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