endtroducing...

From listening to the silence I just knew what to do
I mainly taught myself
I would like to at least continue
to be able to express myself as best as I can
I'm an instrument
and I feel like I have a lot of work to do
still
and I'm a student and I'm also a teacher
originally it started with the hurt in my head
which really I guess was confusion
but the confusion hurt
I didn't understand at the time where these feelings came from
so I started looking for a way out
I began analyzing them under the looking glass holding the pain in my hand and meditating intensely upon it to the point where the acknowledgment almost made everything much worse but I was intent on understanding my relationship to this feeling of abandonment I felt from the world around me after long terms of study and experimentation with the hurt I noticed that if anything I was only getting more lost so I began to question if I couldn't eradicate the pain without eradicating myself why could I not turn the hurt in on itself use it to my own ends so the meditation and dissection of what I considered a virus continued even to this day I don't know where it came from but I remember what it was like to feel infected I remember what it was like to want to die I think primarily what kept me from going over that edge was how intrigued I really was by it it was almost sadistic I suppose a twisted fascination with the lust I felt for the destruction of myself I mean is it not a part of the human condition to strive to live on? weren't people programmed to fight for survival and not intermediate demise? this contradiction was at best overwhelming to say the least.
I have taken blades to my body and introduced too many painkillers to my system and nudged myself down flights of stairs none of this was a cry for help but rather research to see how the confusion would react to being brought within reach of, well, the death it told me I wanted. i hate myself and i want to die. i love myself and i want to live. a constant yo-yoing of consciousness i watched with an almost playful amusement. anyway as the study continued I noticed that in the blackest shadows of my depression images literally would fade in and out of the shadows figures and figments that would rise from the sand and disappear just as quickly for reasons still unknown to me these images were best manifested as words as opposed to drawings or paintings or any primarily visual forms which one would assume they would be considering i was interpreting literal images i would see before my eyes when the blackness was complete where it would hurt the least and the most i found that not only was this a new way of studying and meditating and trying to understand emotions i didn't have a name for but that it also acted as a kind of exorcism i would paint the scenes i saw with words and as i did they would dissipate until i was left alone by them temporarily free from the hauntings i could write and create the depictions as something i could see in front of me and then do with it what i pleased put the demons on the page and close the book and lock them away far away from myself exorcism truly is the word to describe what i was doing to/for myself.
it has been 9 and a half years since i first wanted to die. it has been 9 years since i began painting my demons with words.
From putting my hand into the shadows
I just knew what to do

I mainly taught myself
I would like to at least continue
to be able to express myself as best as I can
I'm an instrument a student and a teacher
I will write a poem and then learn what it is about through my writing I am taught things I did not know I already knew I have come to the point where i exist as a channel through which god/satan/angels/demons/spirits/guides/whatever speak through. while clearly what is to be said is entirely translated through me and the eyes with which i see i do understand that there is greater meaning and that a lot of that meaning i believe is universal as we all exist as tones within the same song. i am truly wept onto my knees and humbled by the gift i have been given. the gift of critical exploration of the self as tangible lessons relative to all. i step unknowingly into the hurricane in the hopes that some day we won't have to. it is a blessing to share my work and see tears bled from eyes and head that bob with understanding. it is a blessing to have been told and to know my work helps people save themselves helps people through hard times helps people understand...
i now know the that same familiar feeling not as confusion causing hurt but as a hunger as a quest for fire to step beyond the realms of human understanding and come to grips with not just mine but with the place where we all belong. every time i hold fast my pen and speak again i am befriending every time i step behind the mic i am transcending and i now do so not as an individual but as a river flowing wide and freely to be taken or left as any soul chooses.
I would like to at least continue
to be able to express myself as best as I can
I'm an instrument
and I feel like I have a lot of work to do, still. my potential is limitless and my hunger is infinite.
if you have ever bought my books or cds, or let me spit at your house party, or seshed with me in alleys and under stairwells, on living room floors, read my blog, seen my set or asked on the poem tattooed around my left forearm know that you have given me one more opportunity to sharpen my teeth, know that you have willingly or unwillingly taken my hand in that moment as i opened my mouth and declared that you alongside me care where we go from here.
it's like were all dreaming the same dream so take me to a place unlike anything I've ever seen
unlike anywhere I've ever been a place inside where we know what we can be where we know what can be reached we just need to confide in that the deliverance of the beauty of life is based in our conscious projection of willful change and of mind and we will explore space

together
both inner
and outer
in peace
forever