Foreword;
Tossing and turning till the sheets had been tattered and the mattress broken down to springs, he sat and writhed out another scathing review for himself, under the influence at 2AM holding out for just another breath or the feel of warm lips...
Bios;
Hello my name is David,
Hello my name is Joshua,
Hello my name is Joseph,
My name is Joseph,
Yoshko to Kin
Poe to my friends.
I know what your thinking, and no I am not egotistical or dumb enough to give myself that nickname. Albeit I am dim enough to put it up here aren't I? I wonder how many hate inspired messages filled with discourse I'll get for it. Than again it doesn't really matter either...someone or supposedly someone wise once said "this above all to thine own self be true."
Details;
Honor and Valor.
12/11/86
(Wednesday's Child born on a Saturday)
Sagittarius
Plains Gypsy by decent, American Born.
(Excuse me Chicago born, I dislike associating myself with the idea of being an American, I am the last person to embody the traits which this country has come to stand for. )
Anti-religious / Deeply spiritualistic.
I was born, baptized, rasied confirmed, and walked away from the Romacn Chatholic faith to find my own truths. No great bible black preacher has any more insight into the here-after than myself or any other.
Instead of mourning my religion I have choosen to celebrate the morbid beauty of it all.. My personal mix of alignments consists of , poly theistic germanic, buddhism, some taoist lines of thought, a bit borrowed out of the Wiccan texts as well as some general rules and ideals of higher magick. Further on the contributers become to obscure and numerous to list.
"I believe in people lieing, I believe in people dieing, I believe in people trying, I believe in people trying, I believe in people crying, I believe in people barking, I believe in people talking, I believe in people breathing, I believe in people being. "
Poet, philosopher, novelist,
Prince of Denmark or pauper lunatic..you decide.
Lover of music, art, cinema, literature, sakura blossoms, lilies and oleander, fresh blood, pale flesh, tears of joy or sorrow, absinthe, Romanian wine, comfortable knit fingerless gloves, comfortable cloths period, body art, and...really I could go on but it would be much easier to just start a conversation don't you think?
Five eleven, a hundred and fifty-five or so lb., and easily mistaken for a steel mill by the halos of cigarette smoke found near constantly over head. Brand of choice, Salem Black Label. 100s.
If I could think of anything else to waste your time with this late on in the night I would, but I cannot and so what is here will have to do until I get back around to it...
And now...
Words;
Bit by bit I shake. Head to toe every hair on end against the slow chill. Inducing feeling for feeling like empty canvas..He said.." I haven't done a stroke since I got here." What sinner is there standing lone low beneath the arc of the moon with hands pressed for prayer...Finding no forgiveness in this grave yard, long roads like memory entwined and stuttered out before me. This is the symptomology of remorse, the start for the end. And it struck me how red the words where scribbled half-hazard across the wall. A dyeing declaration, a note on parchment barely legible. The only tear stains my own, another breath she reminds me to breath. Return to form strike the cigarette and try to get it straight and narrow a dancer mimics a razor blades fall from grace. Touched with such visions and virginal white flesh smiling and arms outstretched. Stop. How deep do you go when the walls are already shaking and I press on like there is no greater journey. Self destruction mistakenly held as a banner, no answer just fog oily like silk rotted. Stumbling over ever word it kills to be this honest, and the message...never mind.
How deep can you get when the walls are already falling apart?
