the spanish lady
Oh virtuous lady of Spain I have wronged you by not being the man I wished to be. On the day I left you there in your tower of thirty six floors, I went and sat and weeped and wallowed in a pool of my own tears and snot. As the winter has harshened, my soul bawls and yearns for the warmness of your arms and hold. As of now a long hard frost rage cups the roofs, for the most part I have swept my pain under the rug but in the wake of your absence I have quickly realised my bed's far too big for a lonely old soul such as myself. I do love you, I just don't hold the willingness and capacity to love myself as of yet. Don't wait for me, as I am far from the ultimate self realisation that may appropriately bring us together once more. Do please go live your life as you wish, for you evidently hold the key to happiness within the palm of your soft hands. <3
An Ode to Truer Living
Every electronic I own tracks my every move. Yes I know you’re reading this. You out there in the big black box, perverting the course of justice by making those who already have the power’s jobs much easier. Life really isn’t as shit as it may seem at certain points. They made it hard to live without electronics but they don’t hold the power over you that they think you do. You are merely a collection of stardust that gravitates between different states but you are a collection of stardust that has the potential unlock infinite beauty. Not through synthetic means but rather true experience that may be achieved if you try. And you must try.
There I was, 20 years and 39 days old losing hope in the world. Maybe those around me may have lost hope in me. But you are the master of the beauty you can achieve but also a master of doubt. And doubt you may, but you must always find the beauty. Every second is beautiful, even comedic, if receive it in the correct light. Be the master of your own beauty and boy, you must try. Every negative feeling you have for yourself are hardly warranted when the majority of the negative feelings that are projected onto you are unwarranted and hollow. Your mind tends to play tricks on you. Often very cruel tricks. Every time I drink I seem to dream about a previous lover that was very dear to me. Is it a trick or is it a sign I should stop drinking. Most definitely the latter sentiment. And that’s the beauty of it. If you see your mind as your worst enemy then you’re only doing yourself an infinite injustice. Reprogram the patterns that have kept you so down in dumps, even the gutter in your worst moments, reprogram them for a purpose of beauty.
The booze doesn’t work and the mind is currently weak. So go back to your basics. Mentally back to those sweet times when neither of these afflictions existed, or at least didn’t affect you in a way which you contemplate a rather silly early death on a daily basis. I tend to blame the world. Or undiagnosed afflictions. But I’m the one making the real mistakes. I can’t hold a world of people with their own problems they need to tend to on a daily basis accountable for my sadness. That is evidently non-sensical at this point.
Kindness is a virtue held closely by those who are wise, but to be used for it is an oh so dreadful feeling. Be kind to others but do not every let a single person take advantage of you. See life for a what it really is, a series of interspersed moments with tangible meaning. You may not believe it’s tangible, but if you look close enough there’s really beauty and comfort in every fleeting moment.
Sharoka! And most importantly - Peace - LD Soopraya
THE DOG’S STILL PISSING ON THE ROSES
No belief in loving me. Self care goes out the window when all you’ve got is yourself. I’ve been disconnected from the rest since the day I left mothers womb. Disconnected or misconnected I’m not sure. But there has definitely been a lack of connection. Who would have thought 20 years and 37 days ago when I popped onto this mound that I’d feel so cuntish now, 20 years and 37 days later. The cunt, the cunt who couldn’t make a real friend if he tried. The only solace he found was simulated through synthetic means. The psychedelics helped to connect him to the earth he laid upon and the people he surrounded himself with but the more he utilised them, the further he felt himself drift spiritually from both of these facets. With each dose he began to feel increasingly cold about the world around him. So he hit the bottle. And he hit it hard jack. And when he gets drunk he gets. When that pay check lands he spunks it in a matter of days just to get rid of the pain that Lizzie’s face gives him. Even when she’s trapped behind that plastic card with a chip in it, the card only helps ease the pain momentarily as he frivolously digs through grands in a matter of weeks, sometimes days. And when that chip finally declines he finds a sense of relief. Finally free from the pressures of his thirst for intoxication. Free to think. And the when the money’s gone he doesn’t really feel too bad about the world. He stops to look at the roses, stroke the dogs in the park. But oh boy when that cheque hits again, he is swiftly reminded, the dog will always piss on the roses...
all I want for christmas..
I want the troops back home, cozy, even boozy.
I want my soul back.
I long for a feeling that long left east, hoping eventually it shall loop the globe and find me heading west.
They hope for another gizmo, another gadget that will continue to nullify the beauty of their soul, solace and meaning.
I hope they will find peace in the warm arms of a nearby brother, mother, sister or lover whom shall bring them back to that womb-like place and feeling of blissful unknowing.
I hope that this christmas, if not this one then the next, that we all find the true love that forever ebbs and flows in the endless showering and splashing river of consciousness within us..
If they don't find that, at least there are the next 20 iPhones to look forward to.
Peace - LD Soopraya.
wilf
wilf was a warrior, a solemn old man who found his solace dozing on the grass soaking in the hot rays of sun. a cat blacker than tar with a soul softer than the wet soil he laid upon. during those long summer days wilfred was seldom seen anywhere but rested on those freshly cut blades of grass. now it's ten years later and each time I pass the lawn which he cherished so dearly, I rest easy knowing my soulful old man of a cat rests peacefully, buried under the spot in which he loved more than anything. even more than me. r.i.p wilf.
the truth of being 18-21
Tee off at the 18th with a spirit unforeseen in your previous efforts,
Drive straighter than ever whilst pickled to the gills.
Shit out the mouth of your enemies and feed the best of your friends via arsehole.
Find strange lovers in dirty cubicles tattooed with queer drawings and varying strings of digits, all alluding to assorted sexual favours.
Dance on cobblestones ’til your socks and soles are riddled with holes,
Sink shots of 70proof and piss in the corner of the dance floor,
Prance more, exude the feeling that you’re comfortable being a whore,
And raise roof, chase that feeling you once knew as a wee youth,
And in the longest run of things, most importantly, most principally, never stop yourself from being irrevocably nothing but the truest, bluest iteration of you..