Contemplating Dying Gods and Their Children

He saved me with a kiss he'd come to kill me with

life unfolds like this from time to time

the ones who wake you from a dream you thought was life

I wanted to be innocent

no not really

I wanted to be pure 

like snow or summer leaves or the ocean in the more peaceful parts of the world

I wanted to be evil

no not really

just dark like they say we can never be

I tried to set myself on fire

However I dress really well and few people will stand for that

A girl in a pretty dress covered in kerosene 

He would not let it be

I tired to go crazy but I remember everything and in madness it helps to forget

He would not let me close my eyes

Maybe he thought it would be a waste

or at the very least an act of disrespect 

why let whiter and die what is is useful 

He turned the dial on the world just a bit differently 

now it does not seem so bad and we all seem less lost

the ones who are not with us are still here

It's just I don't have to be with them when I see them

No sympathy for the enemy dying

All hearts and minds to the victors trying and surviving 

These thoughts call me from my sleep

I am to make heads or tails of it all

Maybe just let it sit here for a while

I was hard and now I am soft

I was woman and now I am a pure animal 

wild like the tides and the moon

freed by a kiss from a charged knight

who no longer goes by that title at all 

unless one has eyes to see

and any useful inquiries

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

I saw but Wasn't Looking

This is not even crying or feeling anything

this is just an expression

I like to experiment

with poetry and art

my mind my heart

it is all part of it

So it's a love poem

because someone writes love poems about them

and the empty they empty more

or the dead they awaken to kick

bored fucking never dared to pay for it

we share the world with them

they try to drown us in deserts

we try to breathe in fire

touch what is untouchable

to feel what

nothing 

how does nothing feel

how does it breathe 

how does it survive

in this time of the living and the dead

I sang all the songs in my head

I was never that thing you tired to kill

yet it died anyway

sacra vivere 

ita et in peccatum

DSM code F 52.7: The Subject

There are those who know better than this

to you I say enjoy the freedom

there are experiments one can undergo 

oh do we volunteer

at first I guess yes

later on you see it was all a forced draft program

one never really signed up but was summoned

by forces greater than ones own abilities

dominate thoughts always lead to subjectivity

one should always give in to these thoughts

best for all involved really

except for the girl who is oh so silly

so many signs and symbols

so many black and white documentaries

everyday is a night

every knight is a son

every boy on the run

deep inside has a gun

a sword on which to kill you

sex is death

and bondage love

longing is destiny

heartbreak fits like a glove

want the thing that breaks you

cry for a dying dove

DSM code F 52.7: The Math Tutor

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

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

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

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

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

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

DSM code F 52.7: The Math Tutor: Deux

You would have to be a blind person to not see what happened to me. I was changed. He took something or replaced something with this new unknowable thing. I knew I would see him again and I was not sure how I would react. He messaged me the next day while I was in lecture. Inquired about my schedule and when I would be out of my current lecture. He wanted to see me again. We meet up right after my class. He was sitting on a bench waiting for me. So tall blonde and gorgeous. A really beautiful fucking Aryan man and I was probably in trouble. Maybe we could just be friends, I thought. We sat and talked for a while then he asked me if I wanted to go for a walk. The way he presents these walks they always seem so innocent. Older men have taught him how to be very nonthreatening in a public place.

After walking for awhile around the more private parts of campus he took me to a really secluded place I had never been before. Once he got me there I can tell he was going to fuck me. Like leading sheep to the slaughter. What a naive little girl I can be sometimes. When he started to kiss me I knew I was going to let him do anything he wanted to me. He said we needed to go to an even more private place for what he had in mind. I looked around and could not even hear a sound. How private was his private place? We got up and walked further away from the main campus. We were like in the woods, as far as I was concerned. He took me deep into the thick bushes and told me to take off my clothes. To my surprise I did so immediately. Without giving it much thought. Like it was something I just do everyday. I can not say why. The way he treated it. Walk over here with me. Get into those dirty bushes and take off all of your clothes.

He had me stand there naked for a while. So he could examine me I guess. He kept all of his clothes on and he started to touch and kiss me. He felt like he had just really fallen in love with me and could not help himself. Having his way with me in the bushes was all he could do to not go mad with lust. I wanted to fulfill his every desire. He kissed me deeply on my neck. "56 % of Black Women can't take care of themselves. Most of them have children who they need to support and can't get an education.." He kisses me on my checks. I close my eyes. "Well I'm not like all of them." I say for no good reason really. "I don't want you to be like all of them. They don't know how to protect themselves. To say no to things that might be dangerous for them" He says as his begins kissing me on my lips. "Get down on your knees." he tells me. I do as instructed. He then takes out his...will you know and I...well you know. He has me suck it until I begin to vomit it is so deep in my throat. "Doesn't that hurt you?" he inquires as I am still on my knees with him in my mouth. I look up at him and say "yes". He pushes it in deeper as he holds my head perfectly still. "But you like it don't you?" he asks/tells me as he holds my head much harder than before. I look up at him with tears running down my face, "yes" I answer.

He has me get up and turn around to face away from him. "bend over." I do as I am told. "mmm, look at you" He began to push his way inside of me. "A white girl would never let herself get degraded like this" he utters in disgust. A harsh reminder that the encounter is for degradation purposes. After he is done with me and looks at me like I am an animal and he just finished shitting next to it. "put your clothes back on. Hurry I need to be somewhere else soon" He begins to walk away as I get dressed fast. I don't want him to leave me here. I don't know where I am exactly or how to get out and I am nervous and well he just brutally raped fucked me so I was a bit out of my wits at the time. As soon as I get dressed I run to catch up with him. "Why are you following me like that?" It was a question but it felt like a dagger. "Because of what just happened?" I tried to explain. "Did you think anything like that would ever happen to you?" I shook my head no."Do you know why that just happened?" he asked me. I could not think of a response. So I just shook my head no again. "Because I like to conquer things. In war it is how you show you are winning" He told me. "But we are not in war." That was the plain truth as far as I could tell. "Of course we are. It is a cold war and it has been going on a  long time" The Math Tutor kindly let me know. "What just happened with us is going to keep happening until I knock you up. Then I am am going to never talk to you again and you will have to raise the baby alone." Code fucking red this is no shook coming from a good German but yeah. Very romantic are not the two words that come to mind. "You are going to become a statistic like the girls I told you about." Thanks. as you can see he was a real dream come true. The entire statement just took me for a loop and I stopped walking. He kept going like this was all party line and nothing to be surprised by. Once he was a few feet ahead of me he looked back and said, in his calm casual tone, "are you coming?" I wanted to walk away. Yet we both knew I was not going to do that. This is the way certain men tame radical feminists, one which I certainly was no more. I walked faster to catch up with him. We walked back across campus, him with his usual casual stroll. Me covered in his cum and walking slightly behind him, completely conquered and tamed. I saw some of the girls I knew from class. I would usually call out to them a wild hello. Today I just walked past them with my head down two steps behind the taller more power Math Tutor. After all. I belonged to him now.

Люцифер Makes Me Wait

...and then I was like, I'll wait.

 I'll wait like a patient ballerina dancing on the tip of a razor blade. 

Like the girl you put into a cage in your heart. 

A cage with the smallest window and the most beautiful view. 

She sat and cried.

 You know, because we all know it's better that way

Learning to love it all because patience is what is needed

I have to learn that I can't have everything

But really why not

My legs are crossed, my hands in my lap

My back is ever so straight

I remember all the things you have taught me so far

Watch for the symbols

Wait for the call

Never teach them what you have taught me

Most importantly this is all just an experiment

Ending or beginning at any point in time

...now to exit my mind

Люцифер вчить мене чекати

DSM code F52.7...The Swimmer

This story is true and only printed here to amuse me, or maybe more. The names have been changed to protect the guilty and forgotten...

The Swimmer

I don't like the water. I've always been a very private girl and I find the water oceans, streams, lakes, or pools to be very public environments. Manly because I have never been ignored in the water. As early as I can remember I have been fondled while in the water. Boys can be cruel to girls with certain body types. We often forget certain beauty attracts certain madness. I attempt to be blind of my own attractiveness, but while in the water...well there is no privacy. The Swimmer was a Fascist. For his own protection but also out of pure boredom. I became a Fascist out of a lifelong desire for Roman levels on industrialized torture. And also for the boots. For as long as I can remember the idea of wearing steal toe leather boots...well maybe it all will not be said. 

The Swimmer enjoyed social experiments. Extreme Social Experiments. So he began to show me how the school world was similar to a concentration camp. With all the leaders and servants and captives. More details of this will be given in a later post entitled. "The Swimmer and The Master." What I did not know about the Swimmer when we began these Social Experiments was that well...why? Why was he a Fascist in the first place? Why did he feel he needed to protect my innocence at all cost? It was because someone had taken his. The entire performance was for this cruel little fat man...the swim coach. 

I hate team sports really. I didn't always. I loved Soccer and Basketball, and Hockey. Sports of violence. Where you can really break a nose or two. The Swimmer told me he hated sports because of coaches and the other people involved. In the next post I will go into more detail, about how he taught me to never take a shower during P.E. and to always change my clothes in private in a bathroom stall. Protection of the female body above all else was strictly enforced by The swimmer. So I became his creation. In silence, as Fascism is always preformed. 

Let's begin at this point to call The Swimmer, J. Why did J hate sports? Why did The Coach who taught our non sports related class always push us around and bully us? Why did he take our very private letters and tell J. he would talk to him about them in private...later? Where was later? I had no clue. What I do know is that one day after The Coach took our letters and told J. he would speak about this later, things between us changed. They became more extreme. J. became more violent. The Experiments became public and brutal, (more details to follow). Next time The Coach attempted to bend my little girl hand back and take our letters, J. stood up to fight him. We held on to the letters as J. threw himself on top of me and The Coach threw himself on top of J and started beating him. Right there in front of everyone. J. looked me right in my eyes and told me to eat the letter. Since our Experiments had covered me eating all sorts of strange objects (i.e. orange rinds, the industrial size napkins from inside of the girls bathroom, pins, erasers, and other such strange items). I seriously think he made me eat tape once. But I diverge. I had no problem just eating all three pages we had been sending back and forth between us. The point is we were kid fascists and this adult Fascist was not going to get always with trying to control us. Or so I thought. The Coach told J. he was going to really have to explain this later. J. did not give a fuck and since I knew he hated sports there was no way The Coach could do anything to him anyway. Right. 

The next day it seems, but maybe it was some time the same week. My friend, lets just call her, L. Invited me to go to one of her swim practices. I knew my friend L. loved to swim and was confident and good at it. Since I have my previous phobia to public water I never supported her in her sport. I jumped at this opportunity to go see her. After all she was the real Mermaid and all. What I did not know and what L. did not reveal until the last minute, is that her coach was going to be picking us up and taking us to the meet, or practice or whatever the fuck. I got nervous when L. told me we were going to be walking shortly down the block from her place to meet her coach. Because I did not know him and I hated coaches now after having to deal with The Coach abusing J. and myself on a daily basis, and disrupting our Sexual Social Experiments. The Coach was always trying to convince me to become a fucking Cheerleader, so I figured he must have been the stupid Football Coach. J. always told me to ignore him when he requested private talks with me about my very personal letters to J. that he had forced J. to hand over to him. He sometimes found time to talk to me about his goals for me as a mini skirt wearing Cheerleader and J. always found time to pull me away from him right before...I don't know what. 

When L.'s coach pulled up to let us in the car. I think I might have actually thrown up when I saw that her coach was The Coach. My only thought as I climbed into his car was that, A. he has read all of J's and my personal words, and B. does he fucking coach everything? Because in my mind this asshole had to be the football coach. The way he bullied J. it just had football written allover it. I wanted to run and grab L. and tell her everything. But what would it mean to her at this point? I didn't even understand. I believe at one point she told me he requested that I come with her to this meet or practiced or whatever the fuck. I was thinking the whole way there, why the fuck? 

Once I got to the school. The God awful institute of education and brutality. I waited for L. to get dressed, or undressed as swimmers do. While she was in the locker room or what have you The Coach wanted to talk to me. Understand I had avoided him all semester and now I was alone with him and in public. What the fuck and of course he wanted to finally talk to me. For what, I wondered? When the boy swimmers came out I was in a sort of state of shock to see J. there is his Speedo. Like what? He was a swimmer. The Fascist, who never allowed me to wear less then six items of clothing including a collar was a fucking swimmer. And captain crazy who left me bruised way too often from snatching letters out of my hands was his coach. Fade to black because at this point I was ready to pass out. Like for real. I mean the implications. I mean the everything. They knew each other intimately the entire time. This old man knew everything. Because J. had showed him and at this point it was clear, obviously told him everything. What level of perversion is this? 

I could go through all of my emotions at this point. To tell you how afraid I was. How I was trapped and J. was trapped and how L. never even knew any of this, or how I could not even begin to...well process the idea of it all. I wanted to run, but to where and to whom? The Coach took me to the side and began to explain what he wanted me there for. He told me he wanted me to see J. He asked me to explain what I saw. To tell him what I though about J's body. All I could really do was cry. So I cried. It was like no one even knew I was crying but I fucking cried as The Coach begin to explain to me what he thought about J's body and to remind me I could still become a cheerleader and all the benefits that would come with such an opportunity. I looked at the place and I just wanted to be Drew Barrymore so I could burn the whole thing down with my eyes. But instead I cried. Fade to red. I can not even remember how I made it back home. At some point J. came up to me to see what I was doing there and what the coach had been talking to me about. But he could tell by my face and I can tell by his he was terrified. By my presence? What if anything was he putting up with during those private talks about our letters? Fade to gray...I never went back to the class I had with The Swimmer again. I still wore his collar and the piercings he gave me. He began to withdraw more from the public places at school. I began to cover up even more than he taught me. But that could be attributed to The Master. He will be introduced in part II. "The Swimmer and The Master." 

- Angel Lisa