toxon-and-nikon-blog

[toxon-and-nikon-blog]

Into fire

Wrath of the lamb

Deep reflection

a lost soul

a guiding principle,

"My son lives"

The cypress bear witness

To his optional pain

The travail of his feet

The tender shoot

A broken heart

Shattered faith

[toxon-and-nikon-blog]

traversing the rapids

The eddies and vortexes of a glacial river

Churning white water

Gliding across the rapids

Dipping and heaving

The distant ocean

Thirsting to dilute its saltiness

A mountain valley

Steep on both sides

Lined with green trees

Casting their shade

And always the cool breeze

Carrying the mist

Bathed in the sun

A rainbow appears

[toxon-and-nikon-blog]

Insidious

Insidious like chalk circles dotted with candles

A voice speaking haughty and blasphemous things

A slow drip infernal paraphilia 

Temporal madness and prophetic dreams

A batch without leaven

A paradoxical impossibility

My favorite flavor 

To be used correctly 

The conclusion staring at me, 

It looks me in the eye.

 foregone and obvious,

 cripplingly inescapable

The future's jaws hang open

Gleaming razor teeth

The maw of hell

One foot in front of the other

The slow march of moral decay

A parasitic twin

The yielding of easily charred flesh

To the fire

[toxon-and-nikon-blog]

friends in low places

Time finds me at the very bottom 

I feel that nothing good will happen to me ever again

But friends can be found in those low places

Where kindred souls cross paths

In a sanctuary for broken birds

My wings were mended by a brother

With sorrows of his own

And I took flight

I have life in me yet

He reminds me of this daily

And although my faults are great

He sees the best in me

And takes pleasure in my flourishing 

A friend worthy of honor 

[toxon-and-nikon-blog]

the potter's hands

Something dawned on me the very day I turned thirty-nine. It was like a light went on or a page got turned. In an instant like a karmic birthday present I became more mature. I reached a new level of self-acceptance. All of my bullshit about being a victim just went up in flames when I realized how much I loved being deeply fucking weird. Not fucked up, not flawed, but weird in the exact way I have always wanted to be. The things I went through to get this weird were harrowing and painful. I was torn down and broken, but that pain is mine now. I love all of it. It made me a force for weirdness. I see my pain and my joy as the potter's left and right hands.

[toxon-and-nikon-blog]

wedding feast

Internally bleeding 

My bruised heel

My wedding feast in a psych ward cafeteria 

Persecution keeps the guest list short and sweet 

Mary passes through on slippered feet

If I'm to die then this is how I'll live

For things unseen, my hope does the heavy lifting 

When we finally meet and speak of this,

Will you tell me my suffering meant something 

Or will the picture I painted be found lacking

How I long to hear your voice

To place your hands in mine

To see our daughter smiling,

Her face divine

Lord will you bless my faith

[toxon-and-nikon-blog]

glory and hail

So uncanny to be singled out this way that I sink solipsistic into a deep well of masochistic pleasure propped up on a furious moralist shaking his finger in perpetuity fueling my orgasmic despair and building in intensity until the flames burst blistering flesh and every breath is a mouthful of sulphur, the scorpions will have their say first followed by boulders of hail crashing into the earth to the tune of my maniacal laughter glorifying God for the sheer insanity of our end.

[toxon-and-nikon-blog]

red horse

Molten lead

A homonculus

A broken shell

One quarter of the earth 

Prison violence 

A wild animal feasting on flesh

Judgment and retribution

A gleaming sword

Vindication

Battle lines

A red horse

[toxon-and-nikon-blog]

many crowns

A host of golden diadems

Cast at the victor's feet

Two riders on white horses

A book that's long and sweet

Grace and retribution 

And abounding in love

The boy with the lamb

Could have been a dove

My serpent tongue confesses

My knees have been bent

To see his face would cool the flames

My son is heaven sent

[toxon-and-nikon-blog]

into the pyre

I recoil in horror from the thing I've become, but then I'm gradually made aware that this is who I have always been. Part of me has always been intent on hell. I guess I like the aesthetic. Horns and tails, Dark eyeliner and cloven hooves.

On the other hand I keep trying to climb that stairway to heaven, but the steps fall out from beneath my feet as soon as I put weight on them and I can't outrun them so I have to just fall and it looks like I'm going to fall forever, but

Then I reach the bottom and she's down there waiting for me, grey skinned and tending the fires of lust. My fear of falling disappears and the flames aren't what I expected casting shadows of carnal dancing and illuminating the sacrifice of the men who sold their souls like I did.

[toxon-and-nikon-blog]

Pale skin

Captured in porcelain flesh marbled with traces of pink and blue, a still life of the love that exists as only the truth can liberate your eyes to see.

No blood will be spilled here

Just a mirror and the object it reflects. 

A well designed instrument

It's maker's fingerprints

Algorithmic and twisted around some cruel calculus that hypnotizes and damns in the same stroke.

Your ephemeral nature, here

For a time and then never again

An intolerable beauty

An anachronistic portrait of a woman

Plucked out of eternity 

Compelling me to my doom

[toxon-and-nikon-blog]

chief among them

An angel hands me a cup and I drink

He tells me it's the wine of God's wrath

It tastes like nothing although my soul knows bitterness

As I lie in bed I retrace my steps, as I have done many times before, looking for a single, solitary moment I could have done something differently to save my life from this.

I don't find it. I never find it. Exhausted and nauseous from replaying the same tragedies in my mind over and over again I fall asleep.

I wake up in the middle of the night to the word "sinners"

And a voice tells me I am chief among them.

 I am strangely at peace with this, 

because I know love

It is not a conditional love that issues a cruel ultimatum 

Insisting "change or die"

Neither does it say, "I love you in spite of your many sins and flaws"

It teaches me who I really am, not who it wants me to be.

What is the provenance of this love?

It comes not from acquaintance, those who know not the dark, secret things of the soul. 

It comes when you know thyself and know what will never change and love what will never change. Love what has been bruised and beaten into you, love what God has forged in the crucible of affliction.

I realize in this love that I was dragged kicking and screaming into the version of me I most want to be. 

[toxon-and-nikon-blog]

binary proposition

Like a bird caught in a snare 

Flailing with its wings

Between soaring and crashing into the Earth

Like a great obelisk swaying precariously 

Between

Toppling and being crushed into gravel

Or piercing the clouds of heaven

Sitting upon the fulcrum point

of a great and terrible secret

The scale tilts and the devil laughs

Hope is lost, but for a strange light that will not be extinguished

And a man polishing a sword across his lap

Here with

One foot in heaven and one foot in hell

I remain,

Unbalanced.

[toxon-and-nikon-blog]

the least favorite person of Jesus Christ was here

I'm still right here waiting patiently

Giving blood keeping faith

My tired white horse trots on

My empty quiver and my bow slung over my shoulder

Sigils burning in my palm

A crown of victory sinking thorns into my scalp

I ride out conquering and to conquer

Waiting for the day when the smell of blood fills my nostrils

I will bury the corpses of my beloved

My victory complete and in perpetuity I wait for the war of ages

I shout to the heavens, "come and see" and hear the noise of thunder

Jesus whispers to me that I am his least favorite person

I scribble on the wall of my cell in crayon

"The least favorite person of Jesus Christ was here"

[toxon-and-nikon-blog]

fatalism

The definition of fatalism is this: a doctrine that events are fixed in advance so that human beings are powerless to change them

As God paints a masterpiece out of my spilled guts it dawns on me that watching the promise slip between my fingers is necessary. It can't be omited from the record.

Every day the sun rises and sets on my grief and sorrow. Time's passage is a futile death march to infinity. Despair sets in like Judas's last breath as I await the splendor that will ignite the atmosphere.

It can't be omited. Someone needs to experience this. The painting must be complete and as the past enters into rear view hindsight desperate prayers unanswerable become a litany of highest praise.

Eloi eloi Lama sabachthani. If only a drop of water touches my tongue I will be okay. A great chasm has been fixed between here and there. My entry into the record of human affairs is this: 

I am losing everything.

[toxon-and-nikon-blog]

Prison

The past is like a prison

I am serving a life sentence in it

My present conforms to the bars of my cell

And

There is no hope for rehabilitation

Each day the future rots on the tip of my tongue

Blasphemy rolls maddeningly past my lips as if driven by a steel horse train

Horror takes the shape of a sword in mouth and a pair of burning sapphire eyes

I await the finality of future events with self fulfilling anticipation

My mind races from one mistake to the next like the ticking guts of a clock

I am completely still, clawing at the void from which all thoughts are birthed

I am a silent witness to one robbery after the next as my hope is plundered.

My faith walks its last mile to a lethal injection from the past

And I am blameless, yet blamed

Resurrected, yet crucified

Innocent, yet riddled with guilt

My prison is the past and fate is my jailer.

[toxon-and-nikon-blog]

abdominal contortionist

 oozing endorphins saccharine and vulgar

self immolation masquerading as pleasure

the aftermath an abdominal contortionist

purgatorial shame at its animal nature

uncanny and under endocrine duress

refractory insight into a hopeless reflection

Oh, to be anything other than human.