These will be assorted Journal entries I have chosen to display. They are personal and not by any means written eloquently all the time. They are from my daily journal that I write whatever I need to at the moment. They don't hold necessarily, any deep meaning for me, except that they helped to clear my head when it needed to be. Gaps, color changes, separate columns-they all represent breaks in writing-sometimes months, or maybe a day. I have put no dates because I don't use them in journaling-there's no need.

I am empowerment. I am brilliance and
wreckless abandon. I am manifestation.
I am going to change the face of this
world forever-starting by changing the
expression on every person's face-one
at a time. I am going to purge the belly
of convention-masquerading-as-innovation,
by switching and changing every cog,
wheel, and belt in the machine out for
ethereal unbounded knowledge and space.
My blood will be new DNA for the creation
of a new landscape of humanity. I will
gush and flow my blood, immersing the
stage in it until the whole world is
swimming in it. I will be their air,
water, earth and fire. I will connect
their veins to my pool of blood, my
ocean of consciousness and nourish the
starving souls with passion. I will
awaken them to Heaven.
(Note: I don't have a 'Messianic Complex',
this is how I feel when I Act)

I'm so fucking raw at this point that my every emotion is visible and oozing like an open wound for everyone to see. It's not superiority I feel just overwhelming insanity in the most amazing way. Some think I could benifit from a shrink-not in a condescending way. But I did really lay it out for them. And even when I 'lay it out' for people, they're still only getting one itteration of me; there are so many more. The lies I have facilitated amongst everyone would shock them. Mostly, how I kept it going rather than the specifics of the lies. I'm becoming a total blank canvas when I'm offstage and the insanity that fuels it is like a fucking drug I could imbibe for eternity.


Why must life rip my heart out every single day with every stroke of kindness and note of meloncholy. Everything resounds within me so achingly that I feel as if Death has a strangling grip on my heart and throat. Infinitely, the dualities battle in me, each reaking more havok on my conscience than the last. My cruelties blind me with flashing visions from my past...each vivid image stabbing like a serated knife in to my spine. Then worse, the sheer beauty of life and this world cripples me even more. For every second of sweetness and lovingness that others bestow upon me, the less I feel I deserve it and more I hate myself. As I sit in stupor after stupor, after gentle words are so carefully passed to me I wish that I could only be hated. For then I would not feel such remorse and unworthiness towards the kindness for not knowing how to reciprocate. The more beauty in my world the more pain I feel, undeserving I become, and stronger I long for ugliness.

More to come...

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