Advocatus Diaboli

10.02.2013

I advocate
for the Devil

and believe
that God is dead,

Jesus Christ, I’m
surely going

to burn in
eternal Hell

Unless the Buddha
can save me

with some
enlightenment

But, is there
really a soul?

Tell me, who
can really tell?

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Iniquitous

Your heart is still as stone, my love

(Or at least, it so truly wants to be)

Yes, I have known that long enough,

Pardon my insolent iniquity?

Still and sharp as the rock beneath,

Cutting all those who mistread, my love

Yet in all its obsidian sharpness,

I thought it a diamond in the rough

My diamond in the rough, my love

Yet it’s my veins you choose to mark?

Once with nectar, now with poison,

Anyone ever mention how you shine brighter in the dark?

But, I fear not, my fellow mortal,

trapped in this sea of mediocrity

For I have seen the morbid future

and by killing me, you have set me free

And when I have drawn my last breath, as decreed by fate

your soul shall harken unto me

But it shall be far, far, too late

And I will not even haunt thee.

For the die is cast, words of the spell spoken

There remains only the way to be free

A heart, finally, still as stone, my love

And it pardons your insolent iniquity.

Arizona Phoenix

I have spent so long under this hot desert sun, dreaming up cages and sweet releases of rain and thunderstorms, that I somehow stumbled past the realization of no longer being tied to any wire. The freedom I craved was apparently mine to bestow upon myself – for quite a while now. But I had spent so long deceiving myself when it came to my reasons for staying, I had truly come to believe that I was stranded. Abandoned off some highway so distant and untraveled, that my weary wings would never be able to bear me to civilization ever again.

And I lay on the ever hardening, burning Earth, convinced that what I felt was coldness inside. Was it? I don’t know anymore.. Have no way of knowing. At least not immediately. But, fighting pain with more pain is a hatchling habit that should have died a long time ago. Except my obsession with souvenirs includes saving remnants of who I have been. Living ghost memories of parallel personalities that allowed me to sneak past life events before being able to fully comprehend them. Guardians that  may or may not have outlived their purposes, but it doesn’t matter, because I never learned to let go.

And we have sailed, with inappropriate laughter and tears, to this utterly bizarre point in time, all out of sync except when it comes to the burning rage at the core of us all. I think it’s the scintillating fusion of burning rage and the helplessness that comes with being not strong enough that gave birth to most of these ghosts in the first place, not quite unlike every other phoenix. Except since they never die, they are never reborn – simply frozen in time like ghosts that should fade, but never learned how to.

These are the ghosts that bind me. The remnants of a past so distant, I cannot even think of that person – those persons – as myself. And thus my frozen portraits bind me to the present, unable to move forward in time long enough to burn to ashes and be reborn. My sentimental heart longs for one more rain before it will allow me to go. But she is untrustworthy, and no amount of water will ever be enough. She shall always be thirsty.

I remember an old professor now. Back when I was so young that even the dreariest day brought with it abundant hope and the promise of adventure. The World was our’s. And he told us how it worked. How sometimes, it didn’t matter how much effort, time, capital or energy you had invested in a project. Sometimes, you had to realize that there would be no returns. Sometimes, you had to simply cut your losses. Those losses are your “Sunk Costs”, and well, it was an economical serenade to the concept of letting go. Harsh, practical and so true.

Except, I must be bird brained. Because despite knowing that, here I am. Cooking in the middle of a desert where I’m not even wanted, and where I have *never* wanted to be. What for? For years and years of sunk costs, I say. Years and years. And I’ve been putting away my turning to ashes and being reborn by one last thunderstorm and one last volcanic eruption and one last winter and one last smile – but my time has run out.

Change or Die.

That is not the question.

That’s the answer.

To Stay or To Go

What do you do when faced with life’s most persistent question: Stay or Go?

To Stay would mean swallowing your pride, perhaps even apologizing. Staying would mean trying to forget the shape and color of the knife that you barely managed to pull out of your throat. Staying means lowering your voice, walking on eggshells, and never being able to find the level of happiness you knew before you learnt that it could all be too easily destroyed. Staying means betraying yourself, with sugar-coated lies, and reassurances that your mind whispers to you all day long. Things were different back then. He didn’t mean it. This time is different. Staying means the constant reminder of the time you were confused, like a song that you had to train yourself not to cry at, or a milkshake that you had to stop drinking because it reminded you of him. Staying is pain.

To go would mean having the opportunity to start over. Leaving will allow you to relearn things, experience them all – all over again – with someone new. Leavng means being able to say at the very begnning, “Don’t hang up on me. I fucking hate people who do that.” Leaving means being free to pick a new favorite flavor of ice-cream, a new favorite song, even a new favorite scene from any move you like. Leaving means new adventures, new faces, new reasons to laugh and rejoice and celebrate life. Leaving shows you that you’re stronger than anything life may throw in your path. Leaving assures you that you’re still what’s most important to you – something that’s a lot more necessary than one might think. Leaving means movng on, forging your own path, letting go, growing up, seizing the day.

But, leaving can also be cold.. especially when everywhere else in the World seems dark and lightless. And when your very being likes where it is, leaving isn’t so much about moving forward, as it is about grabbing on to soul’s soft hair, and wrenching it out of its warm bath, only to drag it far and beyond everything it has known and grown to love. Leaving is about goodbyes that you *have* to say, and more importantly, goodbyes that you do not know how to say. About farewells that find you kicking and screaming as you try to hang on, and those that are so exhausting that they leave you curled up in a corner, too tired to even cry. Leaving involves the long walk down the driveway, every step of which is wracked with guilt, blame and regret. With doubts and despair. With the sinking feeling you get when you realize that it doesn’t matter how much time, effort, money or love you put into whatever it was that you must now say goodbye to – it clearly wasn’t enough. Not good enough. You weren’t good enough. Leaving is about accepting defeat, and moving on.

Yet, sometimes you have to linger.. Whether it be by your pool, or by the flowers you so painstakingly planted, even if it is for no other reason than to see them bloom. Even if they aren’t even your flowers anymore. Even if the Sun shines hurtfully, or you’re trapped in the pouring rain, or it begins to snow.. Staying doesn’t need the rewards leaving gives you, because being able to stay is by itself a reward. It gives you time to say your proper goodbyes, to apologize to those that hurt you, to kiss the pet animals you’ve rescued over the years, and tell the children to be good, and to pack up the things you know you’ll need, and pack away the things that have outlived their purpose. Staying, whether it be for minutes, months or years, acknowledges the time you spent trying to build up this castle for your spirit. It accepts the apologies you’re compelled to make every  time you see a crack in the wall. It teaches you how you could have done things differently, and how you could have saved it all.

~

Only thing to remember is not to linger too long.

Because your soul needs its hot water bath and familiar surroundings, even if you have to build them up from scratch.

Your soul needs the reassurance of knowing that you won’t be kicked out to the curb again.

Your soul needs a place to plant flowers, and giggle deliriously and be kissed by someone who cares about you so very much, that they would never ever leave you out in the cold.

Don’t linger too long. Your soul deserves better.

And I Always Will [An Ode to Mave]

She tells me I don’t bleed for her anymore
Not the way I used to, at least
With windswept hair, and an untamed heart
and eyes that reflected the seven seas.
I don’t know how to tell her the truth
the reason behind my accelerating decline
About things that hit us all, when we least expect them
and about things that used to be just mine.
I try to write out my thoughts in words
but blood is the only color that shall ever suffice
And I don’t blame anyone for the fire
I’m far too tired from all of the ice..

Someday, I think, I’ll speak to her
Speak out my mind, and all that it craves
But, it isn’t my place to break down and weep
It’s only my place to stand tall, and be brave.
Don’t get me wrong, I’ve been a sobbing fool
I’ve been lost, and I’ve cried out my soul
But, with every tear that travels down the telephone line
there’s a frozen thousand, burying my heart in the cold.

And I’ve been tired, I’ve been weak
I’ve forgotten the words to all of my songs
But, she hums the tunes back to me
And reminds me of reasons why one must stay strong
So, sometimes, I say to her, you don’t love me
or at least, you don’t love me well enough
and she mistakes those waves of motion
for an ocean that’s wild and rough.

Well, I’ve been accused of paranoia, & a guilt complex before
I’ve been accused of being selfish and mean
I’ve stood trial for things I never did
but, through it all, by my side she’s been
So, what use are words, when you have my loyalty?
What use is proof when I’ve given you my word?
What are terms of endearment when you have my soul
hanging inches above the edge of your sword?
Yes, you must not be the one to impale me
that honor is much too trite for what we share
But, love, never let a lack of my words
make thou doubt just exactly how much I care.

My hair remains windswept
and at least the seas, still free
And I will always remember
what the wind meant to me
In the charm of your laughter
In the joy of your voice
When it comes to sides I’m choosing
even my words won’t have a choice.
And, you dance in my castle
You dance by the lake
You live out your life
And mend me when I break.
In your violent violet hues
I stand, and I laugh.
So, love, don’t ever accuse me
of not caring enough.