i have a constant fear, that i cannot do what i have done. i can feel it now, like ants, on my skin, its heat and a heaviness. but maybe it just takes grooving. there. sort of like that. when i write sentences that seem irradiant with their own color. there is vibrancy, and unusuality.  but i cannot call if forth, the prismatic briiian. he waits, is erratic, as creative as he is incomprehensible. i want to absorb him, but he must be lured from the blue and yellow depths of my wheel//energy within. like this: this is what its supposed to be like. but see, this was a year ago: he is within somewhere, sunk in self doubt and fear: but~

remember. that mind you carry around is reminiscent of the creative itself. how else do you think all our ozymianian wonders are possible? the gun is the bad conjuring of a larval god.

your consciousness is so powerful, its reach so fundamental it reached nonlinearly through time/ nonlocally through space, so swiftly, Light in his new stillness waves to her as she flits by, her footsteps glowing in the darkness. witness!: the true meaning of: do not limit the creative principle, for he does not limit you. violence, greed, lies; the earthly powers gained are best wielded like a hammer; the roads away from she the lord are many (and the blackhats that prowl them, legion.)

you see the lightning does not come down upon our high, smoking castles fraught with the Ruin, for~

freedom is love. not safety not control not judgement. god does not do these things; evil truly is a Witness, that she does not limit you.

the ghostly footprints of god

its a little glittery, but i miss it. letting go more, me the stone gargoyle slowly unpetrifies, shakes off rock dust and rain damage and leaps forth into the sky, spiraling and cackling, like a spear through the clouds, riding the moonlight and spitting green secrets.

no? anyway. yes. i’m so glad no one finds this blog hahaha it mortifies me! but i guess that’s the point. i must be mortified sometimes. being born a writer is like being born an effigy that is always

burning. ❤ and i am so excited. it is coming. every bad word written is one step. one letter at a time, up the hellspire, until red becomes gold, among the singing stars and stratospheres, and we reach the angel of the heavenspire together.

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