ravana-mortifer sent: I have suffered the sins of the saviors, wallowed in the well of the warrior, lived longer than the lady of death, and dreamed dreams only demons could dream, all in the hopes that one day you will be mine. I have missed you terribly. Always yours, Willy the Kid.

<3 <3 <3 

Oh, William. Tell me something you have never told anyone,
and I will give you my hunger.Oh, darling, show me something you have never shown anyone,
because your dark is so bright, I wonder ‘bout your light.

You and Death have the same name. I heard it in a dream.
I had it spoke to me under an awning in the rain.

He said,
"Your curse will be to love everybody and never feel right with still feet. I will give you jars full of honey you’ll make everything so sweet."

dream/// lightning on dried crops, donut shops, and meryl streep

The farm land looked like it was in an autumn storm. Lightning, light rain, grey cloudy sky. The crops were tan, black, and dried. Bare trees silhouette the sky. Izzy, my sister, was living there and helping out. I didn’t go in the house, she came out to me and my car and seemed frustrated. We went for coffee and donuts at a nearby cafe. I start eating some of a cream filled and then give it to someone in the cafe. We go to the next room to pay, I don’t know what were discussing. Then it’s changes to being more like a movie, someone is in a cage, and a young plump Meryl Streep is walking back and forth outside the cage saying, “I just have to deal with the obituaries and a few things now that you’re back.” I look down and read in a book, “thou shalt not breaketh, turneth, nor bendeth back.”

I woke up at 3:33am and wrote this:

wet air and lightning fields
bare trees silhouette the greyblue sky
i stand on the gravel road and don’t go in the house
crops are straw and tan and black
I remember reading in a dream:
"though shalt not breaketh, turneth,
nor bendeth back.”

Cullen, my man.

formless is impossible
if I can think of blackness as an object.
then through open doors to lightless hallways
I imagine I am watching god
watching me

because the abyss also gazes,
but it doesn’t care.

this is yearning,
countless arms
stretching from your center
like eternal unfolding petals
they will be reaching out

orphan of purpose and function
what I crave is the symmetry of death.
otherwise to make
the word the catalyst and not the
accidental child of experience.

for I am deluded by the beauty of a sunrise,
dawning on me like a naked lover waking-
who is as beautiful as a sunrise is
as beautiful as a sunrise.

there are things i cannot change,
but i can choose to feel everything,
to be so open that the wind brings
me to tears
without desire.

if i close my eyes I learn to want nothing
and to be everything-
the waking lover, the sunrise, longing,
and death.

On the drive back to Milwaukee from Turbo tour we picked up Cullen ‘s kids from their grandma’s house since it was on the way. You can imagine the excitement with a car full of 9 people plus two toddlers. At one point, Lugh said that on his magic ship no girls are allowed. I asked, “What about me, Lugh?” He said, “You’re not a girl, you’re my magickal mom.” Then he went to talk about how I can lift dinosaurs above my head. Our friend Jamie Auult drew this AMAZING picture!

I saw you today…
Being next to you stirs the waters of my depths so that the settled sand and creatures, undisturbed and unreleased,
awaken and make their way to the surface. I watch for movements in the water but the creatures are hidden in a mudcloud, like the promise of summer as the hot air of your breath on my cool window. Your heart is floating and I know it is because of longing. Sitting next to you I imagine your chest as the sky and your heart beating down on me like the sun til I am bloodied by every ray, red-robed by every beam. My arms are raised and I am laughing, the juice of your heart dripping into my open mouth. But you are not the sky and your heart is not so close, so my creatures swim in sand kicked waters and I strain my eyes to see the landscape beyond my window.

In one of my dreams last night I was hearing a loud, high pitched ringing in my ears and then got a vision of a small green alien and the idea in the dream was that the alien was downloading information into my brain. Then I went into a crystal shop run by my friend Nomi and started rubbing large crystals and stones all over me.

My roommiehomegirlsister & I before our Rio Turbo show.

AKA Velvet & Bonequisha Turbette

so satisfying
the names we give and take
that dreaming a healing song
and forgetting the words by morning
is a miscarriage

craving the power
like arousal seeks to be filled by a lover

let me not loose fervor
(for the wind does not lift a crumpled ball of paper
and time is the hand that closes into a fist
and makes it so)

when my spirit is a blank page
love is the pulverized plants and trees

my mind is the pencil
my heart is the eraser

and you
have the heart of a black pen
and the feeling of a poem

Where the light enters this shadow palace, in patches and swords, the dust floats like billions of angels, eyes closed and dreaming. I descend the stairs to the silence of a sleeping house, enter the kitchen to put the water kettle on the fire. “O, G-D, your morning is perfect,” and I am thinking of nothing. A rooster crows twice, the dogs bark soon after, the peacock wanders mourning the death of his lover, hooves sound on the gravel road yonder, the rustle of a child waking and the pounding of quick feet- I see her arms opening towards me, innocent beauty seeking embrace.

"Miss Congealed Reality," Sandra Bullock’s existential low-budget experimental film is rumored to be not so much a sequel to her 2000 film "Miss Congeniality," but loosely based on Charlotte Perkins Gilman’s, "The Yellow Wallpaper," and an autobiographical meditation on memories and psychedelic drugs.


that fucking sun
burning like a jealous
shining like a reflection of

so i am
and warm because
i choose to let it bother me

to gain the

On Love, from The Prophet

On Love

Then said Almitra, “Speak to us of Love.” 
And he raised his head and looked upon the people, and there fell a    stillness upon them. And with a great voice he said: 
 When love beckons to you follow him, 
Though his ways are hard and steep. 
And when his wings enfold you yield to him, 
Though the sword hidden among his pinions may wound you. And   when he speaks to you believe in him, 
Though his voice may shatter your dreams as the north wind lays waste the garden. 

For even as love crowns you so shall he crucify you. Even as he is for your growth so is he for your pruning. 
Even as he ascends to your height and caresses your tenderest branches that quiver in the sun, 
So shall he descend to your roots and shake them in their clinging to the earth. Like sheaves of corn he gathers you unto himself. 
      He threshes you to make you naked. 
      He sifts you to free you from your husks. 
      He grinds you to whiteness. 
      He kneads you until you are pliant; 
      And then he assigns you to his sacred fire, that you may become sacred bread for God’s sacred feast. 
      All these things shall love do unto you that you may know the secrets of your heart, and in that knowledge become a fragment of Life’s heart. 
But if in your fear you would seek only love’s peace and love’s pleasure, 

Then it is better for you that you cover your nakedness and pass out of love’s threshing-floor, 
Into the seasonless world where you shall laugh, but not all of your laughter, and weep, but not all of your tears. 
Love gives naught but itself and takes naught but from itself. 
Love possesses not nor would it be possessed;
For love is sufficient unto love. When you love you should not say, “God is in my heart,” but rather, I am in the heart of God.” 
And think not you can direct the course of love, if it finds you worthy, directs your course. 

Love has no other desire but to fulfil itself. 

But if you love and must needs have desires, let these be your desires: 
To melt and be like a running brook that sings its melody to the night. 
To know the pain of too much tenderness. 
To be wounded by your own understanding of love; 
And to bleed willingly and joyfully. 
To wake at dawn with a winged heart and give thanks for another day of loving; 
To rest at the noon hour and meditate love’s ecstasy; 
To return home at eventide with gratitude; 
And then to sleep with a prayer for the beloved in your heart and a song of praise upon your lips.

-Kahlil Gibran

You storm in me like I was Lake Victoria and our brief months were a whole year. So, 242 days of thunder and some lightning blossoms
showed us ancestral heroes, karmic devotion, and second sight to
every shadow. Conquering the stare so that we might know, and so dropping everything with an unfailing glance to remember how to exist in love.

Years later, I will still hear your heartbeat through every roar and every whisper; for I have learned to love so much that I let go.