Spiritual Guidance –

“She’s not showing any interest in me and she looks like she doesn’t want to be here. Should I take off her handcuffs? I thought kidnap victims were supposed to fall in love with their captors?
” ― Jarod Kintz
 

horrorchic87

Help me! I can’t see and my eye is swollen and throbbing, my lips cracked and parched, and I taste blood. He has me bound and my breathing’s painful from what I think are my broken ribs. I cough up blood and spit it out on my dress, why did I think he’d take care of me, protect me and guide me? That innocent dream’s gone as I hear the sound of his breathing in the next room. Does anyone know I’m here? Does anyone care? I should’ve made different choices, followed advice, and been more careful. This is my fault isn’t it? I begged for this he said, because I dressed the way I did. My walk was the lure, because my hips swayed a little too much, because I was confident and had long hair that fueled his desire. I struggled against the stiffness settling in on my body and mind, perhaps the shock’s wearing off. God I hope someone is praying for me. I feel around trying to find something that will help me out of here. As I fumbled around I bumped the door and it budged! Peering out of the small crack I see evidence of him all over, liquor bottles and clutter. Opening the door a little farther and I notice that he’s passed out on the chair with drug shit all over the table in front of him. Seeing my chance , I struggled to stand and barely made it up before falling with a thud on the floor. A shudder of stifled terror filled my panicked breaths believing that the fall would wake him. With my head on the floor I saw a knife just at the edge of the couch. With great effort I managed to get my hands on it, and began cutting the leather belt that held my hands. Damn the movies make this look easy, but it takes for fucking ever to do it and I manage to give myself quite a few slices before I’m actually am free. My adrenaline is kicking in hard but it beats back the haze that’s growing over my thoughts and making me dizzy when I stand. I hold the knife firmly, thinking that as I work my way past him I would drive it right through his eye, but I didn’t, I just wanted out of here and a chance to live. I didn’t think I wanted to live and I’m ashamed now knowing how bad I just want out of this and to be alive. I opened the door and ran through the street grabbing a cab that happened to be dropping off his passenger. I should go to the cops, but I don’t, I just go back to my apartment. He knows me and he’ll be back, after all, every pastor should know where the ladies in his congregation live.

Also published in Opinionsofeye.com
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Ballad of the Slinger –

“There was no ‘I’ in team, but there was meat in team. And we were all dead meat.”
Jennifer Lane,
Blocked
 
“and after much thought he said to me…I know your game…you don’t have any game and that’s your game…”  –  da man wit dreads
  
 
You hit me hard and I took my licks
You gave me hard and expected bricks
You studied me and gave me ninety-nine
your thinking that I’d lose my mind
Telling me I put you up the ladder
with big men you’re countin’ cheddar
You played the game with our soul
thought my women would bring me low
But I saw what you’re gonna do
I was ahead of your game yeah ahead of you
You look and fretted while the money flowed
at the very end it wasn’t you I owed
With halting eyes you knew it was done
playing the game without game you knew I won
*
First published in Opinions Of Eye.com

How Right Is Your Right?

“The answer is that there is no good answer. So as parents, as doctors, as judges, and as a society, we fumble through and make decisions that allow us to sleep at night–because morals are more important than ethics, and love is more important than law.”
Jodi Picoult, My Sister’s Keeper 
allweareisbullets

Walking the fine line, what makes a criminal? There are things done to survive, like stealing to provide food, and things done for protection like killing to defend my family and nation. Many times the law’s broken for the sake of greater good, but there’s an intrinsic law we carry in our nature, a line that’ll become apparent hopefully before it’s crossed. There are some of us that are meant to be lawbreakers, by nature rebellious, and those are necessary. Many good things are accomplished by those who’re not afraid to break away from the current understanding of right and wrong. So at what point are the actions considered criminal, not in the sense of law, but in the sense of conscience? At this breaking of the deeper, shall I say, spiritual law, a path’s entered that if continued on will lead to a seared conscience, a point which the wrong that’s done is so severe that conviction of the wrong’s never felt again.

This aborted morality leads us to a higher authority in which to compare our decisions. Many points of contention rise in response to this directive of a higher power. Haven’t hugely deviant and violent actions been inspired by “spiritual directive”? Yes, and still they will, but the perversion of the truth does not negate the validity of the same. A spiritual directive is out there and needs to be sought after to guide our unsure moral crawl to a full stride of right choices. There are things that’ll obscure this path and those things should be avoided at all costs, especially the habit of them. Beware of things which lower inhibitions and subvert the will. Many things beside the obvious will hypnotize the unwary. Drugs, alcohol are cliches in this respect but there’re more cunning enemies, beware as you grow to understand and be consistent to follow those things which you learn, and most of all, keep seeking to be free of a seared conscience.

Chains of Friendship – Leaving abusive relationships

“there are worse things
than being alone
but it often takes
decades to realize this
and most often when you do
it’s too late
and there’s nothing worse
than too late”
Charles Bukowski 

Ive seen a friendship that is evil in its alliance. An alliance bound with chains. Chains forged by links of loneliness, pain, heartache, and despair. Links formed by a desire to please, perceived opinions, obsession, and a mad desire for approval of the friendship. Leaving autonomy behind, approval and praise are the goal. Giving all to please, a trap is sprung that will never release individuality. Friendship gained by such means is doomed to have the pleasure of the captor satisfied at the expense of me, the captive, throughout its lifespan. Many, so many, are the tricks used to keep the prisoner under the curse. Sex, drugs, gang association, vengeance, praise, but most of all, attention. All tools of the trade for the captor. The captor, obsessed with selfish preoccupation, recognizes the weakness of me, the prisoner, now helpless in my clamor to belong. In collaboration with selfish will, cruelty soon follows; after every “beating” I crawl back making sure I haven’t ruined our friendship.  How many will suffer at the hands of a cruel friend, a cruel partner, a cruel companion?! Be free! Be free from conformity to that will, prisoner of friendship! Don’t be afraid to stand alone, to stand free, to stand apart! Break those dark chains that bind you to suffering at the hands of your friend and know that you deserve better.


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Narco Faith

“You don’t look fake when you unconsciously pretend.” – Toba Beta, My Ancestor Was an Ancient Astronaut

The pill went down easy. Within minutes I felt the effects crawl over my soul. My desire assuaged, the direction became clear. Get more of this drug, get more, get more. Addiction’s voice is haunting and nagging, worse than an old wife on the rag. In my gut, I feel a recurring emptiness and my mind is filled with noisy clutter. They dance in an unsettled pattern that revolves around like the moon, the gravity of seriousness holding both of them close. I filled my bottle up with pretty little pills, the things that give me solace in the routine of restless seeking. Shaking the bottle, I looked again at the prescription, in bold letters, FAITH, and in small script below it, “can cause mindless ambling to churches and Tourette’s like expressions of religious clichés.” Damn this Faith, it’s a drug that allows me to feel good, putting icing on the cake of my rebellion, easing my conscience as I continue to act like the devils who I keep company with. I laugh as I sit in church, reporting weekly like I’m on paper and dutifully pissing for a spiritual U.A..  Someday I’ll lay down my bottle and actually commit to a changed lifestyle, instead of a mimicked mockery of a spiritual man.

Frankenstein

“I have love in me the likes of which you can scarcely imagine and rage the likes of which you would not believe. If I cannot satisfy the one, I will indulge the other.”
Mary Shelley,
Frankenstein

Loneliness, dissatisfaction, and depression are all signs that my heartbeat sits in the background, flat-lined and breathless until I use it. Then I see it’s deformity. During my socialization, the malnutrition of nature and nurture led to a distorted development, an immature birth, an aborted process of creation. I patch up these defects with anything I can grab until I, a zombie Frankenstein, could attempt to imitate the living. It’s very obvious that something’s not right in this ambling beast. My expressions of adoration are awkward and stumbling, and especially given to extremes of violence and overcompensation. I’m quite adept at camouflaging their deadness with faked kindness and sweet articulations. In the world of the living dead appearances are deceiving. 
I use many things to stimulate my undead “love”. Money, words, drugs, and appearances can all be used to bring in the deformed masses that they may “love” me. I’m well aware they love my gifts, leading this Frankenstein to once again, lay on a mad doctor’s operating table to perform more abortions as I attempt to fix what can only be transformed by a power much greater. I felt real love once, when I sought a God that could deliver me from this horrid process. After I feeling it, it disappeared in my religious ideals and ceremonies which produced nothing of the vibrant love that I longed to possess. I know my last hope is in a divine intervention, and as I lay down on a stainless steel table of deliverance,  I wait for Elysian lightning to strike a real heartbeat in this Frankenstein of love. 

Self Inflicted – A young woman’s cry

The following is an entry from one of my favorite bloggers, Descending Ascension. She presents a raw and uncensored woman’s point of view of a relationship. In this entry she describes abuse and its effect on her mind. Enjoy.


annawestergren
I am defeated
When I let you taint my body.
When you corrupt me,
And deflower my mind.

I am surrendered,
To sins and vice,
Of human things and aspects.

And all the while you’re dragging me down,
Saying sorry for the fucking,
I only say,
“I don’t mind.”

Truth is I do, and you know it.

Such vulgar words and sentiments to escape my lips.
So why don’t you save me?
Stop me?

We’re all just prisoners of our own device.

Besides,

I have never needed a drug.
My mind does more to me 
than alcohol or drugs could ever promise to.

-R.S.L.S

Taken from: Descending Ascension
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