psycheparadox

[psycheparadox]

Take into account the fact that when bad decisions are present in our minds, evil no longer exists. Only when it is merged with psychological well-being, an urge to cause pain even chaos. And then, everything is different.

The bad outweighs the good. The possibility of a fulfilled life is far away. The evil that stifles us, Consumes us. Will we all become crazy? Wildly uncontrollable. Like a puppet manipulated. Like an old film projected into our everyday lives. Rusty, grainy. Cut through time via physical destruction. There was this doctor, Who told you that life is not in your hands but in theirs. That time and time again you will be looked after, But how is it possible for someone to care for you, when you don’t care for yourself? With love there is hate, With life there is death. No one is responsible. The process is controllable? or is everything we feel evil?

We were done for from the start.

[psycheparadox]

Blind Ghosts

What a burden. Everything is useless. I, all alone in the middle of millions and millions of blind ghosts. Selfish voices in their own reality.

Vicious and sadistic fantasies of every individual. A few aware of our childish illusions. Turn our happiness into unconsciousness, dementia and recklessness. In our own world, deliberate and evil. Lucid in consciousness.

I set my heart on these things. I want a happy unconscious brain. Evil in psychic consciousness. Evil casts a pure shadow.

[psycheparadox]

Fate

Optimism is to say that only fate is death. Only a beautiful woman may contradict this hypothesis. A woman can love a fatality To believe that love and death are unavoidable. To believe that the death of love is a revelation. Love or death, A reality. Inevitable mortal judgement of the heart. Unavoidable. Unintentional.

(Writing by me: Painting Chivalry 1885 by Frank Bernard Dicksee)

[psycheparadox]

You Pull On My Ventricle

There's no love in my fingertips . There's no love in my flesh. There's no love in my bones. There's no love in my brain. There's no love in the smoke of my cigarette. Ash to dust. There is only love in my chest.

Curtains of my lungs bleed. Balconies my chest in tar. Should we believe in tomorrow. Brushing against my eager lips . I wish yours were against mine. Finally I entered my mind, To find only you inside, Like firecrackers and guns.

[psycheparadox]

Under a sky of cotton

It's snowing cupid’s feathers. Lynching my brain’s serotonin. Pulling on my ventricle.

[psycheparadox]

Liquid Dreams

We will decompose easily and rot away. It is the mind's eye that keeps every moment ephemeral. We will throw out our temporary insanity before resuming our day to day lives. We will anesthetize our soul in order to feel something, anything, We will exterminate our neurons with liquid dreams,

It is transformed into placebos but it doesn’t make a difference,

We will rave, we will kiss, in time we will smile. We will feel our heart muscles retract and decline. We will feel our brains become stimulated, We will feel our breath release and then disappear,

Just for a moment, I could see my life illuminate above me,

Just for that moment, I was flying forever.

(Text by me: Art By Elizabeth Glaessner)

[psycheparadox]

Blood and Soot

All crows fall. Like dirty rain in June. As dirty and stained hail. Nose to the cushion. Tears sliding , failing onto sheets ,smeared and unjustified. The blood of my nostrils leaking, dripping and sinking, It only accommodates the vomit that seems never ending.

Crows plucked, Bare and crashing with stupidity. Heaven is on my head and in my heart. On my fingertips, in my veins. What is heaven? What we make it. Such as life.

Hunters shoot. Hunters shoot for love, shoot for the game, for the sport. So disposable. For what purpose? Life escapes so fast, so easily.

As a beast, screaming, hoarse pain. Wings bleeding. Wings plucked. You were my wings Stay with me. Stay with me. I said. Stay with me. Stay with me. Forsake me not. Not this time.

Sanitize gaping wounds, Oh unconsciousness. My veins absorbent like cotton, capturing and inhaling contaminated blood.

Walls dripping, drool and black soot . It's pouring. Cupid struck me this time. To know what you need, what you deserve. Forever stuck in your mind, unconsciousness will feel so good.

My heart wandering under your window, in your head, drowning in your sheets.

[psycheparadox]

Devoid

Suffer.   Expire in a background. Dying in dry tar & nicotine. Empty brains, Hollow faces, Devoid of all logic. The hollow ventricle, White and uneducated. Be quick to the mind. Sterile creations. Thoughts are Superficial. It is a great , great hole in my mind.

[psycheparadox]

Liquid Dreams

We will decompose easily and rot away It is the mind’s eye that keeps every moment ephemeral We will throw out our temporary insanity before resuming our day to day lives We will anaesthetize our soul in order to feel something, anything, We will exterminate our neurons with liquid dreams , It is transformed into placebos but doesn’t make a difference, We will rave, we will kiss, in time we will smile We will feel our heart muscles retract and decline, We will feel our brains become stimulated, We will feel our breath release and then disappear, Just for a moment, I could see my life illuminate above me, Just for that moment, I was flying forever.

[psycheparadox]

All Men Bleed

I remember the first two weeks of January, I was bleeding from the nose every morning and every night at the same time ,in the same place in front of the mirror. Just as if it was programmed.  

I would have thought it was my heart that would bleed. Or I would have vomited residue from once beautiful feelings. An overdose of happiness. Dissatisfied.

Human frustration that needed to evaporate beyond my weak heart muscles. Beating wildly. Drums and trumpets announcing that love dies. Drums and trumpets of a first love. A puff of fine feelings as common as negative thoughts, I had lost some innocence in my bone marrow.

Who wants an anxious man with nose bleeds periodically... Not many,

[psycheparadox]

Fear

And if you fall in love Will it change anything? And if I fall into this void Will you still be there?

Balancing heart over logic Still on the boarder of my mind Alcohol turns my head . Wearing my heart. I am no longer afraid of anything.

I took as a kid in a crowd . A sea of faceless people. Insecurities plunging into my chest. In a vacuum of my own mind I belong . In my lucidity, I disappear .

I request that you will never understand. I will request consolation . And your silence…

What happens to these bodies of flesh? What happens to our feelings of yesterday? That becomes our nostalgia. Or is it now melancholy. Or has it passed our dreams. Which we fondly keep. To think about something other than our past.

Fear of tomorrow . Fear of others .

The fear is . The feeling of being prey. Believing in god does not solve anything . Running in the crowd. To anything.

Running in the crowd. For anyone .

[psycheparadox]

Nuclear Love You are beautiful. Your ghostly hair. Your hair in the icy wind. You're smiling like in those old photo booth pictures. Like before. You were there. Back to these imposing, royal and admirable reactors. Delightful. Tarmac black eyes. The hostile, melancholic, occult and sandy pupils. You were sobbing under the radioactivity. Tears and oil drops. Tar. Dark. Tenacious. Psyche on codeine. Reactor meltdown. Fusion of the heart. Casting of the ventricle. Nuclear accident. Nuclear love. Nuclear love

[psycheparadox]

Time

Cataclysm is not war. Love does not degrade. Feelings can not be ruined. Cardiac killing. Havoc in our hearts. Corrosion in our lungs. No psychotic damage.

Of neurological disambiguation No disintegration of our old masses. No extermination. Massacre. Rampage. Removal.

Killing our old personas.   Only time. One that acts as pain. One that undermines our beauty. One that stays unnoticed.

An old silent rhyme. Shaking and scatters our feelings. Punishing our love. Testing our pacifism. Making memories grief.

Grief into nostalgia. Never forgetting our regrets.

Time destroys everything.

(Painting by Mia Bergeron : Text by me)

[psycheparadox]

Words

We could fuck chapters, Fuck words,

These are words that come out and create phrases that nobody understands, but I learned to comprehend, I learned that if you put words side by side that have to no substantive meaning,

It is the soul of the reader who would be responsible for frozen contrast to the sentence.

[psycheparadox]

Id, Ego, Superego

The only pleasure that we have is to make others believe that we are better morally, physically and above all artistically. A kind of great competition where the human, ourselves, must arrive first by implementing our photoshopped face, our famous friends made on the internet, our pseudo philosophical texts copied and pasted from a novel, illustrating youth. By also showing our ability to create a few things, by talking about our projects on the web without ever really realizing them. A bit synonymous with the spoiled child who wants everything before the others. Write every moment of his life on social media to make our comrades enjoy your life. Sorting out events to make our life great and satisfying. The pleasure of the senses at all low. The pleasure of being satisfied with our mentality. A kind of lust of which we are guilty. A self-lust. Take a picture of every moment, every moment of our life that could flatter what we want to show of our existence. Show us. Everything is up for grabs. Everything to flash. Didn't waste a drop. The beautiful competition. Highlighting his failed artistic side which has never existed. Art has become a fashion. "I am an artist". We do not create this artist, we become it. It is the fashion of debauchery. Psychotropic/ multicolored pills. The fashion to make "artist" on the canvas. To write muddy, skin-deep songs that make the groupies say "Suck me". "Fuck me". "I am the most beautiful". "Love me".

To believe that the satisfaction of oneself is equivalent to the satisfaction that others have of you. Are they satisfied with your physique? Of your character? Of your projects? Or that the unique and supreme voluptuousness lies in the certainty of doing evil. Always be the first in each category. No one is really happy with it. Pathetic.

[psycheparadox]

Human frustration

Human frustration boils down to three things: innocence, love and consciousness. These three things lead to regrets. The loss of love back to the truth, The truth back to consciousness and awareness back to the loss of innocence.  

Everything is connected.   Just to stabilize these three points back to this utopia or is not taken into consideration, our mind. Forever our worst enemy.

[psycheparadox]

Cardiology

Throughout this endless dark month of December, my heart was constantly hammered and sawn. That slow, exasperating screeching of the saw, those dull, methodical blows of the hammer which falsely gave the impression that each was going to be the last, Picked up and sewn just as my numb, dull, exhausted heart, tense and beyond all spring, relax into silence and then have to scream again. I now have the phobia of loving. The phobia of attaching myself. Are heart problems treated well by cardiologists?

(Art by Nesibe Bicici: Text by me)