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[onediadem]

Someday the house will burn. She said that as she walked out the door. How was I to know, she meant literally. Bitch, later. Take your fake fur with you when you go.

Something told me she was trouble. I dont know if it was the tat on her ass of a set of dice, or if it was her breath. I will miss her meatloaf tho. What is it about a bitch that can cook? Next one aint gonna be able to. When I find one that burns toast, I will know she IS the one for me.

I sure wish I had fished my bong out of the closet before the pad went up in flames. Mobile homes go quick. Crashing at Jimbo's house sucks. Plastic bong, and dirtweed. Not to mention roaches all over. That isnt so bad until you sit down on the head. Ever had a roach crawl up your ballsack? That plastic bong can't take care of the willies from that I tell for fact.

Someday, she will wish she had never jacked with me. I will cut her throat and feed her to the dogs. That's for another day to go into tho.

I have work to do right now.

[onediadem]

My bright morning star,
shine bright.
Burn my retina's, burn my heart.
Shoot across the midnite sky, call to me.
shine bright, just for me.

I see you often, sparkling, winking at me
is that a tear i see?
Fear not, I am here
I seek you out often,
shine bright for me.

Someday my eyes shall fail me
my life ebb and flow shall pass
will you be there or burn out
until then I ask,
shine bright for me.

Burn your aura into my soul
so when I reach for the heavens your lite shines for me
and i will know an old friend
still glows, and calls to me.
Shine bright my trusted constant,
shine bright for me.

[onediadem]

The ground opens,
I start to fall
Spinning, twirling
No sense at all

This vortex bends
I see a face
Then upside down
I see a place

He says to me
I know the way
To broken heart
Or passion's bay

Apparently,
The choice is mine
To live in pain,
Or live divine

To Valhalla,
Or a quagmire
A heart of soot
Or heart of fire

A decision comes
As One of light
I've chosen now
To shed the fright

Out from shadow
Into passion
My precious soul,
Seize new vision

I disengage
From censor now
New freedom's found
I can allow

Enigmatic,
Set free to roam,
For visa'vis
Is now my home

The twirling stops
The Spinning ends
My precious One,
Does comprehend.

[onediadem]

Little stories come into my overactive mind when certain quotes catch my attention. This one came from something Safrole said in one of his posts, and struck a cord somewhere in my imagination.




Bella Bungle does Mars


Bella, a twit of modern English, decided last Friday she would spend her vacation time on Mars, and caught the shuttle leaving Saturday afternoon.

Upon arrival, as any tourist would, she immediately found her person surrounded by the Quete, because she smuggled contraband onto the planet. Quete are very demanding when it comes to contraband mind you, and Bettina didn't help her position any by screaming about racism.

As if the Quete are human. As if color were an issue, them being green and all. Not to mention only having three fingers on each hand.

Bella was immediately served a big steaming cup of shut the fuck up, slammed in a retaining orb, and gassed until dead.

The Quete are just funny that way. In a word: To bungle is to die.

[onediadem]

The countdown to darkness starts
As the boatman rings the bell
Torn fast from the edge of light
To the flaming pit of hell

Drawing in a sharp deep breath
I close my terrified eyes
Solid hands close over mine
Heard below the demon cries

Held captive by enormous wing's
A golden sword drawn tall
He laid my head near beating heart
My Angel heard my fall

His touch is always too brief
When I am allowed to feel
My glorious Angel's heart
Is open yet ethereal

Spirit with flesh may never meet
Nor seen with naked eye
My angel holds my heart to his
I loose a sated sigh......

[onediadem]

The dead wont bleed on your oriental carpet.

Or so they say...

Everyone seems to have issues, and yours are as important to you as mine are to me. Well, sometimes for the most part.
The dead can't, or should I say ~won't~ bleed on your oriental rug.
Therefore, no stains.
No residue.
No problem.
Unless a bullet is involved, or something just as atrocious. They do however, haunt. So, in a sense I suppose they do bleed. Just not red. And who really gives a crap about oriental carpets anyway.
I suppose some people do.
I don't.
Its the day to day life that sneaks up on me, only to find them sneering or sulking off in a corner, watching with that " I know what your doing" sort of look on their faces. I just stare back with a "Fuck away with yourself" look back.

So, why does this seem to complicate my life? After all, life has always been odd. Or ODD. Or oDd. Yet.. I often wonder if it has been so odd that I am fearful of discussing this with my cat?
Well, if I had a cat that is.
I suppose that could make a difference. Then again, cats have a tendency to give off that same stare. Coming from a cat, as a cats nature dictates this quasi-non condescending attitude, I can live with that, along with the occasional meow and licking of ones fur (or ass for that matter) in total ignorance of my presence.

Huzzah to cats and the bullshit bred into their furry little adorable selves.

Then again, that opens up a whole different set of circumstances to me. Like quite possibly the dreaded mad hatter card. Wasn't there a cat involved in that scenario? And didn't that cat have the ability to be there one moment and disappear the next after making some random statement about the sensibility of life's curves? I don't know if I could handle a cat doing that. What doors would that open into the realm of the hidden locked chambers in my mind I seem to possess?
Then again, there is a key.
Matters not.
The only way to find out is to just find out.
Besides, they do have their moments of insanity, as do we all in one manifesting form or another.

But, once again I digress. This paragraph was suppose to find the insane door and hidden key to the Pandora's box that mocks us all into the world of the ever so charming sane belief we can all achieve that ever elusive status quo. Or at least the illusion of one.
Hrmph..
As if I have a dollar that I am willing to waste buying that one. Think I will stick with the deluge of a talking and disappearing cat, thank you very much for the change back.

Somewhere in time I was granted a key to the mysteries of the universe. I do not use the key.
~Please.
As if I need that twist to go along with the voices raging in the grey matter of my mind. This key stays safe in my back pocket, out of sight. It allows me to see things that would drive others insane. It is, without having to say out loud, a heavy burden.
Pyre, or fire?
When we hope, do we hope for the right things? Can we be certain? Or is our hope, only to find out in the long run a hope that has been ill fated all along? We were made to live and breathe the pyre. To walk through it purified or
condemned.
Who can really say.
Grey matter is so unforgiving. In one ten billionth of a millionth of a second, it can take us into the mew and hold us captive Per Omnia Secula.

Oh yes, in that billionth of a millionth of a randomly chosen moment, captivate my treachery and send it to the nether. Troy never cried mercy when it fell, and neither shall I.
Will I fall?
Who can say.
This world shall die.
So shall I.
Mercy be damned.
Just as I.

Stepping back, then three steps to the left, I see with so much more clarity now. Foolish is the soul who chooses to stand in one place trying to analyze without seeking different perspectives, that which ultimately cannot be analyzed to begin with. An infinity of repetition never won anyone a prize at the carnival of freaks. Merely, an odd deja-vu "I've been here before" sixth sense.



Digress I do, and often. Back to the topic at hand...

The dead do not bleed on oriental rugs, or do they? I would take a solemn oath that I have seen it happen. Plasma left behind, a telltale sign of an apparition. However, to be balanced and fair I must concede it had quite possibly been the 6 mg of xanax that had foiled my mind and vision, as visions on such a dose are a matter of course and not a random occurrence.

A more serious question I ask myself when wandering in the depths of my mind should be, "Would monitoring the dead be considered an extra curricular activity or be considered a mandate? Better still, an unhealthy pastime?

I say fuck it...
Bleed all over that damn rug and show your spectral selves. Make the insane sane, the warped normal if but for a brief, one billionth of a millionth of a second in time.

Then again, love is so much more powerful than I think I can ever give it credit for. Do I fear it because my mind has been programmed that I am nothing unless I ache?
Hurt?
Bleed?
Am unworthy?
Thwart the Gods, and do the Gods ever vengeful, rain their full wrath down onto me like brimstone peeling flesh from bone? Watch me bleed, and is their satisfaction once again found in that river of gratification, only to repeat with random abandon should I venture to that side of possibilities within my mind? Fuck. I ramble entirely too much, and could be why I quit writing. Who really wants to hear the rants of the insane anyway.

[kingcrimson]

Wow one diadem is going some sort of vision purge.....and there something beautifull about it....

[Stoned Angel]

One these are amazing! You have a beautiful way. This is unbelievable ^^^
Clicking "like" will not do. I Love you:o

[kingcrimson]

-Distant voices- a portion of a poem I wrote a few months ago....always thought it was to "experimental" to be a good piece...its crazy long though so I cut out a part that can stand on its own for the most part.

Distant voices, vague and grim
Strung throughout the night
Harmonize without him
Remedy of plight

"Kneel down, a lord I am."
Wash yourself of sin
Take the blood of a humble lamb
And concieve yourself again

Woes blown upon the wind
Storys strung throughout
Words exchanged amongst kin
Excite another bout

"Twas my day to ascend and reign"
That throne shall be filled
My time will come around
To join the highest guild

Leaves fall in silent grace
Dancing on the wind
Every leaf upon the ground
Will never fall again

....my dinners done so I'm cutting the portion off here.....fiesting time is upon me! Lol:dance:

[onediadem]

Thank you love...I needed to purge some stuff from my crazy ass brain, lol.

:heart:

[Skywatcher]

I have more than simply enjoyed these onediadem,
I have read your words and found quiet echos of them were still in my mind. Following your prose, triggered a flood of remembrance, though was not so eloquently put as your own description's.

All were profoundly meaningful, but this one fraction of the whole caught and held me.

Stepping back, then three steps to the left, I see with so much more clarity now. Foolish is the soul who chooses to stand in one place trying to analyze without seeking different perspectives, that which ultimately cannot be analyzed to begin with. An infinity of repetition never won anyone a prize at the carnival of freaks. Merely, an odd deja-vu "I've been here before" sixth sense.

Thank you for sharing these
:eusa_clap

[kingcrimson]

It seems this strange soul now stands naked with her back to the fire....ascending into the new dawn. With a new dusk now pressing upon us we shall digress collectivly by enjoying a classic poem by one of the greats......

.....one poem by henry longfellow coming right up!

[kingcrimson]

Here it is brothers and sisters.......the greatest poem....by the greatest poet of all times(in my opinion)....

the fire of drift-wood

We sat within the farm house old,
Whose windows, looking o'er the bay,
Gave to the sea breeze damp and cold
An easy entrance, night and day.

Not far away we saw the port,
The strange, old fashioned, silent town,
The lighthouse, the dismantled fort,
The wooden houses, quaint and brown.

We sat and talked until the night,
Descending, filled the little room;
Our faces faded from the sight,
Our voices only broke the gloom.

We spake of many a vanished scene,
Of what we once had thought and said,
Of what had been, and might have been,
And who has changed, and who was dead.

And all that fills the hearts of friends,
When first they feel, with secret pain,
Their lives henceforth have seperate ends,
And never can be one again;

The first slight swerving of the heart,
That words are powerless to express,
And leave it still unsaid in part,
Or say it in to great excess.

The very tones in witch we spake
Had something strange, I could but mark;
The leaves of memory seemed to make
A mournful rustling in the dark.

Oft died the words upon our lips,
At suddenly, from out the fire
Built on the wreck of stranded ships,
The flames would leap and then expire.

As ther splendor flashed and failed,
We thought of wrecks upon the main,
Of ships dismantled, that were hailed
And sent no answer back again.

The windows, rattling in their frames,
The ocean, roaring up the beach,
The gusty blast, the bickering flames,
All mingled vaguely in our speech;

Until they made themselves apart
Of fancies floating through the brain,
The long lost ventures of the heart
That send no answer back again.

O flames that glowed! O hearts that yearned!
They were indeed to much akin,
The drift-wood fire without that burned,
The thoughts that burned and glowed within.

.....I hope you thouroughly enjoy that one..

[Stoned Angel]

You always just leave

Whenever there's something you don't want to face...you're gone

You take with you all my good all my happy

You take it and spend it on others

Giving away all my insides

You're a real jerk. The kind you read about in poems...take take take

as long as you're happy

That's all you care about

I think if you opened your eyes and started to give a little you'd find that's where you find happiness

You always just leave....its your MO

Leaving me here with all the bad and taking everything good.

[darci]

Hell hath no fury

More calm, thus laid to rest

And hushed in darkness

Mute mouth only to protest;

 

Were thoughtless pleasures to attain

In a mortal darkness, and empty vein

I had naught in death discovered

Hell's fury silent in this mortal shell

Without a sound to speak

Or a word to spell.

[darci]

I gift a rose,

Withered and weeping

Its color dries crimson tears, in silence keeping

 

Though seemed in morning should quickly pass

Felt without your light, in night doomed to last;

 

Still this demon lives inside me.

In torrent rains and rushing flood

Would spill love's lifeblood sublimely

And lead me by the hand

To witness beauty, as befalls the night

Descending wonder, in your darkness

Shining brightly

I rest my head upon so lightly.

 

In the monument of terror

When the quiet songs are orchestrated

Your words came along

And left their silence abated.

 

Insanity opens a beautiful world

Shall I wait for hours to hear your voice?

That gives pause when reckoned,

As near the edge of the sunlit sky

Like gravity from darkness beckoned.

Edited by darci, 06 December 2013 - 11:28 PM.

[darci]

Ah shit.  I woke up today, and discovered I'm fucking emo.

[darci]

With an ear, a sound, a sentinel

I pent myself in hell

To witness all that I had known

Within some conscious spell,

 

A colder winter's eve I met

As softly fell the snow

Each flake its own tribute gave

To grieve the graves below,

 

Consoling in a lover’s pause

Possessed the cold of air

A love time cast, and long since hence

Though it could not cure despair

 

Then a songless sound

In empty space

Took the place of heaven

And tore my dreams away...

 

To where silence is home

Head on a pillow

Heart lost in shades

Of a whispering willow,

 

I wrote what my throat had hissed

And spoke of dreams I missed

To choke on alone

I had drunk of the dark

And dire sunk into my stark throne

 

There I wrote, of the visceral mass

of blood and flesh, equal

to the perception of a dream:

 

Warm,

soft, tender,

forgiven, moving,

desired, with

honesty.

 

But love?

It is ineffectual.

[Skywatcher]

Bumping this thread, so I can find it to enjoy again....................

Perhaps more to come.

[Spooner]

Bumping this thread, so I can find it to enjoy again....................

Perhaps more to come.

 

Thanks for the bump Sky, good reading there, unfortunately OneDiaDem is no long allowed to post here, but some of the others still can.