The Dragons Can Only Dance

Dear Emo Boy,

Give to me your rainbow rose,

Blossomed to the point of bursting

Colors inconceivable to the minds eye

Oh, dear Emo boy,

I can see it now

Your ego death came long before,

my world, your canvas, pure as snow,

Your life the vibrant explosion,

soft as snow fall

My dear Emo Boy,

Give to me your water color rose,

And show me your blood

Wet on these thorns, darkened in my eyes

Warm to the touch,

Warm to my eyes

Meet my gaze Emo Boy,

Your shoes are nothing new

Build your walls, brace your gates,

Windows never truly close

Look into my eyes, my sweet Emo Boy…

What has the world done to you?

Give me your hands Emo Boy,

The holes in your palms, tell me

Do you smear them on your sleeve?

I see them on both sides. I see the space between

Your blood your soul, but someone has

Stolen your bones

Cheer up Emo Boy,

You were more human than any of us

A smattering of colors, soft as a butterfly’s wings

You were the all we could not see,

That you could find

Beauty in the street lights

I love you Emo Boy,

The histories of the world could not contain

What you save inside

As rich as great kings, hoarding mountains of coin no one can spend

Spinning yarn into epics, composing songs from your colors

In languages never to be spoken,

Never to be understood

I love you Emo Boy,

You are more human than any of us

With Regards,

–J

I am a beautiful creature. I’ll admit it, though most days I would turn my head away. Some days I realize it. Most days no. Today is one of those rare days. The right beam of light streaming in through a single garage window, touching my skin it’s like a warm glow of a campfire on a cold summer night, wrapped in a child’s love. 

I’ve lost something dear to me recently. And the events are to be disclosed at a later date. She was my world, and I couldn’t decide upon savior or destroyer. Last time I felt this way was early with her. I sent her the best of myself in ways no one had the been given the right to enjoy. I felt like golden perfection and wanted her to know she made this metal statue soften.

How does one stretch a moment to eternity? Through haunting memory alone. But for this moment of eternity let us feel the sun as we spoke of it the night before. 

With regards, 

–J

p.s. I had myself another photo shoot for my social media, something I don’t participate in. I feel good about myself for a change for a small moment on eternity.

His strides fell like velvet.

The way he moved, sliding out of the dark corners like a lithe serpent, ethereal almost, nearly soothing, were it not for the sudden draw of breathe his presence inhaled. As if all the air in the room suddenly in one direction rushed forward, consumed by the whisper of a void.

His eyes were glazed orbs, sealed glass behind which held nothing but a lifelessness. Death, held by floodgates, focused, sharp. 

When his lips parted a blast of icy wind frosted the still air. One word passed through the cold, a dark rumbling sound, like a tear drop hitting the floor. Flint ground on stone cave walls in one swift motion sending a showering of sparks into dry kindling as every instinct coalesces at the bedrock itself:

“r u n.”

Admiration is the highest form of pleasure to me.

There are these moments that I find that are perfect. In my opinion, there’s no true definition for perfect though. Everything observed is done so subjectively. We can entertain fantasies of the greatest things we can possibly conceive that are subjective to and owned by us.

An organically occurring perfect moment, out there in the bloody wild, just happened. And the beast put down its claws. Withdrew its teeth, and laid still. Listening to the faint breathing of a sleeping wood elf. And even though it diminished in the daylight as it sat and guarded, I just kept squinting at the light and saying, “Yeah, still there.” 

I’ve said before it’s comical how easy it is for me to fall in love. Which is half true. It’s different from how easily I can normalize my way out of attachment. I’m a solitary creature by nature, walking backwards towards the light, but when a moment hits me where I want to believe in a god of abstract conceptualized will and worship it for its reflection of this girl, I know I’m fucked. 

But it’s about owning your reality. The past is in the past. Swallow it and move forward. 

With regards,

–J

God knows it. 

I am in need.

Show me what you can do. 
For once, just once, want me. 
Be your command, dropping me to my knees and melting me into a puddle.

Touch me and draw out the poison as I sleep.

Ive had a song stuck in my head for the past few days. Recently over the past few weeks my mental state has been ramping. I continue to channel energy at rapid bursts but have no breaking point. Like a pure blooded Spaniard stallion, wild and free, being broken. It fights continuously, bucking and jerking and running faster and faster, running with the challenge. But it refuses to break. So it only hits higher and higher limits, until it disintegrates. It becomes useless to anyone. 

My truest desire, as I suppose is all humans truest desire if it can be summed up on a species scale, is to be loved and accepted. I accept the fullness of myself, flaws most of all.  I walk backwards towards the light, staring down the evil, forever growing, trying to discipline the darker nature, but release as well, in little ways with a positive spin. I’m that dark but loveable kinda guy. I accept myself in totality, so I accept other people in totality. For the reality that they are.

I don’t… feel comfortable slipping into a submissive mindset. Interpersonal shit. Things I’ve gone over. But when you ramp it’s all you can ponder. Breaking. Shattering like a meteor against the earth. Pure annihilation. 

But a dark spider. A pure web, the perfect trap. Letting yourself be captured in it. Cocooned. And simply rested. Darkness sleeping in the heart of darkness. 

It’s been a long time since anyone put the moves on me. I do for my people. I play the good guy any chance I can. Just to prove that even though I entertain strange thoughts, I’m still a person. I work for it. But I’m always at a certain length away. 

Im tired. And I need to be wanted. Something that lets me fully surrender myself. But it’s hard to find a mate when you walk on a tight wire .

With regards, 

–J

p.s. Song in my head is Moves by Suki Waterhouse

No poetry today. No speculation on the nature of the cosmic. No conversation of kink. No self reflections. No confessions.

I am alone. Again. And this time I do believe it’s going to stay that way. I’ve cut off everyone. It’s been a long time coming. They wanted me as their leader, their ark of the covenant, to justify their existence by sacrificing my time to them, to part the waters any time they didn’t feel like swimming. They used me as their void, dumping mass amounts of shit into me to consume, and then leaving when the void spoke back. They could never love me. They would never choose me. I gave them all of me, they gave me too little too late. I found balance, tried to be of service, was whatever they needed me to be, saving the day and pouring one out in silence. I was whatever they needed me to be. And now I am alone. 

Congratulations world.

You broke a god. 

With regards,

– J

Attraction is a simple concept on a macro scale: individuals with qualities and genetics favorable to the continued survival of ones species are more favorable mates. Fostering a new tribe isn’t easy. In a world where everything in sight can, will, and is actively trying to kill you, your only hope is an offspring that surpasses even your prime. One simple word, all that matters: survival. Live.

Then we learned to communicate with one another. And we heard the clock ticking. Now we could not be satisfied by the instinct to simply keep our species on the planet. Survival was law. Is law. But we could not just live. We needed to live on. 

On a micro scale things get complicated for attraction. Suddenly, for the first time in the history of our planet, we saw each other. We shared ideas, traded knowledge, consumed the primitive communications of every gesture, a hairy finger thrust downward to the ground, extended towards a bright purple fruit bulging from the ground; and the grunts and growls of aggression, signaling danger, poisonous fruit. For the first time, we began to see each other in true color. We still looked the same, but we suddenly radiated energy, things we could not yet understand, let alone name. Now, love is a matter of finding an indescribable certainty of self inverse to your own. Someone who’s rough edges smooth out yours. Not a mate, but a soulmate. Your opposite particle.

“…a narcissist will worship only the shadow of his ego.” 

Yes, an outing. No, not a defense, nor a martyrdom. We all have our issues. This one is mine. There are many like it. This one is mine. When I first heard of her, he said she was lost and he was trying to find her. From the beginning, oh yes I knew. She was nothing if not lost. When we met I witnessed her fire, her devotion to the clan, her burden. Our second meeting flared when there came gunshots. A possible murder near us, word flown in by a queer bird with long legs, out of breath and spurred by panic. Even sociopaths (not an outing) can’t resist the pull to be a hero. “Bloody hell,” before jumping into the fray. A quick glance to my right, chance a look at the getaway I could still opt into, but she was there. Matching my pace. Stride for stride. I watched this girl of green fire hurling herself headlong towards rock bottom. A desperate plea for insanity before God. But as we hurdled closer towards something or nothing at all, I saw smoke rising from the pit. And I knew, whatever came out would be a predator. 

But I realize now too late you were only the shadow of my ego. A fantasy I chased out of the stream of presence. “What’s there?” But still you filled the space.

“Love your crooked neighbor with your crooked heart.” -W.H. Auden.

Rule for self #1 “A functioning narcissist will hold a one percent amount of good minimum at all times as the deciding vote. But the balanced reality, a narcissist will worship only the shadow of his own ego.”

– J

Just a friendly reminder that celebrities refer to each other by their first names off camera.

The past years have been the rumblings of a generations great cause, the shockwaves of which have resonated in every corner of the globe. There’s no point reflecting on it at this stage, it happened it is done it is dead, move forward with the most important step, the next one. Mine was an isolated existence for most of it. Hours and days and weeks of further letting go, dissolving ego layer by layer to find the center point, the dual particles of good and evil, and the friction that made my personality. Find what balance was to be found. 

It took me two and a half years, and a rapid spontaneous outward expulsion of consciousness, to find the bedrock of myself. 

I learned that if I ever was to truly come face to face with almighty God, being of spontaneous creation and destruction, I’d probably just piss on him.

🖕“Yeah. Yeah, ya see that? Haha, yea, fuck you. Fuuuuuuuccckk you.”🖕

I became hyper sexual at the age of five. That’s as far back as I can remember, when I first became conscious of myself. I can’t pin down what may have caused this shift in my development. Was I molested by a family member? Did I suffer some trauma early on that I simply repressed out of memory? I have no clue. I found myself fixating on violence, acts of malice that yielded greater and greater suffering as my bipolar obsessiveness continued to ramp my negative self. At times I would feel as if every cell in my tiny body was a hairs breadth away from bursting into flames, a short lived monument to passion and fury.

I learned to masturbate when I was six, and found a full but fleeting release to these strange feelings I was saddled with. I still remember my first attempt. When it was over I felt like the embodiment of sin, felt such a shame over my transgression as I now was fully aware if even for but a moment of the depth of the shadows I was chasing. As if I had taken on the full weight of the evil of the world, and only by my death would humanity be set right. I promised myself, vowed, to never again chase shadows.

At age twelve I was addicted to porn. I grew up in the country side of the Bible Belt; until the age of sixteen I didn’t even have a phone, such was my parents dedication to their faith. What we did have was an unprotected computer. By this point I was a self-gaslighter. My mind was still young and untested, any idea I didn’t understand I simply tucked away for a day when I did. My sadism chief among them. I found myself relieving tension multiple times a day over the years, the shame and self loathing slowly losing their edge as time went on, replaced by an inky black void, total and complete. But imagination only gets you so far. When I discovered now booming porn industry, I knew I was fucked. But it didn’t stop me. Time on electronics was limited, but on fridays and saturdays we would all be allowed to sleep downstairs by the TV’s together, sibling bonding time. But not me. When the lights went off and breathing slowed to a steady snore, I’d go to work. For hours. It grew to the point where I needed multiple excursions a day to remain functional.

One day I was found out. My parents checked the search history on the computer and my little secret was finally observed. What followed was what can only be described as an hours long interrogation, followed by just shy of religious crucifixion. Finally I had an answer to my questions. A name for my identity: Damaged. I sat at the bottom of a pit of my own making. The fall was bad. The sudden stop was worse. But the worst part was looking up at the disk of light shining out of reach, and watching my mother drop a handful of dirt on my face, turning here eyes from mine. 

Fuck suicide. I was already dead.

The stories that followed in the years to come are too many to discuss in a simple introduction, but nonetheless topics I’d like to discuss at a later date. Fast forward to the resolution, I was eighteen going on nineteen by the time I reconciled with my nature. I was on vacation with my family in Florida. In the height of the pandemic we decided to drive ourselves down to what was sure to be an empty tourist trap. If there’s one thing I like about my family, they’re opportunistic. By this point I had repressed my sadism so far into the dark corners of my mind that I’d nearly forgotten about it. But there was still one string attached to it that I entertained. A pair of lifestylers and influencers on Instagram who’s content I found myself gelling with. They weren’t chasms of darkness and serial killer vibes such as I saw myself. Their relationship was artistic, disciplined, loving and tender, but with a shameless desire to destroy and be destroyed. And to then create. Nothing like the sociopathic way I viewed myself. They said on a livestream that they had met on The Cage so I decided to give it a look. And one night, as I was lying in bed perusing and consuming and discarding content, I realized something: these freaks, these damaged individuals such as myself, they didn’t carry this as if it were a weight. They were a community. And something that had evaded observation, that refused to be understood or moved or tamed in any way, simply clicked into place. I wasn’t damaged. I wasn’t evil. I wasn’t the weight of the sin I was told this world carries as recompense for its search for freedom and understanding.

I simply was.