Try all you want to provide consolation. It won’t do any good, for the only comfort I need Is that this is what it means to be human. To experience the full emotional spectrum, This is what it is to be alive
Try to provide consolation and kill me. The words of wisdom I ignore; they specify suicide. The only comfort I need, is that I am human. This is what it means to be alive Kill me? Brush away the grief? Repress my creativity? Suppress my humanity? Replace the power, strength, life of an emotion With the weak, silent, death of acceptance? Kill my emotions and kill me! Kill me when I am most alive! Embrace the anger! Give in to the grief! And right as they smile to evil victory, I turn around, and take control; Anger embraces me, grief gives in to me, and I make them work. Work words.
Johnny is a Bishop, Heretic, Prophet, Priest, Apostle and ASM (Ascended Spiritual Master). On his good days he is often also the one true almighty God incarnate. He enjoys writing theology and philosophy articles and spreading the Gospel promise of Universal Salvation
I hate maths it turns mind into brain Intelligent thought lost like tears in the rain Equations functions, graphs I’ve had enough, If this is all there is to life then I give up. I was not born for a life that means I need to crunch numbers like machines I spy a paradox! How about you? How can a machine be alive too? And that is exactly how I feel With every equation I become less real.
Every X, every Y, I feel my heart flutter, Oh god, who would have guessed? Death by Algebra! Every point plotted produces pain I must hide Every new question kills me from inside Every new topic I die a little more The amount of horror makes up for the gore
Maths is stupid maths is lame Maths is death by another name In maths death is a game, Just a statistic to take the blame.
Johnny is a Bishop, Heretic, Prophet, Priest, Apostle and ASM (Ascended Spiritual Master). On his good days he is often also the one true almighty God incarnate. He enjoys writing theology and philosophy articles and spreading the Gospel promise of Universal Salvation
Johnny is a Bishop, Heretic, Prophet, Priest, Apostle and ASM (Ascended Spiritual Master). On his good days he is often also the one true almighty God incarnate. He enjoys writing theology and philosophy articles and spreading the Gospel promise of Universal Salvation
Ahh but you see, hugs are not something I give out for free
And quite smilarly I do not accept them Merely as charity
I’ve always been told that I’m rather cold, prefering my own company. Only ever see a hug, as something of a bug, I’m not touch and feely
Whatever a hug means to you, I’ll respect A hug that is free is not wasted on me. I love a good hug, I love to keep snug, Yet you’ll get no hugs from thee. For I don’t agree with the philosophy That a hug should be a mere charity. I see a hug as something special, I do not treat them as trivial. So you can hug me but if I hug you, See the situation differently; Don’t feel my arms, don’t feel “me”. No… Feel safe, Feel happy. Feel loved.
Johnny is a Bishop, Heretic, Prophet, Priest, Apostle and ASM (Ascended Spiritual Master). On his good days he is often also the one true almighty God incarnate. He enjoys writing theology and philosophy articles and spreading the Gospel promise of Universal Salvation
At first, it was love. My more logical side was always shouting “Slow down! Slow down!” But the barely audible, back of my head still managed to win my devotion. Someone who stays silent slays both ignorance and intelligence in a single stroke The quiet ones know best, don’t they. Don’t they…?
It was love. I, A Lex. I, Above the law. I, A clockwork orange. My creative and destructive impulses Forcibly repressed To make me quite presentable as an all-around acceptable member most respectable in our school society. I used to engage in violence, revel in the fight, It was Blood, guts, gore and glee! Until the doctor set me right. So with classical and chilli-sauce, A repression of my drives I share the name and I share the pain; I am a clockwork orange. And yet… it all comes down To the milk I drink in the morning.
It was love! My milk was neglected. My drugs left untouched. All my long repressed emotions and desires Bubbling, exploding, escaping! I was swimming in freedom! Freedom out of control. My heart was torn out and dangled before me To show me what I had done Reveal my love for what it really was only an addiction. As my life fell back upon the milk Punishment was madness, insanity. Withdrawal symptoms ironically. The longing to return to the place where I belong grew weaker and faint through time To the point where indifference replaced the love A faint annoyance at the blindness in my old friends minds.
Johnny is a Bishop, Heretic, Prophet, Priest, Apostle and ASM (Ascended Spiritual Master). On his good days he is often also the one true almighty God incarnate. He enjoys writing theology and philosophy articles and spreading the Gospel promise of Universal Salvation
I have before me a card. It is Jumbo sized Art. It has a story, this card. It is the Ace of Hearts. I found it, or stole it, one black day With the sky from the clouds raining grey. “Missions” he called it, laughing with glee and flickering eyes that betrayed his honesty. I had naught to juggle, and nothing to squeeze but then someone out there warmed to my pleas; Two jumbo sized packs, one of red, one of blue. I silently start shuffling, and watch as I do. He bounces up and down all around the room, Cramped as it is, there’s not the slightest boom The cards I am shuffling are now being sorted. The blue pack is missing the cards most important. This fiend before me protects his best Breaking the rules? nothing to contest The four aces he keeps close to his heart, But I know where they are, at least in part. I look up from my royal flush, My poker face doesn’t betray as much and see this monster calling for help But with a mad grin, not a loud yelp. “Missions” he calls it, laughing viciously The angel in the room jumps up immediately. Well there you go, that seals my fate Again into darkness to head a clean plate I stand up and prepare to brave the rain and I laugh at the other’s looks of pain. As the cards go smack down upon the table, The demon rushes out the door with my angel I’m ready to run, pursue, protect and die But something has stopped me, caught my eye His four aces are there and so heavily exposed lust for an angel; As a hole in defence, it shows. There is only one card that I care to take One of four aspects that I intend to break The club is his skills, his practice and trade The genius to which that combines is his Spade The diamond is his luck and face but in part, it is his amazing ability to abuse the heart. I grabbed the card, the organ throbbing in fright I Stuffed it in my pocket and clenched it tight. Run out the door into the rain, past the overflowing storm drain. The water coming down as a wall I run and slip and avoid a fall There’s always the light of the angel before Beautiful hair showing me through the downpour All the while I clenched the card, I never let go Despite it’s burning black blood ruining the show But I got through to the end of the night When I got home I knew I had won the fight The demon failed again, as the angel survived His heart is disfigured and no longer alive It’ll grow back, such an ungodly sight To him the loss of a heart is slight. But it will never be the same one, and that’s fine Because this is no longer his heart, it’s mine. This is a symbol for the angel; I have her not him But I vow I will not abuse her under light dim. I’ll not rip it in half, I’ll never set it on fire But I’ll never ever use it like that horrible liar. And now I sit here, with Heart’s Ace before me The crease through the middle should tell you its’ story.
Johnny is a Bishop, Heretic, Prophet, Priest, Apostle and ASM (Ascended Spiritual Master). On his good days he is often also the one true almighty God incarnate. He enjoys writing theology and philosophy articles and spreading the Gospel promise of Universal Salvation
I always thought he was the enemy In that simple – not quite love – triangle. “We’re still learners” was forever in mind Mistakes of the past never left behind. I regret nothing. I would do it all… again? Yes. In exactly the same way; No difference to my actions, because The past is only a chain of events That have led me to where I am right now. To break that chain, is to commit murder – Bloody murder, murder, murder most foul. I am not who I was an hour ago, That hour was but another link of chain And I sit now in the present, gazing, back at the links of my amazing chain. Some of the links are stronger and harder to imagine the chain lacking; the past, The events, the links and the memories without which we are nothing of ourselves. If you break a single link in a chain You break the chain, you kill the present: You.
This was one of those events, tragedy I could never be here without knowing. And so I look back and laugh at the fool that used to be me, his stupid mistakes. And I learn. That triangle, was not won. Events from that triangle are again like bad omens, jumping up on my chain; A redhead. A good friend. And a formal. I can see a new triangle forming Again I must run the hypotenuse But experience and foresight are mine I have the advantage of time, and space – yes, I live closer then him on a map. But he already knows her, not as I would come to. But they were on friendly terms. Funny how futile this was, everything I was doing, only set up more pain. I did not want to lose a friend again.
Shakespeare was right you know, with Othello; Suspicion and Jealousy can drive you, usually mad, but sometimes to success and quite rare when it happens to be both. This triangle never was one of love I always thought he was the enemy And in doing so only made him one. Mistakes only seemed to be repeating themselves, and I was ready to cry, die. “I give up”; Those words which I never say passed by my lips that day in ignorance of the victory that I had achieved. Despite all the evidence; I had won! But the announcement had to come too late The triangle had grown more than three sides. It was a web, horrible and tangled. I escaped to one side and hung over the edge, holding on by a thread – not red No, this was not a redhead. An old friend who delivered me my true victory; An invitation, the sweetest success. Everything would have been perfect but no, She had to be stuck in the webs center. The spider in this web had lost it’s prey; “She couldn’t come today” and retreated to the center of this web it had spun. He was the real enemy from the start Always there, but that’s not the scary part, He thinks like me. That sparkle in his eye Same as the smile that I tend to wear His thoughts, to me, were déja vu. No more. So I am competing with me, myself and almost I. Rodriego wants to try for the part. He tries to be like me more then he realises. The tangled web got infinitely more tangled for me When Rodriego tried to become master.
A web is not like a chain – break as much as you want and a web will still remain. But if I killed the spider… no more web, only a simple triangle again.
Johnny is a Bishop, Heretic, Prophet, Priest, Apostle and ASM (Ascended Spiritual Master). On his good days he is often also the one true almighty God incarnate. He enjoys writing theology and philosophy articles and spreading the Gospel promise of Universal Salvation
“You must specialise in broken hearts” That’s a line I’ve always had in mind Knowing where to put it is a fine art Skill and mastery to which I was blind
Ever since the last word was said These words have lingered behind For I failed to hold a redhead Those words were not mine to find
No one spoke them, they were not written These words are the product of silence; Delicious, but not my words to be eaten Beautiful, and yet for me far too tense
So whom is the elusive subject of my quote? At first I thought it was my Ranga rejector The one who left two broken boys on a boat The memory that will never shut it’s door
But no matter how hard I tried Sixty stanzas couldn’t fit it in To force any phrase I would have died Because I knew it wasn’t her within
After a few months of regression I decided to learn from a mistake Very soon it came to my attention That I had a uni course to take
Who should happen to be attending? Another redhead, another chance A few long weeks of pretending Previous mistake made my luck enhance
But all of a sudden again it’s occurred I don’t want to lose another friend Another audition for my great words Let’s see this through to the end
Irony, I managed to win this time But not before falling apart anyway It was almost like the perfect crime That quote I almost had cause to say
Once again, the words don’t work Why on earth can’t I fit them in? It makes me cringe and smirk All those guys hearts are her epic win
If anyone were to receive the phrase It would absolutely have to be her But no, even after hours and days How to use the words is a blur.
I have tried and tried and tried And many have stepped up to fill the spot My efforts are nothing, I’ve only cried It’s only recently that the answer was caught
Someone lusts and rages and wants I stopped him quite immediately Another heart broken behind the taunts And so it hit me almost evilly
There could only be one who fills the mould Could shred that organ into a million parts With a grin and glinting eye, I’ve been told “You must specialise in broken hearts”
Johnny is a Bishop, Heretic, Prophet, Priest, Apostle and ASM (Ascended Spiritual Master). On his good days he is often also the one true almighty God incarnate. He enjoys writing theology and philosophy articles and spreading the Gospel promise of Universal Salvation
Do you know what it’s like to have a shadow? If you think it is so… well I’ll have you know; That’s not the shadow of which I speak.
I know of a shadow so skinny and narrow, Can’t have been cast by me, it’s far too shallow. It has no eyes it has no head, If it weren’t for the talking I’d think it were dead. It’s definitely blind if I needed more proof No eyes, and even less perception of the truth It frankly fails to fit the mould, Trying as hard as it might to hold On to both feet where a shadow should connect, It only touches my right and grasps for my left.
Shadows are not meant to be alive. What on earth was I thinking? To whisper in a shadows ear the words that it can never hear Just to give it an illusion of life And hope it would find another body. But no, I have to put up with this shadow It’s more rooted in reality than the dark twilight where it should be. And the appearance of mind? No more than a philosophical zombie. But still… Can it hurt me…?
This shadow imitates more than my actions; Actions don’t hurt me, no no… This shadow is more of a reflection; Actions with signs of emotion, oh no… It plagiarises my actions, It steals my words, It adopts my taste in music, It deifies my ideal girls.
I wonder when this shadow will realise The fact that it has it’s own pair of eyes And stop trying to reconnect with mine. I wonder if that will be a good thing A clone of me being set free and going on it’s way Not mature enough to handle what it holds in it’s head It may very well know all that I know some day But I’ve got experience on my side instead
Will it be good? To be me competing with myself and I. My Shadow may not want to let go Might make life a deadlier show. I keep my actions and thoughts closer now; The shadow trying hard to reflect That which I came to expect And planned all along.
“I am stubbornly me” Oh really? The evidence to the contrary And the absolute irony Can be seen by everyone, Everyone, but you, You, my shadow; You. Roderigo.
Johnny is a Bishop, Heretic, Prophet, Priest, Apostle and ASM (Ascended Spiritual Master). On his good days he is often also the one true almighty God incarnate. He enjoys writing theology and philosophy articles and spreading the Gospel promise of Universal Salvation
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I opened up my heart to you
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“You must specialise in broken hearts”