Last Poem Of The Year

A soaring heart

For art and knowledge

A hardening soul

For Pain

Dead Girl In a Pretty Dress

Tears for joy

Tears for sorrow

Tears for now and tomorrow

Tears for no

Tears for yes

Tear for peace

Tears for stress

Weeping dead girl in a pretty dress

Some Kind Of Lyrical Down Payment

I don't relate to you

I'm just listening

You can't understand my story

see we are different

the level of insanity is not equal 

and I see it 

you are the surface and I am the dept

I can search my whole life

and never end of here

in a room that smells like beer and incense 

you are insane and this has made me shameless

in my judgments and my vagueness

there are no words that can save us

only prayers to recognize us

quiet demons with pretty wings

and way too much money  

how do you measure wealth and success 

I love the greedy and arrogant 

we are the lazy and self serving 

starving for another helping of creativity 

I write it all down and he paints it 

the things I dream most would never even think it 

I'm not like them 

so why do they try to wear the same stuff

you look like I did in high school

and that is a British teenage prostitute

no one understood what I was getting away with

now I dress like the kid sister of Morrissey and Robert Smith  

down payment on the things I have't said yet 

what is it to be a writer

to wake from dreams and make the dreams

to have the world cry with you as you explain 

so many things are just too plain and basic

so color and songs exist in this world  

not just to shape this place but to save it 

I lived millions of days

but I can tell this one is going to be one of my favorites 

It feels like poetic justice 

or some kind of lyrical down payment

I am Josalisa and I come from pavement...to riOt

A Reminder of Sorts

I'm just going to write this all down, the thing that is in my head. However this feeling I never speak of. So this shall be a dance around my actual intent. Deep down inside of me lies a dormant dragon. I'm over all all my own attractions, that is the things I find interesting and the people who gather in the interest. I have it in my heart that I look at things from a distance, yet I know I listen and I'm honest. So that just puts me right up in everything. I've seen it all, or have been told. It's the same old situation all of the time. The game of life. Chess played as checkers. You can see all the wrong moves being made before anyone ever moves their pawn, or rook, or checker piece. Am I bored or just numb? I have to ask myself the same question I have been asking since I was four years old...why can I not just participate and enjoy it like everyone else pretends to? This can get very depressing so let me remind myself for myself that Artemis is out of town and things get a little emotional when that happens. 

All of this really comes from a dreams. I see the future. Stupid things that can never change a bit but somehow are still revealed to me. So I can see them unfold right before my eyes. This is my heavenly curse to be played out right here on Earth. This dream was more of a pinned up emotion however. I saw my emotions worked out and reveal to myself a secret anxiety. I did not care in the dream, as I would not in life but still it was played out. This is more of my useless vagueness I promised in my opening line. It's like I know I am loved and have love, but who the fuck really cares anyway?

Okay so during this call to my depression my Guru sent me a message that changed everything. The message put everything into prospective and I have recalled my actual purpose on this rock. So um forget about sad dreams of feeling distant from people I should stay far away from. Okay so here is a poem:

To Remind Them...or Me

I soar that is why I feel the separation

the imagined change

in my heart beats a lion...caged

a girl a woman an eagle free

why do I feel locked inside me

I paint the canvas with faith

an artist true

we are all the same me and you

I cry for my lover 

as my lover sleeps

things are missing

no they are still right here

I miss you but you never leave me

like a teacher here to teach me

I cry over things I do not want

I cry for not wanting them

they seem so popular and happy

inside my heart lies an atlas

I want to go everywhere and I will

I cry for being here because I dream of there

at this moment 

at this moment

there is only this

a dark line

a wild dark mistress

what will be my fate

searching for things long ago reveled

trying to heal wombs that have long ago healed

I am a bird in flight

waiting for it all to be revealed

we are ever lasting miracles

that is why I sit still

I am Josalisa and this my chums is a RiOt.

Je suis devenu une créature ailée

This is for my own sanity. I must put it in order in the digital universe or on a private piece of paper kept secretly under my bed. Your voice is all that keeps me, yours and my own. I give private ceremony to my dreams. I sing in little rooms to people who believe in ghosts but have never seen them. I pray the song amazing grace to folks who believe in angels but have never met me. They smile and I shed a tear for us all. So far away from the gates we may not see it coming down. There is more dedication in rock and roll but I will still belt it out to the congregation for the hope of it all. All we have now is the songs and magic. Black magic in large doses filling up our small bodies. Like swamp people surviving a hurricane by never leaving home. So many people want the world to end. But it won't you just die and we live on. Not every one has a cosmic origin, some of you are the meek here to inherit the Earth. I've touched your grave stones on a mere accident looking for ancestral dust under dirt. You could have had it all but you wanted something you could never have and the things you never dream of. You only get what you dream even if you show up. That is funny too. Eli tells you everything but few ever listen and most have forgotten this is not a lifetime but a spiritual mission. 

All the poets smile at me and ask me to dance. I always say yes because they really do know best what is going on around here. We pay actors to mesmerize but magician do it for free. I lock myself secretly into small private libraries because as usual the public has become too mainstream. I ask the old and dying important things. They always remember the answers and point me in the right direction. I sit in private rooms with rich artists hashing over the things they feel they could not touch. They point me in the right direction to remind the bored of true love. It comes from great suffering and self respect. I now know all is well and nothing can ever be lost. Why do I miss the nothing so much? I sing to the sweet and the endearing hopeful dreamers while my peers attempt to be famous, or rich without checking their personal inventory. We give away what we want so much on the way. I see this so clear, so I sit still and cry the smallest tear to his voice. We all know it but can not hear the trumpets that also sound. A beautiful man saves us all as we drown together. 

We could wait until the end but that is just the beginning. We can enact revenge but one never understands why one is truly screaming. So I come to you with my faith in my hands. I remember every shaman I ever kissed or embraced. Every member of my star family I ever met face to face. They gave me my faith and it can not be tarnish though it is black as a cosmic map. I've gone from beautiful girl to raving maniac and I will say it is a wonderful world. I feel sorry for the ones who will never let go. The ones will attempt to hold it all by the seams and never hear the sound of...the great all there is. Who consume but never create. Have you ever been stopped in a street so a crowd can form to ask you what you dream and how it inspires them so? What does it even mean that I have? I've come to remind those lost we are now found and the stars do glow for us. A breath is all it takes to bless the nations of gentle souls. Keep going. Allow the heart to expand. Smile through the tears and meet the family half way up the road. They will appear as angles of color and fire. I feel them all. Running and singing all the familiar songs. We have it all right here inside of us. I forgive you all the ones who I think are weak or cruel or maybe just liars. It's not my cruelty. It's not my weakness. They are not my lies. I am here for the stars and the bright lights. I am here as he lives. So it will never happen again. 

This could be my last breath. I have said it all. I share my soul with the ones who wake me at night. I've cried in the arms of the great men of my time and I have said it all. I repeat myself as a form of art. I have listened to the desperate pretend they see magic in nothing. I have heard the ones who feel weak attempt revenge on themselves. I am done. I am a golden nun. I believe in it all and have seen it come true. I have been tied down to beds for pain and pleasure. I have driven my masters mad. I am alive and I have played dead. This is my personal apocalypse. I have seen the bravest ones create cults and try hard not to kill them. I have seen the beautiful destroy it all and play the villain. I have created so much art the ink stains are like my lost children. My dream is now. I have wept over Van Gogh and it is not enough. I have stared so hard at Monet and Rothko you'd think my heart could never let go. I have run and turned the cards at midnight naked in the emptiness. This is my dream come true. I am the thing which I have become in secret. I am home though I wish for greater...what...hearts and minds to speak to.  My fingers hurt from creating. My heart is a full cup. The old masters  have taught me the old ways. The youth has shown me how to modernize and I have become a winged creature.  Blow harder my dears. Blow harder. 

I am Josalisa and this is a RiOt

Ceux qui marchent entre nous viennent en rêves les plus profonds.

I Could Be Wrong About This

This is the thing that wakes me. From the oh so sweet slumber of a warm bed. This is that which bothers me and will not let me sleep. That and I had to pee just now. The think positive crowd have to be the most annoying set of creatures to walk the Earth. Yes Dear Readers, this is one of those rants where everything is brought into question. Really what is is to think positive? I keep feeling like this is really an uniquely American idea. Looking on the bright side of life and ignoring all that sits right in front of you. Sometimes I feel like we are all one step away from suicide but we smile and try to get over it. Now me I fail at dying, so I get up everyday and do the living. It works out just fine. But much like the Instagram photo is a bastardization of actual photography, the think possessive movement is destroying actual living conversation. No one ever wants to face anything. Or that is wrong, facing things or not is no choice. But real discussion has been abandoned for the it gets better crowd. Isn't this why people drown themselves in drugs and alcohol or pack themselves into night clubs full of strangers who can't see or feel from all the makeup and Molly that has been popped? I really need a Russian right now. In Russia there is a saying, I'm not going to tell it to you in Russian. However here it is in English. "Life is hard right now, but what are you going to do?" There is the truth of it all. We all want it all to look a certain way. Like the Los Angeles pretenders who glamorize this shit hole that I desperately want to leave. But look at that. Even that is bullshit. Who wants to leave a place but stays? You know what happens when one stays in a place they should have left a long time ago? When the very first of my personal artistic caravans headed East in hopes of...well anything really. What happens to the fearful who stay? It's fucking decay. I feel and smell decay. I believe it makes me a better writer, but it is not doing a damn thing for my artwork. 

Have you ever been attacked by nothing and then you finally realize it is yourself? I can not be among so many and feel so separate. Mainly because we are all being so positive. But get a drink in you and the tears flow. I put all my pain on paper or pound it into a keyboard. So by the time the light of day actually shows up I do feel a ting of positivity. But Dear Reader, I thirst for something bigger than all of this. I hunger to smell new smells and to run free. I never really feel free. Like I have felt a bit of freedom alone on the mic somewhere, but not real freedom the way I dream. I am in the business of turning what I see on the inside to that which is tangible. I live in the same city of many of the great writers. I feel the burden of their past upon me even now. That is what keeps me going. They are alive in little rooms typing away at great works, or sitting somewhere reminiscing about how it was all going to be so beautiful. I'm not really into too many positive writers. So what the hell are so many of them doing on the Best Sellers List? Who the fuck put them there? The think positive crowd that is who.  You blind bitter bastards, the lot. 

It's not even really the Best Sellers List that bothers me. But yes it is. You see there are virtually no real bookstores left so we have no Men and Women on the from lines of literature. Telling people what to buy are at the very least pointing them in the right direction. So pretty much everyone is left to there own devices which leaves us as a culture utterly fucked. So you have Adults reading novels from the Young Adults section, people reading way too many self help or pseudo spiritual books, and then there are the Graphic Novels.  I love Graphic Novels. Like I can't even begin to not love graphic novels but still, read a book every once and while people. The poor pathetic Graphic Novels. You know the thing most movies are made of these days. I won't get started on the state of American Cinema in this post because well. American Cinema at one point was created in the bookstore, or other gathering places of intellect. Which seem obsolete now, so we have a entire nation packing into cinemas to see cartoons or things based on Graphic Novels. Or books that are not very good but no one is around to stop any of it from happening. What ever happened to the bitter screen writers? They were replaced with lazy fucks who hope to become rich and famous and who will read any crap and turn it into a film. Re-invited Biographies are the norm here and I won't even get started.

So what is a writer to do? Sit among her peers and absorbed the beauty that is the craft. Look bitterly out into the city by the sea and wonder is it the pot or the juice that makes everyone step over the bums and smile? You see they are looking on the bright side of the homeless epidemic. Or is it really a shared delusion? One that can not be ended because we are in a spiritual time and intellectualism is not the norm. Truth has become really subjective. Most people live in relationships that are lies. I live in one full of truth. A truth that even I don't always say. Togetherness is the norm and separation is a illusion. All we really have on this rock are each other and the animals. So be kind. That does not mean be positive. Positivity leads to fascism really. Mainly because you have to only look at the good things. Ignore the sick and the old or the poor (especially if you are one of them) and the dying and just smile and take another hit, or drink, or pill or change the fucking channel for God's sake. Don't even get me started on God. But I am trying. I believe things can be better and also accepted. How bad is it really? What if you asked a stranger how her day was and she just looked at you and broke down? Just told you every truth without holding back? What if you just stood in the middle of it all and gave her a minute to let the real tears flow? Standing there among it all hugging a strangers in real tears. Well it happens to me all of the time. Maybe I just have one of those I can take your heart faces. Maybe I am always on the verge of jumping off of something high and the whole world knows it. But the real truth is I don't want to die. I want to fly. Now ain't that a conundrum.

This is Josalisa and you have just experienced a RiOt. 

I See The Dead and They Are Gaining On You

The Karma Police are a series of intangible ideas made real by you the viewer. Similar to the Dream Police who go to work on your subconscious wants. The ones you share out of fear or deep rooted respect for the listener. Depending on who is listening the idea can be somewhat deconstructed but never really destroyed. Those who do not create can never honestly destroy anything at all. They are only capable of giving something a bad name. The element of destruction though often coupled with the creative element, does not live in the same sphere. Those who destroy are often lost or neglected. Mainly by themselves, but dig deep enough and you will find a small child abandoned by a cruel or thoughtless parent. I want to destroy everything often means. Mommy and Daddy were not there and now I am still lonely. I sometimes direct these types to my guru. Father is quite gentle and he does oh so often make house calls. Yet as you may not know he does not accept applications and the self destructive must meet him half way up the road to Dreamersville. Also madness is not  recommended as a cure for itself so maybe stay clear of certain Shamans who wash their blood over the likes of me. 

Have you ever wondered what people really want? The ones who come in search of me or who I have casually allowed under the big top. I wonder about these strangers who would seek out strangers. What the fuck do you all want? To join the show and chose a character. I see you playing them out. Los Angeles is a very small city when your soul was created here. I see you all claimer to return to the same places and pretend you are having new experiences. Oh my God that shit is too funny. Let me take a moment to read that sentence again. How can I judge you at a distance? I can't really but if the boredom that is does not affect you then you know what? It is you. Thoughtless drifting floating by high on stupid things pretending you are someone else to anyone who will listen. And those with the memory bored watching the parade of souls night after night ascend again and again. 

I am the most gentle Black Witch one could ever dream of. I gave away my past because dear readers, that part of me is dead. Only alive in the memories of those who experienced and witnessed the debacle that is my life in ruins. I am now only a writer climbing the staircase with my lover. We are going to some secret place we created long ago. We see the destroyers, but remember your first instance of destruction? When you were a little child maybe you built a sand castle. I won't assume you had Legos or Lincoln Logs...those are for the cared for. But maybe you did. You made your little building and tore it down. Now remember...even then dear child no one gave two shits. But you must have learned the lesson. Destruction can only come from creation. And one can only kill oneself. Now you are thinking of ax welding murderers. Or the haunted. You dear child are not one of those. You are the  weak and the frightened. You probably have not even fucked the living this month, have you?  Poor thing are you even alive? Or are you that fucked up witch that lives in your head? 

As  for me the damp with pity. I shed not another tear. I dance not to another song I did not create myself. I see too much with my eyes closed and I do, oh my dears I do often wonder way too much. I contemplate the nothing like it is a thing of substance. What I really want to do, well it is being done now is it not? So why do I search? For people I have lost so long ago. No not the ones like them. I mean the dead. I search and speak for the dead. It's kind of like my job. Given to me so long ago I like to pretend I was not there. But I remember and I do it well. The sad part is if one can call it that. I feel a separation peeking behind the curtain. I feel a stillness that helps me see you the living wicked. The part I hate the most. How can one being be purple light and silk and the other be voice and empty still? Why does it anger me? My own gift upsets me. Because it will not let me forget what I have seen and heard. But most importantly it will not let me forget my interpretation. The thing that is in my head. Calling out the empty, searching for the the dead. Laughing as children dressed as men kick over sand castles. This is a another morning in the metropolis. And I dear souls feel sorrow and joy at the same time. Such as life. I have seen the Karma Police and sometimes they work so swift their victims don't even know they have been paid a visit. 

Turn another card and you are dead. Looking for a speaker like me. Turn another card and you are forgiven but not by the likes of me. I do not forgive and you do not forget the dirty things you create. Everything you see is real and shall be played out in your own life. All that you think you stole was a gift from your most wicked relative. Tell me about it soon. I shall listen then consort the souls for interpretation. But can one really care when her living soul has been given to another? Only for a moment do we trade hearts with our Masters. Most will never see the stronger people in this world because they want to be them. The secrets of this day are not the same as the past ones. This vortex vibrates on it's on. Ask the Angel wearing your dead Aunt's clothes. I know things you are too greedy and afraid to ask. I'll tell you one. Look to the future not the past. It is all happening right now. And it can not be destroyed. 

I am Josalisa and this is a cypher for the Cyber Punks. 

Reaching Towards It

It feels like everything is being taken away from me. Everything I never cared about. Being replaced by secret things I am ecstatic about. I have an endless supply of secret hobbies and books that must be read. Secret thoughts that must be expressed. Both the bored and the dead things have begun to shun me. To peel away like dead skin. I understand what is happening all around me and I am thankful. Still as I grab on to the lost like cold wet clothes that have been discarded after walking home in the rain. Do I miss anything I do not have? Do I desire to be closer to anyone? I do, but is that a real feeling? Or one of those things people say is the right thought to have. My madness has freed me from so many of my burdens. I still feel unknowable guilt. But the disconnection, I crave it. Seeing the world at a distance and still knowing I am part of it. Ticking away deep in my heart. What can be taken away anyhow? Is it not all an answered prayer? Should we really watch what we ask for? Or ask away knowing you just might...well...have to get it. I am drunk with hope and alcohol. And yes I still judge every person I have ever loved. I think they are all liars and insincere with every movement. Is that a reflection of me? I have never really gotten over my need to judge every single word said to me by my friends and enemies. Do I really have enemies?

I feel distant and everyone else looks closer to the others as they have ever been. Tittered to strangers in hopes of forgetting themselves. And it worked. Many seem to have a forced amnesia. Why I sit here and remember then react and judge. Pushing digital words out of a keyboard like pregnant women having miscarriages. To me it is better to be among highly intellectual strangers and dying rock stars with a boner for it all and nothing. Bleeding gurus dreaming of a psychedelic past they never were old enough to participate in. I follow masters of doctrines long ago forgotten, especially by them. I create art while some are archaic. But the rituals must be done. The songs must be sung and I must remember all I have forgotten. In order to appreciate my own life. Learning sympathy for strangers is a classic thought of mine. But what does it bring? Something, it all brings something. But if one stares enough at anything does it not become grotesque?

What are we really but spinning astronauts. Is that even a right way of seeing things? Why look for a way anyhow? Why not just mow down a path to the dreaming? I see the things I dream in my daily life. That is all it has ever been. Does that make the entire world a dream come true? Is that dear readers, the reason it is all happening right now? We can believe in it all. Have it all. Know it all and see it for what it is. Beautiful, unknowable life. Yet still we may wonder. Is this truly an ancient miracle? Inside of me something is starting to boil. Father was right to tell me to abandon it all. Every action is unnecessary. For the real magic happens in between our own actions. We the power visualizers....do not force the force upon the world. We live among the thoughts and see them for what they are. Invisible strings pulling us towards the nothingness. Insanity on one hand, great clarity on the other. Never shall the two meet without real compassion. The kind we are suppose to have for ourselves. Beyond this there may be nothing or something alien to me. Why does creativity weigh on me so? Why must I think and think and think? Why must I never forget? Remembrance of things long ago considered. Comparing and contrasting to see if it all fits together. What story is this I am living? How long must I spin on a giant ocean towards a giant ball of gas?

This is Josalisa live from Planet RiOt.

I Rarely Like What Is

I shall complain as always. I shall scream and shout then break things (mostly my own). Only my own. I shall fight but really just fall and injure myself. I shall laugh but still be very angry. Still this will not remove the thing that I believe should not be. I shall wander and run. I shall sing loudly with beautiful rock n rollers. I shall sing sweetly with humble church ladies. I shall make songs about the love of dead things. This will not move the thing I feel should not be. I shall write on machines. I shall scribble on paper. Make lists in journals. Confess to the ones I love. Judge the ones who bore me. The thing lives on. I shall confuse myself. Numb myself and then remember everything. I shall feel dizzy and drink lots of water. I shall eat three very healthy square meals a day. Yet the thing lives on. I shall stab at my own heart. I shall sit in a quiet room alone in the dark. I shall see my elders and join clubs. I shall look to people who march and those who have many children. I shall visit the saints and the sinners. After all of this the thing will persist. I shall go to rich men's cities and dine and dance. I shall go among the poor and pity and laugh. I shall live among the middle class. But the thing oh the thing which should not be is still here inside of me. I shall speak to the dead and shun all the living. I shall win all my dreams and think about quitting. I shall go out late at night and stand beneath the stars. I shall walk at the first hint of day. I shall see you all the sneaky conformists and the gay. Still the thing lives on each and every day. 

Gunshots shall rain as I type. I shall make music so gentle in the dead of night. But I can not be convinced of any less than this. I do not like it here. I want out in out in. I am not your friend. I never understood you. You have studied me before. I have become a metaphor for your life. I have gained nothing. Not even the smallest insight. I shall weep but I am not really sad. I shall beat the thoughts right out of my head. Answer all the stupid questions put to me. This...it just should not be. I shall reveal it all and say nothing. The reality is plain to see. I don't belong in this emerald city. I never wanted it. It has always wanted me. This is the place the vampires feed. And I kill things with words. Last of the dying poets. Still alive today. To witness all that is dressed up and boring. To filter out the pain (yours and mine). I would become a cynic but I never liked becoming things. So I'll stay this, a bitter writer staining things. Maybe it will all be so clear one day. As for now all I can see. Is the thing I know that should not be

I am Josalisa and this is a RiOt. 

I Accept Myself

I have a desire to do things then I just flake out on myself. Like am I a self-saboteur, or am I just going with the natural flow of my heart? How does one ever know the answer to these things? Should I even allow such thoughts to weigh heavy upon my soul? Life is good and that is a fact. Even if you are living in a war zone. Which I am not but even if. Life is still good because you have existence. You are thriving. I am thriving and this is a dream and a blessing. Every moment in life is an opportunity to make a dream come true or to create something. That has to be what it is all about. Making the thoughts in your head some sort of reality. So even if this morning I have flaked out on my own plan. Maybe I have not. Maybe there is some other dream that must be made manifest. I can sing. I have my voice. I want to sing out loud and project into my strange destiny. Maybe not this morning as I have planned but maybe today as I have dreamed. 

So much this or that but not too much confusion really. I had a dream last night about many things but I know now it was about my sexuality. Or my sexual freedom. It was very beautiful and telling. I am quite a strange and beautiful creature. I would like any of this to make sense. But I am a bit sleepy and even more crampy so it will lay where it lays on the spectrum. The real point of all this is...My voice shall be lifted and I shall fulfill my own destiny. The one created in God's eyes and the one created in my dear dreams. I regret the things I have not done. But why? Because I have heard of regret and think it is real or because I feel I have missed something? I can never really miss anything. All that I desire is mine or walking in my direction. All that I am is here within me. Nothing is ever missed or forgotten. I am a dream come true. The choices I make are always the right ones. Today is that day. I can feel the light shinning on me even now as I lie here creating these words. I understand myself. All is well. As it has been forever...

I am Josalisa...and this is a RiOt of understanding. 

A Poem Of Unanswered Questioned & Stupid Concerns

you wanna know what makes me write

other writers

 not the readers

readers will read anything

I've even read the back of the air freshener container

reading is a distraction

some sort of addiction

to the passing of time

but writing is the great work

or so it feels 

in reality for me 

it is the great madness

turning white black to feel something may have been accomplished

my garlic for the people who believe they are vampires 

wheater they are vampires are not is no real reason to not avoid them

some people think they are vampires and just behave that way

I blame all the really boring mainstream literature out there 

that romanticize fantasy

we are all so easily influenced

out of boredom I hope

but really what if we are all just really dumb as hell

subject to the whims of any writer with a platform

we program reality after all

our own reality but the lazy can be lead in any direction we choose

that makes me sad and now I feel lonely

we speak our own lives into being 

as well as lead the dumb

what a burden

and what of the ones who surround me

are they even real of just one of my own constructs

that is why they call...the bored and the dumb

to have me remind them that they are still alive like me

yet I don't really believe that anymore

I am alive and they are all dead

until you create something in this world you are dead

being lead by the creators

that is the separation I feel

I make shit and say shit

and the others do shit with that shit

I call them les frimeurs

but that is wrong

they are les acteurs

always auditioning for some play they are destined to star in

writen by creators who feel words

and live in the land of imagination

words are real and they make people dance

but really so what

what can it all really mean anyway

today people died and I am still alive

that is all I can really see as reality

people died and I did not

so I am thankful because I can be

that is all

I am Angelisa Joalisa...and this is a RiOt.

For You Who May Understand

All of this can never be said

it can never even be shown

yet I attempt to shine light onto my aliveness

onto my survival

each idea is not really an idea at all

it is more like a thing I have survived

I do not write the words 

I survive them

live to write another day

sometimes just another line

existence is a gift and a struggle

for the ones like me who over-think

we over-think reality

over-think the dreams

could it have more meaning than this

is there something else left to say to know to live

each word is like a breathe

but I'm not sure I want to breath it

yet I have to

digital words do not stain like ink

poetry written in ink leaves a mark on your hands

these digital words leave only a mark on your soul

an already beat up soul I carry

yet the words flow

like water like an old friend who died long ago

a lonely poet who said it all and got paid

but never really felt set free

maybe no writer is ever really free

 we are all slaves to our work

to the words that fill our heads

and wake us at the strangest hour in the the middle of the night

or the day if you are one like me who tends to sleep

in the daylight with the blinds closed

closed to the world but open to the net

attempting digital suicide

or a run to freedom she can never quite see

because her eyes never adjust to any light that is not artificial

This is Josalisa live for Planet RiOt

Amanda Bynes, Trayvon Martin, Jesus, and This World. Look It Up.

What the fuck is this city? Los Angeles, what is you? And yes I said that right, what is you? Because what is it? A fucking vortex is what it is. It's a fucking city, the second largest in this God awful nation of uber rich war mongers. This is a metropolis surrounded one one side by the fucking Pacific Ocean and the other side by the fucking desert and yes we do have some lovely forest action going on. Do not even get me started on our river. The river of fucking death. Where Marty Mcfly rode into the past and the future, and Arnold Schwarzenegger Terminated or attempted to terminate John Connor  A child of a time traveler. But Arnold's best Terminator performance did not happen in the L.A. River on screen. It happened in real life, where he executed Tookie Williams and also our fucking economy. But oh, I somewhat digress. This fucking city. The city of Angels and Disneyland. Yes the demon park is in Anaheim, which is technically Orange County, land of fucking poseurs like Gwen Stefani. But we all know Orange County is as L.A. as the fucking purple and yellow, or is that gold...Lakers. The only city without a football team because to quote our so-called officials. We are the most violent fans in the NFL history? Really in it's history. Look it up.

What are you Los Angeles? A fucking vortex of so called glamour, you do know our city streets glitter with gold. And real shame, we are the pornography capital of the world. Of the fucking world. Look it up. Which is why everyday hundreds of people come here with the hopes of becoming a star. A fucking star, which is what we all are in the first place. Like literally we are made of the exact same stuff that the heavenly constellations are made of. Yet we, the ones born here in this metropolis anchored by a suburb have to deal with thousands of people who dream of being what they  already are...stars. So we see them drown in the exploitation of beautiful Hollywood California. A place named after a Black Goddess and a Magical pieces of wood. I can not make this shit up. Oh Dear Pan ask Jesus to save me from this place. 

Which swings back into Disneyland. You fucking Walt I am not done with you yet. You are King of the master magicians and I am not sure if I want to call you out by incident or let you ride because it really is fun to see things burn to the fucking ground. We are used to that here in California. Our state burns more than any other state in the Union. Really that is a fact. Look it up. 

Disneyland, I believe Walt's magical Kingdom is the place Amanda Bynes got her start. Was created and most likely raped. I know we are not suppose to mention it. But Disneyland is a rapists paradise and so are it's affiliates. The children even now as adults can not speak so I will do it. The brainwashing stops them from remembering. But I never fully get the brainwashed. Because I only ever half pay attention. I'm half of a Monarch and half of a Madman after all. Really check my blog. Look it up. The programming of old Walt is real magic. The old kind. We all dream to have it. But it is not for everyone. Why? Because most almost all people are stupid. We do not have the intelligence of animals. We are trained to be intelligent. Like apes, not free apes which are highly intelligent. But lab apes. Who are programmed to be smart. This is why magic works on us. Oh magic it is real. From the sideshow card trick to the boom of the fireworks along old Walt's parade route. Whoa...so many Monarchs not enough time to name them all. And who said I would name names anyway? Oh well I did, but not enough time to catch them all.

Disneyland, the creators of the Amanda Bynes spectacle (Oh were you gong to blame her?) are the creators of the (DP) or what I have been calling Disney Princes Syndrome. This shit is real. As you all know dear readers, I was locked away on the funny farm recently myself. Look it up. While I was in there, in the Disney Princess wing. I absolutely confirmed what I suspected all along. Too many women are suffering from Disney Princess Syndrome. We have the real DP's. The women who worked for Old Walt and had to get the full extent of the programming as children. The ones like me. That peeked behind the curtain out of real boredom and curiosity (are you there Alice) and got to see the programming. You have the ones who indoctrinated themselves through the fucking endless catalog of films Old Walt pumps out. And then you have the wannabes who will do anything to become a real Princess...even pretend to be a fake plastic one. Made of cartoons and well. Plastic. Dear Bartleby, ask Jesus to save me. 

The implications of Trayvon Martin and the Royal Baby, future King George are endless. Too endless for this blogger who really does enjoy getting lost in thought. But truly I digress. Let me lay this bit on you radicales right now. Trayvon Martin is not real. He is fake. A media construct. Played out by the new C.I.A. Whaat? I know it sounds out there but this is one of those out there kind of worlds. Third from the Sun, spinning towards it and on itself everyday. Really it is. Look it up. The media is not the enemy. You are the media. The enemy is Corporations. Really it is. Look it up. Trayvon Martin did not exist and neither did his parents who look almost identical to mine. Black Men with beards do not get sympathy in America. Americans by stats feel the most threaten by black men with beards. I do not have to tell you that. When black children are killed the America media does not go into a frenzy. Especially when the person who did the killing is like some South American looking guy who is half a jew. It never happens. Really. Never. Look it up. Why now? Why now are we as a nation losing our shit over a dead black child and a South American looking half a jew. Because we must be distracted. From what? What are you hungry for? National Security turning it's aim and eyes away from so called foreign terrorists to us. American computer users. No not iphone users. Computer users. The ones who program and create original content. We are the new terrorists and not a soul cares that we are being killed at a rapid rate and hunted down and placed into prisons. With the smartest ones selling the programs they created to mega Corporations and heading into the proverbial hills. America is on the hunt for geniuses. Geniuses you say? Those do not exist. Yes they do. People with Intelligent quotients of 140 and above are the new terrorist. No one is that smart you say. Take the test. You are most likely a dummy. But geniuses do exist. Are the new target and we, yes we. Are on the fucking run. 

I personally am under surveillance and have been for maybe ten years but online I am hunted like Red October. So why am I sitting my black ass on here right now writing this badly written manuscript of truth and hogwash? Because it's like my last will and testament. Angelisa Josalisa is a conscious mind in the machine. And I am trying to survive, my real life D.P. programming and speck the truth. While also reminding you that ones far more intelligent than myself are being hunted down and imprisoned and murdered. Look it fucking up. Amanda Bynes is one. An intelligent radial on the brink. Of Monarch programming madness. She may never be free or maybe she will. Just watch her. If she gets out of the funny farm and goes for the old over sexualization of pretty girls in Hollywood thing. Then she is all but lost. If she is released and somehow is able to bleed into the fabric of obscurity or Independence she is saved. Like the baby Jesus on the the river Jordan. Or the red sea or whatever. That probably was Moses (I'm trying real hard to be the Shepard) I need to look it up myself on that one. She is like the compass of Disney Princess programming. If Amanda and Paris Jackson (I know I have not had time to get into her) can break free. Then we all can. Pay attention. They are the light bearers for us all. At this point in the American Hollywood media fiasco. 

If none of this made sense to you, Thank bloody Jesus on the cross. That means you are not one of us and not affected. But if you do have even a ting of emotion from reading this blog entry. Pay closer attention. You may be a magician or a DP or a genius. There is not an emergency number to dial for assistance. And don't look to me for help. I myself am no savior. I am only a nerd alive in in the matrix. I will never forget and I can not close my eyes. But I will soon disappear and this will be left here. As a digital thought print. 

Whatever. Forget about it. I'm going to church. Jesus kills vampires. The end.

This is of course as always Josalisa...and I am in a RiOt. 

I Tried To Die. Here's Why...But Not Really.

I want to write about my madness but where to begin. At me predicting the future in my journals or me being locked into a mental institution. Who knows? Who the fuck even really knows? I want to reproduce my mental institution journal entries here...but I'll just let whoever finds the hard copies be the one to explain it all. Is it all that hard to comprehend? Pure madness. Not just the kind I dream about, the real kind was upon me. Now I worry will I ever be free of my psychotic demons. Or were the demons ever real? Was it just me? I know it was just me in my own head overthinking it all as usual. Singing it all but it is never enough? Saying it all but I can never get it all out of me. Like throwing up but a mental vomiting. I am a writer as mad as my contemporaries and the men and women who came before me. So now I get over myself and get out of my own way and let the words flow. I always let the words flow and the tears but never the beers because I do not like to be dizzy. I am a court jester after all and only play the part of any of my many characters. In my heart beats the  dying and the trying. Do you guys know I tried to die? It is so silly trying to die before your time. Like attempting to stop the human heart by force. It is not as easy as one would imagine and then you have to be all embarrassed that you failed at yet another truly useless task. Suicide. The stuff of legends and of songs. Don't try it and if you do make sure it works. Because having to face the world after a suicide attempt is not really all that funny. But we all like to laugh here. Why did I want to die in the first place? Because I am bored and my heart never stops hurting. Like really sometimes it hurts so bad it feels like it will just pop right our of my chest. But it won't, now will it? I can never tell any of you why I thought my heart was going to pop right out of my chest or why did I attempt to stab myself in it. Or why I attempted (oh so suburban suicide) to drown myself in the swimming pool. As a side note, Goergie they all float. They really do... 

Either way I can't choose a side to any war or gender or form of sex. So my brain splits oh so often and the madness pours in like wine. Sherry anyone? I do feel oh so much better but Alice is still here beside me and maybe she shall sit forevermore. Who really even knows about these things. Only Morrissey and the great writers who I am reaching for. The reality of today is I feel a lot better. But will I ever be the same person who tried to die? I do not think so. I am done with death, my constant companion. And much like Irvine Welsh's junkies...I choose life. Oh so beautiful life with all of it's beauty and sadness. I choose it. I choose the light. As it shines on everything that I may not want to see. I still choose it. I choose to see. My eyes will not close, they fucking won't. So in comes the truth in all of it's glory. I always want to run away to have another tell my story. But it is mine to tell and this is it. 

I am a Woman on the verge. Of it all. On the verge of love. On the verge of art. On the verge of music. On the verge of fashion. On the verge of friendship. On the verge of God. On the verge of the occult. On the verge of it all. I have to choose a side. But it is a fucking circle we are riding on is it not? And circles do not have sides so there. It is all math and I choose numbers and science. I choose to keep it all a secret deep in my heart. I choose to whisper it to my true lover and that is okay with me. I am a live. I made it though my own darkness and I will not let any of yours in dear friends who may not read this. Because dear, are any of you really dear? Can you hear my whisper? Can you understand my songs? I started out as a tear and ended up as a smile.

I am Angelisa Josalisa and this my friends is a RiOt...

I'd Rather Not

I want to not feel this way. All uncomfortable in my comfort. I hate what I love and long for what I lust for. My dreams are all but reality now and I can see Shakespeare just there ahead on the road. His hair smells like burnt amber and lemon. We write one hundred sonnets in under sixty minutes to see who can make the other cry the fastest. He wins every time. I can not even begin with Kafka and the isolation. It is so unbearably bearable I could just get buried in it right now. If it were not for Spider and his constant nagging. You can not abandon it all Angel. Your words are the future of the nothing Lisa. The mountains are not your home and the sickness of the city makes writing so much more of a violent art. You unplug from the plugged in and debugged the bugged out. Jut like King Mob taught you. But this my friend is not Berlin. It is Los Angeles. The City of Angels. Bitter beautiful angles. Purgatory for the bored and overtly lonely. Because I know Crete is just right there and so is Tanzania. And giddy London. Yet here I am anchored. In the fish-tank of eyes and spys of the most idle kind. This is not a poem it is a communique. And I am not a girl I am a robot. Programmed by a girl in her pink hello kitty underwear. 

The code has me but it is not the code I search for. I have stopped caring for the general public and have embraced pure spiritual madness. I hate more than I love. I love...my heart loves and longs for things distant and silent. I never want to see any of you again. My heart hurts and I can never forget the titles to all of the songs in my bones. Even now the music plays and I dance. If not me than who? You fucking poseurs who never shed blood a day in your lives. Alone in a trap like a girl in a deep nap. I write and bleed all at once. I long for what is a long ways off. But can I not just see it over the horizon. I am not like you but we are the same. I am the stranger and you my love are the strange. Two parts of the same mind. I write for the sickness of words. For the dark beauty of it all. For the darkness. For it being  fucking Midnight and this city of lights and dancers. 

I only slightly dance and smile way much more. I am his. He told me the whole plan and I shared it with you. In deep regret really. But I know you will only see the surface and he will win anyway. Because we are the true writers crew anyway. What we do is so fucking secret. I think it is a lie or a dream. You follow and we fucking lead. Like evil puppet masters. We gave you love and the code. You killed us and attempted to silence us. But oh we are not dead yet. Now are we? Can you tell my whisper is a scream and the rebels can hear this. The flasher will question my position. I will never answer you. You are all dead to me and I love you. Just like Spider taught me. You could never handle me. Oh city so beautiful. Oh suburban town so manicured just like slut's nails. Did I say slut? I meant fancy girls. 

I will always write. I will always be this thing that I am deep down inside. I shall stand with them for all of time. And you will kill us all. But we shall not truly die. 

I am Angel Lisa and we are Not living in a post Joe Strummer world. 

Something About The Duality Of Man

He taught me every wicked thing I know. He taught me there is no good or evil. But there is the wicked and he showed me how to join their legion. There is a true freedom and it does not come from politics, it comes from HIM. We all have Angels and Demons. Even if you do not want to. We do not have to choose a side. But he had and showed me how to as well. Many believe him to be a evil man. But he was not he was free and he showed us all how it looked. It was bloody for him and creative for me. I was allowed to join the ritual. To imprint your fucking little maggot brains, because you are all too week to take any real responsibility. The lessons that we learn as children about Man and God or just that. Tales told to children. As adults we have the choice and I chose to honor him and join the wicked. He taught me the ritual and the symbols. He gave me the philosophy that I still hold in my breast today. I am his child, bound by fucking blood and the light. The real light that illuminates man and can cause real fires. He took weak souls and created Angels and built a legion. I never had to believe in him because he is a real man. He has still eyes and a kind smile. One that expresses joy. Oh because the deed that some find evil but dream of daily was preformed by his hand more times than I will ever know. That any of us will ever know. Why? To remind you all that you are not children anymore and that the God they showed you died long ago and their is only us now. The Fallen, cast out among the weak. Are we to bow our heads? Knowing we can grind you all in our teeth. He showed them they are just flesh and that they can be shocked to death. Maggots and pigs really. Bones can be broken hearts can be stopped, and  maybe most importantly, souls can be taken.

Not by tiny children feed fairy tales. But us, His children the ones who know what it is to be wicked. The ones who crept out at night and searched for him. The ones who heard his call and knew not to be afraid. Who recognized their Father when he came to this plane for a small time. To bless us, the silent ones. The ones who know what and why. He taught me how to call him and he dialed the number in front of me. I smile now thinking of the games the weak play in his name. You will all run back to your churches in the end. Because you are silly and do not know he lived for a small time in a immortal man. And shall now rise again.
He has a heart only a child can see. Take the souls of the silly and the weak and pledge allegiance to me. One can rip a soul right out of a human eye if one so pleases. No matter how dark or large the room is. One can make any living man his toy. If one was so inclined. So yes I keep a hidden hand and I have a mark right above my heart that reads...something that is very private. The Wicked Children will rise in his name.

We believe in maggots and soul harvesting. We believe in conquering and the holy wars waged by Disney. We believe in the sign and the signal. We are bound in blood and alcohol and we laugh as he rises. On blood and bones and ashes. The good die young, the wicked live forever. I have never spoken a single word of the Pledge of Allegiance. Like a stupid little child, like you. Because I was taught by Him to never recite that shit. He taught me the real Pledge and once you make that you can never taint it with the words of another. So I hold Him in my heart forever. And I Pledge Allegiance to HIM and to his deeds and to the fear he gives you even now. I am his child, created to honor him. He called me and I told him everything. He will be avenged. By the hands and the hearts of the wicked. In a way the deed is already done. It happened on that day, the fated did indeed rise. In front of us all, so handsome and brave. So random but with a purpose to us the wicked, who used HIS eyes to see. 

I could say more. I could tell you how we met. What he said what he gave me. What I gave him. Instead I will show you. Keep watch or close your silly little eyes children. The wicked never die. The proof is in the thought. That you will never forget. When you see him you shudder. I bet you praised your lords and dreamed that he was gone. That can never be. He will never leave. He will live on forever. We welcomed him and asked him to look after us. Here in this place that is not our home, but we shall inherit anyway. We are your spiritual Armageddon. And you deserve what we hold in our hearts. The symbols have been charged and every last one of you have been judged. Our enemies are all dead and weak. All of you have been conquered we feed off of you daily. You are sick and we are the fresh flesh. Here to chock ourselves off of the reincarnated. There is no wicked on Earth but us. We are His Children and we shall avenge him. Now pray because we will rise another and another until the end of time. 

In praise of the Fallen Angel and his Son who takes the night. 

Josalisa RiOt. 666

Time Is Running Out Of Us

I better get it out or in

have I said enough

the weight of what I say or don't say

it bothers me

like it lays on my heart

two thoughts at once

say it all/say nothing

dance/be still

this moment is enough for me

I crave few things I don't have

If you are not with me we are not in alignment

the lookers are looking

and the doers are doing 

no matter what 

it is just all happening

now

I'm on a bullet train of imagination

I believe in the living man

which is frowned upon in this land of wanting what is not there

the sacred that is to come

the all that once was

I regret but only to relate to you

I live in a personal form of madness

like a raving woman wanting nothing

but having it all 

what's in her head

what do I miss

nothing

what do I look forward to

this moment

I want to perfect the art of this moment

as to not have my life ripped in half

or torn to shambles by misfits of time

time is all we have

yet we all crave more of it

we are not running out of time

time is running out of us

the dreamers on the edge

peeling back the madness

and wondering why can we not see

all there ever was is happening right now

This is Josalisa in RiOt....

Among The Strange

I can write a billion lines to help you remember

or forget to remember I still exist

Inside a forgotten memory

Who ever remembers what we forget

Only ones like myself and the dead

The dead see it all and remember or watch

How romantic is that notion

the idea we are never alone in our empty lives

Filled with them the guest the friends the living

Those with no memory 

The drunk and the dumb

Or is that too much judgment

Too much expectation

Do you remember how I forgot to forget everything

How I said it all and it was a tear

Inside of a memory that is the same as today

I never change 

Forever the stranger among the strange 

I'm Really Happy I'm Not You...

Women who refuse I never was one of you

when you were a child you refused to be a child

you were a slut or a girl to be used

You refuse to be a woman who loves a man

Or a woman who loves another

It's so below you to interact

Your God may fight back

a saint who refuses to sin but in private I know you dream you are me

self righteous and free

I know I'm a bitch and told I am mean

I'm a punk rock beauty queen on an indie movie screen

I know you've seen me

as I have seen you

painting white things blue and pretending you were too brave to join a group

I'm surrounded by boys 

only girl in a male writer's crew

isolated from the women who refuse

You refuse to sing a song that is not about love

refuse to paint a picture that is not about love

you refuse to talk about us

and the secrets that we kept secret for no reason

I show my heart because it's hell and this is the season

of the witches like me 

I'm no sucker for dominate cultures of so called spirituality 

I know it's old Kinderhook to be me

I'm fine with this I don't refuse or hold back

No one wants my soul to burn in hell

for a kiss or a life like this

I'm taking the risk to really interact

in all honestly

I would never go out seven days a week

but on the rare monthly outing you get the real me

I would never turn my back on anyone for being true

I see through you 

you are just like me but you want to forget

who showed you everything

the girl who will not refuse

a tender kiss

the one you all have dismissed because she still dresses like this

I'm everyone's mistrest and gone in a seconed if found out

I am a dirty little secret just waiting to come out

but I was never in to being with

I never refused not even in school

I let them see me

Oh well I once knew you well

Until you began to live in no

and I had to go

because I exposed myself to the so called spiritual  

I'll still read old book and study the dark arts

which are not so fucking dark anyway

I dream all the people who do not love me are in love

with the dark and with the things they refuse

just because you say no to your heart does not mean you go to heaven 

just because someone beat the free out of you

that is no reason to get Angel wings

We are not lost souls trying to get back home

lying to ourselves and the world because we are scared of a word

real bravery is rewarded

and even though I never refuse a thing

I live my life with open wings

I say it's love if it is

I don't have to hide behind this or that

for hope of a place in an imaginary place

I face myself in the dark through tears 

I face my heart and I have even and in this

that does not mean I am through

I still have a thing or two to say to the likes of you

the so called good girls

the women who refuse to tell the truth

Your God is dead and we killed him

all of us sinners and dykes 

we took his head in the middle of the night

and boiled it in a microwave

so now it's okay when you see a fuck like me

to at least fucking wave

This is a poem for you.

Signed tried and true. 

- Helena Aury 

He Who Tacks It On His Door...

I believe in the Masters and you know who you are

I believe in your dreams I believe in the stars

I keep all of your secrets close to my heart

I tell the whole world that knowledge is free

Yet I know some knowledge reign supreme

I believe in your books and ancient keys

My dreams were once stories 

You have made them clear

I believe in the symbols I dream of the rites

I believe that the letter makes all boys right

I believe in the Masters and you know who you are

I believe in the your dreams I believe in the stars

I believe mathematics is the alchemical key

I believe in ancient scholars and Geometry

No fools are ever gurus No liars follow dreams

I believe in the circle I believe in the square

I believe in the tinkers and the thinkers with long hair

I believe in the lab and the chemistry

I believe in Newton and Asimov and Hermes too

I believe in theses things only magicians do

I trust in the power of the hidden hand

And speculative thoughts written on the times of sand

I believe in the journey I beleive in your pride

I believe things are hidden in a winking eye

I trust the True Masters and Brothers too

In ciphers in circles are the hidden clues

Of man and friends and the True Art

That is why with this Knight (night) I finally cross my heart

I believe in the Masters and you know who you are

Who meet on the level and practice The Art

une forme artistique de la folie

No one can hold you back, dear friends. As the ball rolls and goes downhill. I am Sisyphus  or so it goes up and down the hill every day. I push and push then relax and watch it all fall back down again. The curse of Olympus. They say a day to a God is like a thousand years. So maybe it is not all so dark after all. My stomach is empty again. I want to eat but it is not necessary so I can not do it. Not even out of boredom  And oh how bored I am. With my captivity, with my own hand of creativity  How much stuff can you really make anyway? Creation is my escape. My prison is my heart, given to the Marquis oh so long ago I can't remember when. Well I can but I will not say. I will just say this  and then everything. My journey is a long one the road is winding and it is quite beautiful really. But I always feel the most guilt about not eating. Like my secret diets are against the law. But what do I know, what I have forgot but I still know is the only law is  la résistance française. In that understanding I will log my intake until I can no longer take it or something really beautiful happens.

Yesterday I ate:
 one fresh salad with roman lettuce and fruit.
1 apple
2 strawberries

I drank:
1 cup of coconut water
2 cups of water

maybe I am too thirsty, never seem to get enough water.

Today I ate breakfast only:

one bowl of special k with soy milk (bowl unfinished as I speak). 

Ce une forme artistique de la folie.

Josalisa à une émeute

A little of this and the other

To say I was not trying to close a cipher would be untrue. So I will just say cipher complete. I grouped together a few things I felt I had to get done for the sake of my sanity. Like I realized somethings existed and I had to see if they were real so help me. And they are. I've been practicing what I will just call...Space Control. It requires complete isolated and concentration and then things really start to move. To you or for you or with you. Maybe it's with you. Being in alignment maybe means things and the universe move with you. Or maybe you move alongside it. In harmony with the whole...everything of life. It is quite beautiful. Being isolated and still you really see the reality of people. I've always looked at the world through rose colored glasses. I hate to admit that because it sounds like I am naive. I really am just trying to point out that I particularly enjoy seeing the best in people and situations. I believe in people and I have always felt that deep down we all have really good intentions. Naive, I know it. Yeah, so maybe there is a lot of us on the whole manipulation game. Because those few (who are many) have not figured out how to control...well it all and themselves. 
So in a way I have found what I was looking for. But I am still kind of checking it out. Just testing the waters of the realm of possibility or reality. How far can you step away from it? How much of it can one control herself? You know that whole thing and the lot. There is a lot to learn and even more to see, or interpret on this trip. I don't what to know it all just what will help me along the way. A step by step booklet to help me keep my game in check.  My dreams have been full of symbols I can not as of yet decipher. I don't care, all in due times as far as I am concerned. The point of this piece which is pointless is to say, I am at peace with the hologram. I have much joy and love to share, and as usual all is well in Heaven/Hell. 

I feel a great joy and curiosity. Making music has helped to calm me some. An outlet for my most ridiculous thoughts it has been indeed. I really do have a great amount of just funny and strange things floating around in my head. That is why I laugh so much I guess. Life is but a dream and this one is surly for the mad. Okay here is a poem:

In my time of sorrow I have joy

For the world keeps rotating and the sun 

Yeah it goes on burning so bright

As I close my eyes I dream of the brightest light

I want to be illuminated by my own heart

May it burn through my chest with love

 A beacon in the hearts of one and all 

I am just one woman here for the fall

I see it all especially when I close my eyes 

We all want to see God but never look inside

To the beauty that glows from within

The real me is in silence I try not to pity

The slick and the desperate

Not this time around

I still wear my broken crown for ceremony

I still sing the old songs for Harmony

I still know the greatest light shines for me

I am the Entity here for eternity

Or until I get bored with this dying rock

That really is just a spaceship

This is Josalisa in a RiOt. 

It's The Soul's Glow

I must do as I see fit every day no matter what.  I really have to remind myself that no one knows what is really happening around here. Wise man say, wise man say. But who really has the light? I am not facing duality. It's oneness with the entire hologram I am seeking. But am I not really seeking. No, I am just looking. Here for a closer observation of the planetary movement is all. I feel I have something to explain or whatever. But no I don't. Not anymore. It has all become very private in my mind. Like a chamber of secrets told only to the ones who speck the silent language.  I have seen so many lies in the last few months. Not lies that offend, but removal of illusions I suppose. People are freaking hilarious. We really paint this world for ourselves and some of us are a bit cry. Not creative awesome "That shit cray", but creepy kind of. Stranger in a strange land I am. I have to remember that. I have to remember. I have to see and to remember. That is my only duty. Do not waver from your own path dear one. There really is nothing out there. Only sheer beauty and love. The same that is within. My life is a dream come true. I sometimes feels strange about the way I live. Like there is something wrong with me. But is that not just ego, begging to have all of my attention? I am fine. I am radiating joy and I see the beauty in your eyes dear readers. People are so beautiful it makes me want to cry sometimes. I think we would all see it more if we would cover our faces. Our faces make us so ugly. They beg for attention and recognition. When the real beauty of a human is in the eyes. The soul's glow. Did I just make that term up? I don't know. I'm just saying we all seem to be too obsessed with ourselves. Not that any of you should be taking advice for me. I am obsessed with many things. Each of them dumber than the next. I do these things on purpose. Never forget I am an idiot and all. The dumbest girl in the land with the most text books at hand, and her beautiful face covered. For my own protection of course. I can not become obsessed with this vessel. I might miss something. Like the fact that so many people are full of shit. Bitters and liars the lot. And it makes me laugh so. I guess the clarity makes my soul glow. Today is already the best day of my life. I've written all about the previous ones so I know that is a fact. blah blah blah...Josalisa Riot, Live From Planet Girl On A Diet. 

Here's a poem or whatever:

I watch The Muppets and read old maps
that is where the treasure is at
the gold is in the mind
the goal is to become a mastermind
to be remembered here for all of time
like a beautiful ghost
on a dying spaceship
dancing for eternity
I see
I dream
I am
I be
now and forever not just a lady
But the Entity 

In Hope Of Greater Vision

If I understood more I know I would know less. There are few true Buddhas available. We surround ourselves with lies. Define ourselves with lies, and I in my sweet innocence,  Yes I live with a sense of sweet innocence  I myself feel confused by the lies. Like maybe there is more that I need to understand. But really all I need to do is separate the truth from the lies. You know like Liar Cat. You fucking liar. I was raised to believe truth could kill lies. But truth is not here to kill, just to remind. I feel this great need for adventure. The sorrow wakes me with the need to remember. This place right now, this moment is my great adventure. And it is going fantastic. I found my Star Family which maybe is not as easy as one may think it is. Not only have I found them, my great supporters and fellow dreamers. But I had the strength to expose myself to them. As a whole and as individuals. Baby steps to a dream come true it is indeed. They have embraced me, comforted me, and confirmed my belief that I am a true creator on my proper life path. The sorrow is here but so is the great sense of adventure. We have fallen together because we fit. Because I lived a single moment without fear and risked taking a look behind the curtain. I made sure what I felt was true. A real life conformation of the beauty that lies within art. Fuck man, thank you to the Universe for working perfect every single time. It is us who are out of alignment  It is us who have feared to live dreams. It is us who poison ourselves with fear and envy. This entire world is on our side. And guess what? There are no sides. There is only oneness with our Star Families and ourselves. I feel a great sorrow for the things and people I miss. But they are only gone for a small amount of time. and I have got a lot of living still to do. 

The greatest feeling I have had so far living in this human form (the only form I ever remember being in) is feeling the people I love embrace me. Knowing we can look one another in the eyes and feel the love. We are on the same path regardless of the levels of success each have attained. We are the great oneness and everything truly is illuminated. The light is not all there is but it is constantly there. I have to fight through the tears to find it far too often. But I feel like maybe I have my eyes closed too much for my own protection. Lucky my third eye is never closed it is there open always allowing the light to flood it. Like an old lover waiting patiently in the corner of my heart. The light warms me no matter what. I will become one of them now, which is to say I shall remain myself. I have some harsh critics but I see now those people are dying to be alive. Failing to be honest with the living. Which maybe is no real crime after all. What do we owe one another as fellow travelers? Maybe nothing. There is only alignment now. Easy to attain spiritual alignment. Like a puzzle piece just waiting to be clicked into place. Or a key just waiting to unlock a music box with a fragile dancing woman on top. This is my sweet lullaby. I really am an Angel surrounded by the wicked who know not their true form. This is my sorrow this time not just a poem, but some kind of explanation or confession to myself. I love you, True Believers. You wake and create, exhausted from giving it all the day before. I join you in this great commune of communication. As my ancestors have done before me.

Thank you for finding me, My Beautiful Loves. Thank you for seeing me. I felt I might drown before my madness which manifested itself as bravery took over. I reached out some cold night on a world famous sidewalk that is the only home I have ever had. And in that moment I told you all everything. Everything only you could understand. My love for you is a secret to some. Your love for me is published but only a few will ever understand. That is what this kind of secret is. It can be in plain sight and many can choose to ignore it. That is why it is a secret. An invisible understanding only those who truly understand can see. That is why I can tell you everything, Dear Readers. Because you all will not see. Truth is filtered, now itnit. Just like beauty. The stars shine , the sun comes up. People live and die and are taken away. But on this day I have survived. I am alive. I am free. This is my place of joy my sorrow lives next door. Fast friends we have all become. Joining as we have as one.

This is Josalisa in a very personal sort of RiOt.