Holy Ghosted
THY TEMPLE THAT IS THY BODY. THY BREATH THAT IS IN YOU. THY LIFE YOU LIVE.
It lit me up like a torch on a pitch black night
Like an ember in the needles of a dried up pine
Lit me up and I burn from the inside out
Yeah, I burn like a witch in a Puritan town
Raw Milk Tears reviews:
Feeling electric. Scorched earth. I’ve been grabbed into the palm of an Ancient god destined to get their will into the world.
Their fingers wrapped around my entire being. This feeling begins at the bottom of my spine. It twist upwards. It grabs the back of my neck before spidering off into my arms, my fingers. Here it’s temporarily peaceful. Here is driving under a bridge in a rainstorm. Here is a moment of quietness rarely experienced. Here is a moment of peace impolite enough to not even stay for dessert because hours later, maybe half a day, I’m grabbed again.
It is spiritual cocaine. It happens randomly and when I don’t get it out. When I don’t externalize this uhm, energy? Divine idea? I feel anxious. Wasted potential. Like I’ve been granted a gift and was too lazy to undue the wrapping paper.
Still yet Jesus is king. This feeling ultimately is the Holy Ghost. A personal favorite of the Holy Trinity. He is wildfire, tsunami, raw action, pointed rebellion, the Movement behind the wind. The breath of Life that God breathed unto us.
Hold on.
Grant me a moment. Maria fixed dinner earlier. A first for us. But I chimped out. I really did. My taste buds detected seed oil. I clawed at my cheeks for a short period of time before storming to the fridge. Choiced with filtered water, red wine, coconut milk, cold brew and a bunch of other shit falsely marked as organic, healthy from Trader Joe’s I opt for a bottle of San Pellegrino to wash away my sins.
All of this is made more extreme by Maria’s cat. Who looks at me like she wants to suffocate me in my sleep. And she is UGLY. Disgusting creature. Still yet I keep this to myself out of courtesy of Maria, who indicative of primal maternal instincts, loves her despite this accursed physicality.
I’m working on being nice. Plus the cat has it bad enough. Ugly motherfucker.
Things went black for a moment. Is this blood or strawberry on my fork? I feel like Nijinsky. Madness mixed with art mixed with talent mixed with eccentricity mixed with a dash of oh no! this guy might KILL ME!
“People like eccentrics. Therefore they will leave me alone, saying that I am a mad clown.”
I’ve calmed. Maybe Maria dropped a Xanax into San P. I hope not. Drugs are for faggs.
We must teach those willing to listen… to keep the body a temple… to uphold the Heavenly Glory designed within their being. I view the body as a piece of marble & I view every action I decide on as delicate, decisive, purposeful as Michelangelo armed with a chisel. When it comes to what the food’s prepared in, you choose from these only:
Olive oil (background checked to be clean, from Greece. It’s a one time purchase of ~$15 that last a month. Don’t be cheap.)
Or coconut oil.
Or ghee
Or Avocado oil.
Or good old fashioned butter. Hand churned by a thick black women in Mississippi or a frail old white woman in Georgia with the forearms of a professional masturbatoor.
It is sensitive, this Life thing. It all depends on your perspective, attitude.
Don’t fret over the small stuff - make the permanent decision to create better habits. Givens, that you won’t have to ‘stress’
Glass over plastic
Feminine women over whores
Exercise over sedentary
Energy over lethargy
Cooking over take out
Sex over porn.
You are the Master and the Slave:
Don’t behave!
With love,
WINSTON
SOULED IDEA
THE UNDERGROUND PREACHER
THE BACKYARD POET
Did you look at the sun today? Did you tell a stranger you liked their kneecaps, tell ‘em real handsome knee caps, man!
