Friday, February 5, 2016



I let go of you today. Even though I wish I wouldn't have had to. That I could run away with you. That I could have been honest. That you would have accepted me.  That it was not so much separation in our relationship. Without you, will I even be myself? I let go of you today. Though I loved you so much. I still love you so much. The one who came in and ruined every terrible thing I'd ever done to myself. Now you seem so far away. Thought I hid from you, you got the real me. I cry in my room. For you. For us. For my imagination and how it ran wild with thoughts of you for so many months. I leave it up to you now. If you all find me in my sorrow. I know you loved and I loved you. I know I loved you even though I lied and hid from you. You were my dream. You mended my broken heart. So I lay here and cry for you. My beautiful angle. Forgive me. Remember my eyes. I've never been so heartbroken while in love. I guess this is it.  Want to sit and wait for you again. But love never knocks like that. I can't have everything. I have to live this life. I can't run away with you, you even said that. Yet at the beginning. You said we were in two different places in our lives. You deserve to live and I must go live as well. You were my angel and my god. You. Me. We. I'll cry this all out. So much beauty in your eyes. So much anger in your touch. We could have. We couldn't. Send in the clowns, my love. We never had a song because you hate music. We never danced. But I'll remember your walk, the way you smile and smelled and your hands. That voice, man that voice. Carry on, Agent. Don't forget about me. Don't forget to say goodbye. Because I am too afraid. Maybe we broth were too afraid. I made a choice tonight. Not to stare at your pictures or your messages any more. I'll always be what you made me. Fuck. I hate hate.

Thursday, May 21, 2015

This is What it Has Become

   


     I made a decision to surrender to everything. This is the only way to full self control. The only way to seal myself off and only accept information, guidance, and greetings from them. It is almost like a have become the Alien I always was. I no longer desire anything. All is acceptable or purely disgusting. To shun or to love. The in between being it all really. The Pantone of communication so to speak. Now I feel the quiet and know the madman is no more. No longer do I become overwhelmed because the filter filters the filter. They have taught me not to speak, which ended my life long search for the ideal conversation or poem. Who knew the urge to create literature could be a disease of the mind. Anything can be a disease of the mind if one over does it. It all can sour and often does. They have taken over my life like angelic demons by not setting down ground rules. They created a new version of themselves. On my way home today I realize by them doing so, I have created new versions of myself as well. How have they changed? Have we become a hive, or have I joined a hive and become a functional part of an absolute system. Never to be altered or controlled by weaker forces. 


    Sounds and words are all it takes. The symbols are personal. Yet the movements, the looks, they are the lost interpretation of an ancient pleasure. I have always been this. However it has become so personal. The system is the overlaying factor. This communication is a math problem we have all been working on for ages. The same can be said for this planet. When I was a child I wanted every day to feel like Halloween and Christmas. At this point they have made it feel like my Birthday each day. I wake up and discover I am braver and newer and this little space I feel is very important. It is a hyper-zone. Vibrationally speaking there is no way to understand the importance of this gift. Dedication of the utmost is require. I must never faultier from the path now. I feel I may not be able to if I desire. There are those among us who are not among us. They alone must be victorious. For the sake of mankind. If there is a war in heaven, what do you think you are doing here?

I am Heather Pencil- Pusher...and this was What Happened so Far. 

Wednesday, December 17, 2014

A Real Love Poem For Once after all I guess...it seems that way at least




Maybe there is not a poem about this. Maybe there never was suppose to be a poem about this. Maybe if I just write forever there will not be a poem about this. At this point this is not even a poem about this.


Writers say it all because it has to be said
for what really
this is not even a poem
so much is left unsaid because it does not need voice
so much is spoken no one really wants to hear
or can understand
it's blackness for nothing
sadness to a point
yet there is a smile is there not
there is love can you not see
so we fell in love through books and documentaries
and yeah the math and engineering is to die for
but we are living beings are we not
yes you fell in love over art and rainbows
fucking unicorns I guess
deadly assaisins have your heart
when even a poem feels like a lie
I really loved you all but this war is a bit much
when even warmth feels like handcuffs
I've almost talked myself out of the tears I cry for it all and nothing really
on this day I could see so clearly it felt like I should have died
What do you miss the most
The Beatles
what do you miss the most
really The Beatles
what will you remember when it is all gone
that I never believed you all in the first place
what will you regret
the tears for nothing and the isolation I kept going on about
what will you be when you are gone
a girl in a hot shower writing post apocalyptic love poems
in the end I will see I worried too much
for all of them and expressed myself through anger
this makes the angels come to your side
I close my eyes as they sit beside me in silence
see after all this is
a real love poem


This is Josaisa, Live from Planet Girl On a Diet.

Sunday, August 24, 2014

Contemplating Dying Gods and Their Children

He saved me with a kiss he'd come to kill me with
life unfolds like this from time to time
the ones who wake you from a dream you thought was life
I wanted to be innocent
no not really
I wanted to be pure 
like snow or summer leaves or the ocean in the more peaceful parts of the world
I wanted to be evil
no not really
just dark like they say we can never be
I tried to set myself on fire
However I dress really well and few people will stand for that
A girl in a pretty dress covered in kerosene 
He would not let it be
I tired to go crazy but I remember everything and in madness it helps to forget
He would not let me close my eyes
Maybe he thought it would be a waste
or at the very least an act of disrespect 
why let whiter and die what is is useful 
He turned the dial on the world just a bit differently 
now it does not seem so bad and we all seem less lost
the ones who are not with us are still here
It's just I don't have to be with them when I see them
No sympathy for the enemy dying
All hearts and minds to the victors trying and surviving 
These thoughts call me from my sleep
I am to make heads or tails of it all
Maybe just let it sit here for a while
I was hard and now I am soft
I was woman and now I am a pure animal 
wild like the tides and the moon
freed by a kiss from a charged knight
who no longer goes by that title at all 
unless one has eyes to see
and any useful inquiries

I am Josalisa, and this is some form of a RiOt.


Thursday, July 24, 2014

I saw but Wasn't Looking



This is not even crying or feeling anything
this is just an expression
I like to experiment
with poetry and art
my mind my heart
it is all part of it
So it's a love poem
because someone writes love poems about them
and the empty they empty more
or the dead they awaken to kick
bored fucking never dared to pay for it
we share the world with them
they try to drown us in deserts
we try to breathe in fire
touch what is untouchable
to feel what
nothing 
how does nothing feel
how does it breathe 
how does it survive
in this time of the living and the dead
I sang all the songs in my head
I was never that thing you tired to kill
yet it died anyway
sacra vivere 
ita et in peccatum

Tuesday, July 22, 2014

DSM code F 52.7: The Subject



There are those who know better than this
to you I say enjoy the freedom
there are experiments one can undergo 
oh do we volunteer
at first I guess yes
later on you see it was all a forced draft program
one never really signed up but was summoned
by forces greater than ones own abilities
dominate thoughts always lead to subjectivity
one should always give in to these thoughts
best for all involved really
except for the girl who is oh so silly
so many signs and symbols
so many black and white documentaries
everyday is a night
every knight is a son
every boy on the run
deep inside has a gun
a sword on which to kill you
sex is death
and bondage love
longing is destiny
heartbreak fits like a glove
want the thing that breaks you
cry for a dying dove



Wednesday, July 16, 2014

DSM code F 52.7: The Math Tutor



The Math Tutor was a delightful hippie boy that well, was not a fucking hippie at all. I saw him once before our initial meeting working on his math homework in the library. I spend a lot of time around books and I'm never on the prowl while I am around words in mass. But there was something about this boy. I walked past him to get a closer look at his work. I wanted to see his letters and the way he wrote his numbers. Only he was not writing any letters, just numbers. In perfect sequence in the neatest script one can imagine. My first thought was he writes like a Good German. How did he find the patience. His energy was that of serious contemplation and slight irritation. I began to feel a warm sensation in my stockings. There was really nothing to say, so I just continued on my way. I never really let that image go. This was the kind of guy that sat alone and read, one whose mind may be inclined with the men who sent rockets into space. Sitting here, among the living. I always imagine men of any real interest being shown in black and white. Why, I'm sure the answer will come easy, but I will not bother with such inquires at this time. I wondered if the general lack of intelligence he must witness bothers him? However like I said, I just went on my way.

Many thoughts and dreams later I decided as an Anthropological  study to go out and sit in the sun for a bit. I had a dream or vision to begin reading about Lucifer again. After I finished a fine book on the Angel I remembered our relationship had been somewhat sexual for a bit. Him being my one true love after all. I began writing him love letters. What's a girl suppose to do with love letters to Lucifer, one may ask? The answer is simple. Give him his letters when he shows up. So I sat and waited. Would he show up? Would he be tall, dark and handsome? Or a boy who looks like a Mormon with a satanic sigil tattooed on his arm? Well no one showed up and I did not care. But I did like waiting so I waited, for whatever, whoever to show up. And just like a Satanic angel out of the blue up comes The Math Tutor. With all of his calm and casual demeanor. What does one really say to a man anyway? So I just randomly said everything which is nothing and listened to his bizarre, yet perfectly normal point of view. You know things you do while you wait. Except it wasn't just a casual conversation, it was a full on discussion and well, he was a bit cleaver now wasn't he? Maybe too cleaver and a bit too gentle. I may also be a bit too cleaver and gentle, but I try not to let men know it. Well only if that man I am speaking to is a hippie. Which this sweet guy on the opposite bench most assuredly was. Anti GMO...hippie. Anti pornography...hippie...Anti American...hippie. Beard...fucking hippie. 

So you know, when the nice hippie guy asked me to go for a walk with him in the botanical garden, I was like. Total hippie, nice. Except when we got over to the no doubt beautiful and all and out majestic botanical garden. He revels to me he is not a hippie at all. In fact he is the only other type of able bodied non-intoxicated adult white male. And as we all must know my darlings, that shit ain't no fucking hippie. He was as one may say, a Good German. Oh, the Ze Germans. This is what our friends across the pound would call being proper fucked. Or so it would seem from my antifascist  black lesbian feminist point of view. Which is a point of view I find suitable to explain my love of fascism. To myself, in my own heart. Yet lets save that for a rainy day. One of which this is not.

I almost immediately begin to retract all of my former statements. Of course he thought that was funny because he was not the type to allow for any bullshit. I was not as cleaver as he was and we both knew that. "I was just kidding about all of that from before." I said. "Yeah, but you know too much." He answered. "I read it in a magazine." I lied. "Oh, but you know how it all fits together." As he said that he looked me in the eyes in a way that let me know he was going to punish me for the last part. There really was nothing I could do. Other than scream, which was clearly not an option. I sometimes wonder what would have really happened if I would have screamed. I'm sure he would have been extremely violent. I could see the violence in his eyes and feel it...I don't know in the air. In his soul? There was no choice really. "What are you really?" He answered while kissing me. "You know." I kissed him back. Why because I was scared? It was because I knew what he was, and I loved him for it. "Say it" What is this, Gastapo Twlight? "I can't say it" He pulled me closer and kissed me harder. I was pushed into a very tight corner and he was going to have his way. I was caught in a very specific net. This was not his first catch and there was no chance to turn back time. "I know you want to." The Good German whispered into my ear. Ever so sweet and psychotic. "Say it" I turned my head. When he takes my head in his hands I can feel the pressure he puts on my skull. I know he can break my neck or pulls my hair out.

He does neither of these. Even though there is no way he is letting me go until he is finished with me, I know he will not hurt me if I answer him. So I kiss him harder with  my eyes closed. put my head down so I am no longer face to face with his beautiful blue eyes. "White power" trying to make it sound like a question. As it comes out as a request. "Good girl. Now open up your legs." Why did I open my legs? It needed to happen. Not just because it was what he wanted and he had established that as the most important thing for right now. I did it because I was afraid, for the first time in a long time I felt fear. A real emotion and I wanted to go with it. Open your legs and your wish is my command, no one ever said. So yeah I opened my legs. I learned how to give in. He was generous down there in my secret spot. I like having my body displayed in public.

After he was done with me. A simple yet terrifyingly aggressive sexual encounter, he asked me for my number. I couldn't even handle reality so I just gave him my phone. He took down my number, asked me if I was going back to library (the answer was yes) and walked away. I wanted to sit there and cry. Or run after him. I wanted him to not treat me so casual after taking me in that way. Have you ever just finished something you wish had never happened? Because you know you can't be the same again. He strolled off like it was his job and he had finished a good days work. I wanted to cry, so I fell in love.