Look at yourself.
I’ve noticed I like to talk about you a lot.  The target on your back is easy.
Maybe I’ll keep this as straight forward as possible.

The caverns of your bowels can no longer hold your cranium.  So please listen.
To know what the Father wants is to claim to be equal.
Understand that you won’t ever.  That The Will is beyond you.
The stench of your waste is too distracting for you to “know”, or claim to.

Don’t keep your thoughts to yourself.  It makes it harder for us to find you out.
To know your true nature.  You’re easy.  Too easy.

You will be trampled, I hope I get to pull you out of the dirt.  Smile.



Lie down flat. Don’t move. This will be quick. Possibly painless. Don’t ask me questions. I’m blind to your pain. You’re lucky, they’d scour your body. Leaving no remains. I will at least let your body linger till my nose can no longer handle the stench.

A face popped up on the screen, and everything went black. Kind of like when you switch settings on a camera. It then came back, light flooded through my irises, and they contracted only letting enough light in. I broke his bones, and my face remained. First his arm, then one. Finger. At. A. Time.
The gain of his screams made my ears crackle. Kind of like when you blow a car speaker. The table was shiny, but had a brushed luster. Stainless steal. It’s hard for the bacteria to live on the surface. Very easy to clean. Usually their fecal matter seeps through.

Onto the severance. They can no longer be attached to me. The synthetic tubes they make me attach from them to me, I take out, and l lay them on the floor. For reuse on the next, the next, and the next. The patients, they await this experience. We grow excited in anticipation. We sterilize, knowing what a waste it is. It makes them feel good about being there. When they see the white walls, the white gowns, the teal masks, and head wear.

Lay down smiling, exit empty.

Enters the next. This one seems different. His eyes made contact with mine. They weren’t drawn to the white lights like the moths. Very stoic. This is foreign to me. We never broke contact.

He had a tattoo running from his ribcage down to his thigh. Starting on the seventh rib, the tree ran straight down, the roots reach to the back of the thigh. No hair follicles daring to grow

I could feel his inhales from where I stood. The small hairs on my face stood on end. The tubes laying on the floor will be a waste.

He whispered before laying on the table “ata ratzah l’ olam l’ heviyn shly milah”.
My attempts to attach the tubes became pointless, I shuddered at the discipline I might get.

So it began. As I broke fingers, and snapped his bones, his face remained. My eyes widened. No longer stoic in my practice. I glanced around at the monitors. Not one flickered on for further instruction. His fingers broke like the others. I then moved to his ribs. I cut and pulled back the skin on my first rib. Gliding through his skin easily. Ink started to flow out. It burned my hands.
I watched it spider web throw my index and onto my thumb till it engulfed my right hand.

Manic. I watched as the ink poured out and dripped to the floor . Moving amongst itself on the floor.
Looking, scouring, for a host.

It has deemed me worthy. Slowly through my feet and up to my waste. Sweat dripped in my eyes. The patient laid in wait.

Falling to the floor, my body convulsed. Monitors began to turn. It has made it’s way to my innards.
Faces appeared. This time it didn’t work. No reset. No camera settings changed. I remained. They looked different. Blind folds occupied the craters in their heads. They couldn’t see.

I begged for mercy.

Säm, dear friend

My strokes, over each other, again and again build. As I pour soul in, I try to convey
the right amount of absence of life into the characters.
Old friend it’s so nice to see you again. Your presence passing by wafts the stench of
my sweating body to my nostrils.  Realization that I haven’t showered occurs, and
my stomach acids churn.  I should eat.
The temperature benevolent, but the cutting sweat takes over my body.  My bowels
wanting to reject their contents, but the fear of distress keeps me grounded.
Scuffling with the muses that have presented themselves is your food.
It’s so nice to see you again.  I worried about the monstrosities that might find me.
Seeing that they’re mear noids doesn’t bother me.
Soon I will find food, maybe a shower.  For now I wait.  For answers.
Maybe my list of questions will burn from the bottom up.

For now I will wave my own lighter under them. Hoping for oxidation.

Come cuddle with me

I’ve just convinced myself that I’m actually going to seriously write something….

I have blood in my finger nails.  It’s dry, so the luster of red that it once had has turned.
Now a brown, cracked, flaking color remains.  Anxiety has taken over and my skin lays
in ruins on the floor.  For the discerning reader, please do not take this as a shedding of skin.
But more of a habit to occupy the mind that never talks.  Who’s sleep is rare, and who
sits and is convinced it’s equilibrium is off.  I feel as if an arm has reached into my chest, but
refuses to take anything.  The being just smirks and watches me as my body twists in pain.
Knowing that comfort is in this pain.  As a blanket of blood runs down the front, and warms
my soul.  Yet I too smile along, holding back bile.  A sadistic life that many call home, and
refuse to acknowledge.
This is usually the part of the story where it would turn.
Not this time. It’s not just right yet.

Knitting lessons

You, you have become the subject matter. Of talk, of art, of critique. Your recognizable image of sprinting through the streets, painting the visuals of those around with the smoke in your hands. Tears of stimulation run down their cheeks. The liquid no longer engulfed with the false realities they all have knitted into blankets to wrap their bodies with. When their own handiwork will soon be their body bags. Lay stacked five high. Where they all can finally rest together, no longer with the thoughts that once occupied.

As the parks and public malls lay wasted, scuffed and dirty. For those that existed, and still do, no longer acknowledge any significance of other’s presence. Except their’s, they, them.

Ask me where the politics end and the analyzing of your ego begins.  Please I dare you, it takes the whit and guts of serial killer to look into my eyes to question my integrity.  Because I can show you the colors of your own body bag.

Please catch your breath after you laugh, or just remember to inhale the toxins of your own waste after you read.  Because yes I can do this too.  Origins still exist but their truths have been consumed and exhaled.

It’s so easy

It seems that ministry has become a concept that we all easily consider ourselves apart of.  As I have gone through different ministry, and have seen a good share of what they do and how they have functioned.  Along the way I have grown to understand my own mind and how it usually works.  Call it a gift or a curse but I am able to see disfunction and functions within the ministries.  How certain things work and others do not work at all.

The biggest thing that has come across is the concept that it is quiet easy to insert yourself into a “ministry”.  That all it takes is a little magic and people working to become apart of that community, and you had a “functioning role” within that community.  You had a job, and it was to save the world as some kind of coordinator.  I’m not dissing jobs, I am dissing titles because they have limited the passion of someone’s calling, and have created a culture of job security and safety… In a war… as a Christian…
When did job security and safety ever cross a warriors mind?  It never did.  The only thing they new and breathed was the ideals for which they fought.  Life of others in their community, freedom for them, and health of them.

Yes warriors built plans to attack against the opposition, but never was it the sole reason that they lived.  They lived for their “king”.
You can probably already see where this is going, but before I can jumble everything together and claim coherency lets look at the following of Christ, The Way.

This is right after the feeding of the 5,000 in John chapter 6:25-71.  Really I am not going to type the whole thing out, look it up.
But the biggest thing overlooked in the feeding of the 5,000 is that right after pretty much ALL of Christ’s followers, or “disciples”, desert him… Yea they left.
The people had eaten and had their fill, all while in utter amazement of the the miracles that He performed while on the mountain side.  Thus resulting in them conversing amongst each other about how to make Him kings.  Christ knew their thoughts so he left and went to solitude on ANOTHER mountain.  He probably walked pretty freaking far, it says Verse15 “Jesus, knowing that they intended to come and make him king by force, withdrew again to a MOUNTAIN by himself”.  He left and walked far away.  Then comes the whole walking on water story, it’s of great importance, but I will use it just to give context for the next part.  Jesus and the 12 got into the boat, went across the lake, and basically were hiding.  They left everyone, the 5,000.

Now the people began to notice that He left so they went searching for them, they found Him….
Verse25 “when they found him on the other side of the lake, they asked him, ‘Rabbi, when did you get here?’  26 Jesus answered, ‘I tell you the truth, you are looking for me not because you saw miraculous signs but because you ate the loaves and had your fill.  Do not work for food that spoils, but for food that endures to eternal life, which the Son of Man will give you.  On him God the Father has placed his seal of approval.'”

He basically laid out to everyone there that they did not believe in who He is.  Now yes that is pretty obvious but what happened next is my favorite part.  They ask for a sign to know if He is in fact the “Son of Man”.  When it is quiet clearly right infront of their faces.  He then explains repeatedly what the Son of Man is.  Resulting in Him saying this…  I was going to type out the entire thing but I don’t want to, so read it by yourself you’re a grown up.
He basically tells them that eternal life is His flesh and His blood.  Now He did say it quiet literally that way but Christ spoke in parables for certain reasons and this is one of those reasons, refer to the parable of the Sower that will explain A LOT.  He also states that NO ONE can come to Him unless the Father draws them.

Just in this part of scripture Jesus quiet literally expressed the Gospel and what saved you, and almost no one wanted anything to do with it.  SO THEY LEFT. THEY LEFT, HIS FOLLOWERS LEFT. Except the 12.  This is crazy, Christ SHARED the Gospel and it required something as simple as believing that He brings eternal life.  But THAT was to hard for the followers of the Law.
GO READ THE LAW OF THAT DAY AND TELL ME IT’S EASY… It is pretty easy because you know the result of  your sacrifices and what not.  These actions were pretty easy to get along with, but there were quiet a bit.

But Christ is asking/asked/asks one thing, that we confess in our hearts and with our mouths that He is the savior.  That is not easy, especially for me as someone who enjoys trends and facts.

We as Christians in our lives should be living in a way that we take our beliefs as seriously as this situation in time in the bible.  That the claims of Jesus are completely ridiculous and audacious.  That WE ARE NOT ALL CUT OUT FOR IT.
The sooner you and I come to terms with that we can let Christ work in our hearts and use us in ways that will make your insides implode, and your life to be destroyed and rebuilt to do undoubtedly some of the greatest things YOU WILL EVER WITNESS.

My prayer for you as a reader is to understand the craziness and the layout of these things that He has been teaching me.  Because if you want to understand you will.

Doing our own favor

I heard today that when we create and form out Mediums, they then in turn create and form us.

Why is it that we as human beings have become dominated by the inanimate concepts that we formulate in our minds.  As an artists this throws my mind into turmoil.  I feel like throwing up because I can not find the words to describe this thought that is, in words, somewhat sophisticated, but in mind very simple.

When I look at cans of paint, at the canvas, the concept, the pens, pencils, and the chemicals that make up the compounds I will use to create.  They are nothing more than unused potential that I have purchased.  Once the product I invision is laid down upon the surface I then am able to rest and analyze what my mind (me) has created.  When has it been defined that this inanimate surface will eventual define me and my actions?  Who has instated this thought?

The idea that this piece then forms my culture causes my insides to come up and lay upon the floor. A canvas will never begin to  define and let others understand who I am.  It will never tell me subconsciously that I am something.

God has created me and has given me this definition.  But why is it that time after time we are constantly trying to do Him a favor give him this.  In the same note why are we constantly trying to form to a culture, and not form the culture into what He has made it to originally be?

Pay no attention to my inconsistant ramblings.  This may make no sense to you, but some of you who care to dissect and map out my own thoughts… I say good luck.

Hopefully I will make this a very consistant thing.