Friday, June 16, 2017

Nothing Is Still Something

At this point I will not ask for forgiveness, for there is nothing to apologize for. Happy Polly Loggies. I will say I am living life of joy and happiness. The number is the same, the name changes and we wait patiently. And smile because we believe in it all. The rise and fall and ebb and flow makes me think. It's a wonderful world food of pain and glory. In my heart there is a dance of cries and fire. Love and madness. Death and sadness. It will always exsist. And so will this human girl on earth. With her human eyes and heart. With love and love and love. For the flag is black we wave. In the dark we remain shinning the light in silence, to love. When you need a hero, there is always yourself. Josalisa, Live from the island

Monday, March 20, 2017

DSM code F52.7...The Architect.

The Architect was into design. Perfect drawings of perfectly dark places. He showed them to me as a personal review of our madness. This is what happened to the best of my memory.

The Architect. 

Have you ever met a guy so plain and so basic he had to be mad. Like he was stoic, but in his eyes was a dark river. When I met the Architect, lets just call him, M. he seemed uninteresting to me. Yet I can see he was fascinated with me. Here is a bit of background. M. and I worked in the same building. 

Monday, September 12, 2016


Romanticism is too much. Everything reads like a poem. Knowing it is an modernist essay or a great novel. Long forgotten of course, then remembered, of course. Distracted by the understudy (there always is one). The world is a play, yet we are not all typical performers. There are styles and ways. Out of into the new quite.

Sunday, September 11, 2016

No Pryor Signs of Non-conformity

I'm full of self doubt, but it does not matter. I must do this anyway. There is nothing wrong with me and I am for the most part very easy to understand. Possibly too easy to understand. In this lies the complexity that is fakes and interacting with me. I know that now. So in this light, I must carry on. The writing, the art, the performing arts, science. It's all part of my bigger picture. It is what I understand. What I am lucky to underestand. My place of comfort has be typically projected as a place of uncomfort. That is okay. You can't be friends with everyone.

The isolation period is over. The collection must be shown and expressed. For all the love that is holy and absent. I try to talk myself out of things. To see it all from all the sides. Like chess. Yet it can also be any of the many other forms of expression I like. Like modern dance. The results will be the same. The difference is the envirtonment. In worlds that seem uncomfortable or unwelcoming on the service is the safety. The smiler is the beast, the frowned is the smiler.

This is unseen lit, yet I do now understand.

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 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.