel something
I am exhausted, apathetic
No questions to answer
No secrets to unravel
No stories to share
Which answer do I choose
Would I believe if I knew
Why repeat the past

I need only to feel something
I am afraid, apprehensive
No indication of content
No comfort to accept
No sign of success
Why do I feel such thriving sorrow
When will I stop feeling isolated
What did I try to accomplish

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1 thought, 2 discriptions - From a Word Tray [31 Dec 2003|08:15pm]

[ mood | cold ]

Lover whispers empty passion.
Wept in a cold dream.
Heart void of wonder,
While soul waits to fly.
Voilent song love chanted,
Crashes and bleeds but will not die...

Breathes forever like hate.....

Burns silent like desire.......

Ponder freezing passion
To feel the cold chill of wonder.
Forget forever a day it danced like fire
While your empty heart burns deep, quenching desire

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[31 Dec 2003|03:57pm]

[ mood | hungry ]

Subtle glance pleads tenderly for an empathetic return
Primitive vibration of desire demands acknowledgement
Blood quickens in the vein; dormant curiosity awakes

Hypnotized by the irresistible gravity of infatuation
Temptation of surrender becomes undeniable
Obsession dominates rationality; Emotions exemplified

Thoughts fixated on the intoxification; focused on insanity
Intensity of touch is commanding, explored uncontrollably
Bodies meet in climatic procurement of harmony

Trembling in the unparalleled honesty of the moment
Lathered in the comforting whisper of satisfaction
Content in the flawless pleasure of embrace

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i think im the only one who posts here [16 Dec 2003|06:36pm]

[ mood | blah ]

Lost in your eyes. A vast open space of hopes, dreams, love, friendship, knowledge, kindness, happiness.
A deep ocean of sadness, lonliness, crushed hopes and dreams, a forgotten past.
I appologize, I wandered into your soul through your eyes and got lost.
Withdraw from the world around you to feel alone within your heart.
Weaving together a quilt of love, trust
and friendship.
Just to pull it apart strand by strand
until there is nothing left
but a pile of frayed feelings and emotions
flawed within the boundries of the mind.

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an excerpt from something i had written a very long time ago (5 years) [02 Dec 2003|01:26am]

[ mood | exhausted ]

"survive suffering.
suffering severness.
severe nothingness.

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[01 Dec 2003|09:09pm]

[ mood | dorky ]

I wrote it in the point of view of a child whose parents became one of the "Disappeared" of Argentina.(http://www.yendor.com/vanished/) Armies were sent to find terrorist in the homes to citizens. They killed and tortured many, but found none.

I tell this to you now from a body of old, but this rape happened to me in a body of new. Something precious has been taken away from me, and those who have taken it will never be able to give it back, or erase the horrid and detestable memory that it has left finely itched within me. Oh, how I cherished those quiet nights of new, when all of us were together, sleeping in the same bed, breathing the same air, breathing. But my life givers are gone now, and without them, it is difficult to appreciate the beautiful radiance of the sun and the gifts in which it brings. But to show that I have not the falls of man force me down the hill of hatred as well, I keep living; I will not let them have anymore of me.
That night is still as vivid as ever in my mind. The smell of my papà’s ink pens in the pocket over the breast of his dress shirt is what I was thinking as I sat in his favorite chair, wondering what he had taught today at the university. It was always the first thing I smelled on him when I ran into his arms and burred my head into his chest, and then there was the smell of chalk in his hair; like always, for tonight seemed to be no different. Had I have known that it was the last time I’d be able to associate these smells with his presences, I would have never let him go.
Then, the sounds of his heavy feet walking up the porch stairs and the clumsy way he tried to find the house key, jingling them this way and that; why did he even bother? It only took me a matter of seconds to reach the door. Suit case on the ground, keys barely gripped in his hand, while he held me in his arms. He rubbed my back with his free hand, and said to me what he always said, “ Don’t open the door before asking, “who is it”!”
Then I’d raise my head to look into his deep brown eyes and smile at him knowingly, “I know when it’s my papa.”
He’d put me down, and we’d walk to the kitchen, where my mom was, preparing dinner. He’d go to her and squeeze her as if he hadn’t seen her in such a long while, and she’d sigh into his arms as if she’d never let go. Seeing them together was everything to me, never could I imagine them being apart. But the heavy footsteps that came in the night made the picture of them holding each other in the kitchen fade away.
I’d always be tucked in my bed, read my bedtime story in my bed and my glass of water was even next to my bed, but at night, with only the moon to guide me, I found my way to my mama and papa’s bedroom, and snuggled in between them. They always left room for me. I took a deep breath, inhaling my mama’s perfume, and the smell of my papa’s strong soap, I sunk deeper and deeper into sleep’s arms, becoming closer and closer to the beginning of a sweet dream, but then there were the heavy footsteps. They could not have belonged to my papa.
The thunder that boomed against the front door almost made me jump outside of myself. I immediately went to grab my papa, but he was already out of bed, stumbling to find his house-shoes in the starlight. He held his fingers up to his lips and whispered, “ go to sleep, mi amor.”
I laid my head down into my mom’s lap, who had awoken as well at the thunderous banging at the door. She ran her fingers through my hair and smiled at me, “Dream, mi amor.”
“Get out of here! Maria!”, cried my father in terror to my mother, I can only imagine that his facial expression as matching hers’ when the men stormed through the bedroom door. She looked utterly terrified, as she grabbed me up into her arms tightly, almost making it impossible for me to breath.
“Papà?” I called to him. But he did not answer.
One of the men, tall and slender grabbed my mother from out of bed. He’s dark dead face looked so out of place here in the sanctity of my parents’ bedroom. The faces of the others were all the same, though most were hidden behind black masks.
“Who are you?”, my mother demanded.
“Put down the child.”, the heavier masked men told her matter-of-factly; as if releasing her child to strange men who had just stormed into her home was something she’d do without contest.
“What do you want?”, she said with a sob. I absorbed her fear. I was soon consumed by emotion and I fought hard to hold back the tears. I didn’t want my mom to see me crying. It always upset her to see me cry.
“Put her down!” , roared the beastly man, as he brought the end of his gun clashing down onto the side of her head. She crashed to the floor limply, like a wilting flower. I fell from her arms onto the bed, as her body hit the floor with a thud.
“Mamà!”, I screamed at the top on my lungs. I dropped down on to the floor to help her. “Papa! They’re killing her!”
Blood was all over her, and she faintly whispered my name, “Helena, mi amor.”
This sent me into hysterics. The men picked up my mom and dragged her by her arms into the living room, towards the front door. Most of the other men followed, two remained behind.
“Mamà!”, I screamed to her, not knowing she was soon to pass into a place where not even the screams of her terrified child would be able to awaken her.
“Shut her up! I’m going to search the house.”, said the heavy masked man.
The slender dark faced man held me by my arm with one arm, and smacked me across the face with the other, breaking my nose. I continued to holler for my papà.
He threw me onto the bed and pinned me down. His stench was thick. A smell I could only describe as the smell of Death. With his free hand, he ripped my pajamas and panties from my body, and took away my innocence with the ripping and tearing of everything else. He held my mouth closed now, but I could still hear my own muffled screams through his deep, dark breaths.
When he was done, he pulled out his gun, and held it to my head. He stared down blankly at me. I guess his black heart wouldn’t permit him to shoot a child in the head, but it did allow him to beat me unconscious. And when I awoke, I was in a house alone, naked in the glow of the sun on the bed my parents’, my rapist and I had shared.

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