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Originally posted by pen dragon:
I want to be the raw registry of holy sound, the absolute vocal venom that Chris Cornell parts the cloudbanks with.I want to grow more comfortable inside my self-righteous skin,where I matter, where my hammer beaten blade is ten feet long and sanctified with offense and defense.I want to feel the same gothic poetry and love-worn velvet when I touch my well-storied scars as when I touch the soft shredded edge of a cream coloured sheaf of monk-bound paper I want to feel as hell-hound, earthbound sacred as i do when I hear Metallica's instrumentals and see the empty woods in movies about the west memphis three.I want to feel as safe from the world always, as i do in our bathroom, a window blind , a shower curtain, a transistor and clouds of steam to make my hothouse self tender and hallowed.I want my stomach deadened by peppermint sedatives.I want my fixed-up eyes shielded by charlie parker platten dark.I want healthy stars and deep wells for wishes.I want to feel shorn.Re-born.I want to feel the sting of snow on my burned skin.I want my day-to-day strange with virtue.I want rotten words to go in one ear and out the other with no sticking place to haunt.I want my life to not be so much of a vibrant stain, not this continual divine reaction to this chemical intervention.I no longer want to suffer every little change in the weather.

quote:

Originally posted by pen dragon:
There's my Karinator!! Missed you!! Thank you for getting it...I was feeling the need to explore and throw my wings out a little and see what they scooped up.Soft white underbelly, i guess.LOL. It was kind of refreshing.I guess when we admit to our interior landmines (yes that was admittedly repetitive), they don't blow up so loudly in our faces when they get trod upon! Yay for meditation,rofl.