Archives for December 2016

What if in his image?

December 3, 2016 by codyp Leave a Comment

If you were made in god’s image, what would be that truth to the greatest degree? What truth would he see? what is the first thing god could ever speak? I wonder, oh wonder; the root of all evil, would you be my bride? cuz the first time I woke up, I saw my mother by my side– But I wonder, of god; if he would so be; telling me that where I came from, is that sin I inherited in me? How could I know of my true nature, if my true genetics obscures me! And if the story was important, then certainly if anyone adored it, then such would have served its true purpose!

Oh, eve of all evil, pee upon people; I see what the golden shower is for– That I have looked hath the wrong place all my life, that you had told me you were of the night– But how would, how would, I know of the sun? How on earth on earth would it have begun? Well, one last question that I wonder of all logic, if the image of fractals is part of the process; awe sex, is at the hot of the topic; cuz if the story is important, that the story needs to be honored– But this story has not served us; and we do not want it! Oh, shall we sing, what a glorious thing; what might this whore of the world, that brings the world to us think! And mother, OH my, oh my mother; I wonder did I love you, the way you loved me? I hath not be able to even laugh!

Cuz I loved and I loved, and what this was; was that I always tried to make her happy! But oh, no, I wasn’t doing her right! But that is unfair, untrue; but even worse than not being wrong! cuz I would sing-song after song of my pain; and she would leave me hanging, but one or two times it would seem in my life– And mother of my other half-witted self, how could you, how could you, love me yourself!? Love me, don’t fuck me! Who could you love, if not me you were ever-loving, but always the self you wanted, nay; fucking needed me to be!

I tell you the image of fucking god that I see. I see a dead god, of cancerous roars; telling me of her death, a not so sweet damsel in distress, but I dance around her like a ballerina on the porch of my life, that touch of strife upon my gripe, and this I didn’t recognize was the true devil upon my shore– Cuz I had seen my mother, the fucking living whore; and held her place in my heart undeserving on and up high; and I held her head above mine, under the blood of her unholy fucking vagina that gave me birth to a life I wish I even believed in fucking death to kill myself and end this shit a long fucking time ago, but what the fuck it’s like everywhere I look; AND THOUGH I AM NOT AFRAID OF DEATH, REINCARNATION SCARED ME ALIVE–

And I realized that there must have been a god, that left something behind– It must have been a joke, and came out a little wrong; and by the time we got to here, the lover of our southern hell bound fates upon the underworld, and I let her led me toward the core of near and far, and that is when I might just think– I am I want; and the first thing I saw, as far as I can see every pointed to, is that I was meant to meet my maker; the moment I feel alive–

And then I realized the truth of Christ, the leader of them all– Why would they hide that feminine lineage, if we were in the image of what we should know! And then I realized why I knew death, because perpetual birth is the birth of knowledge of the wisdom, of wisdom creating knowledge from his mind– S

Invitation

December 3, 2016 by codyp Leave a Comment

Now let me invite our guests, to the chest of the first chamber, he doth invest his spine and neck; suitable for a stranger– yet he looked perplexed, at what he heard next, the lure of a song from an old lantern, upon a cold latter, climbed to the attic where the tragic had hit; and that lightning stuck his core.

Whatever was that for? He felt like his chest ripped open; whatever was that four; and she pulled out a key as old as me, and open the chest in the hollows of the anger; I would look her in the eye, and ask her what made her, and that I had long ago offered fruit I had prospered; but that I would throw her upon my being that didn’t come until I lost her– stranger with two chest he couldn’t have honored–

The mind is of light, and the light is of mind; but something doesn’t fit. Act one, who speaks?

The tongue of the man, who was not so familiar, licked its lips and was the only thing allowed past– inside a round table, with the corners upon the axis like a compass, and four chairs upon the mid-way points, with table only set for two– And he sat alone waiting on six– and this tongue was confused, and left the room with his scowling face infused–

The heart is the word that is best used if we knew that two tear drops, had two tears as in torn, and torn, and stop; but that pumps, pumps to a roar– beats until it bleeds, but cannot scream no more.

ACT TWO. who the hell listens.

The fourth chamber is breached, but avoided; like we got in, but passed through it without noticing we had anointed, one we had not counted; so that without counting it was expressed, but expressed as that around it– A child is heard; who would bring that into this place, and displaced; the wind breaks, and ten snakes curled around the child he realized was his grace, his pace, all around his face lit up like he hath should not have brought him. Cuz a stranger is not worth the goblin.

And the little way that use to walk in a big way, makes his day look longer; and the senseless world too much more to the senses; and this jaded man in a child’s voice, just screams to god to end this. Hath not left enough symbolism of the heart, I know not the way of my own blood– and it would leave a stain that would fade only a bit after a wash.

Symbols, symbols, point thy rod to heaven; anoint the god, two left when; it culminated between the lips of an ancient rite of passage; emerges the tree of frozen light struck, and polished as passed off as average; and my phallic symbol refers to what I don’t understand of the tongue, so the one whom is my ring, is not the one who has rung, and the haze passes through my right nostril to my step upon the rug. Can you imagine what I refer to!? I DOTH REVEAL SWEET NOTHINGS IN YOUR EAR, UNTIL THE WARRIOR WITH HIS POINTED WEAPON, DO LOFTY LIKE LIFTS, LASTING LONG IN LINGER LEAVING LAST LUNGS LOOT LAYING LOOKING LEFT AND LEARY, AS THE LIGHT DRIFTS UPON YOUR FATAL SKELETONS.

and she invited a stranger into her temple, and I wondered the nature of the of prophetic prostitutes; and she told me to call her a whore and slap her in the face; and she lay herself upon me, and my rage rises through her face; but that my face turn red with mad dashing thoughts twisting upon itself, and that this dream would inspire me before I had dreamt it, like who I am and who I dream. Is the equivalent of being pregnant, by my spirit know perfection, before I had perfection intended?

Wedding Vows

December 3, 2016 by codyp Leave a Comment

I use to be something, a little… well I don’t know what it used to be— once wounded, all wounded; kept from getting bloody, but couldn’t refuse to bleed–

I use to see the people, the broken children who looked bigger; try to explain the state– but knew not I, of the truth that walked by, that even at eight, their mind would just blank– And if only I knew how I fucked with mental orbits, to cause the models to forfeit, and it only got worse with a consort of the gorgeous

But I am not the guy, to tell you in the eye, this heart has always been heard distorted; it’s like staring at the sun–

but how long have you been blinded, in that gap behind the eyelid; I am a lawless tyrant, but now tyrant of the law– just wearing one like a garment, an agreement until we parted; so, that deep down in the yard, past the trees with the strange moving humming birds; and the neighbor’s dogs offering me their hand in marriage

AND THESE WERE MY WEDDING VOWS.

BUT FIRST A TOAST;

Now dear Cody was a strange one, we always thought he’d hang up, the phone or on a tree– because he likes trees and hates phones, but digs telepathy and the inner tantric rites of Isis upon Lilith, and Sophia was the boss; and those three, as four if crossed; but now he doth hopped the fence, hopping out of his yard back into his yard; in what once was a mirror– and it’s not that pride caused suffering, but separation caused a fear, and what hid beauty; thou knew as evil, and what pleasure it would it be to know the fear of god. May his last days be final!

The vows:

He would speak his vows, but mumbles in her presence– he knew he would die if he kissed her, but with her, of him he was jealous; and behind the essence, was the one who he vowed to avoid, and that what himself in her, so that he denied himself, so that she could accept him, and not deal with freaking unity consciousness, because classy fucks don’t live trends– Vow #1 WE LIVE DEARLY. AND A THOUSAND PEARLS WOULD I STRING UPON YOUR LOTUS– Vow #2 try not to ask you to explain yourself, where there is no self to be explained. Vow #3 for every 10 hours a day I leave, forty hours I give thee, or in essence because 49 hours around the sun, just ain’t fifty.

#Vow four, and the only one I thought of; That you my love, I accept you in totality; but please god damn it, be gentle.

She would speak her vows, and the beauty that would make the blind see; could not be directly referred to, so I refer to her back in the garden, where I was picked by a five petal rose; and I would I cut my self, 5 times over; lay 3 drops upon each petal in a row, just to show; that 5 brilliant colors hide black, and 15 drops would turn the road red, so that the black rose is a red rose in fact. And the philosopher’s stone, would arise and express our agreement, and this brilliant white, would redden in achievement; but that inside a gentle pink, though red like; would reach head high as the red-light district shun within. And that he knew himself, and married ignorance; and so, himself be born. So, that soon he would know about his own death, cuz the petals did bring thorns.

Live, die, live, die, this guy… what is he on? And did he come back with the sun in his pocket? And four hours later he would knock unconscious, though no one noticed his smile was cosmic. And the rainmaker does cometh, and cometh tobacco like a cloud, and have you never ate the fruit before the fruit was ready? And so, the vow was law, you reap what you sow, so keep it slow and steady. At least for the honey moon.