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