LEFTOUTSIDE

Poets, writers, photographers, videography, painters, sketchers, musicians, art.

  • settling in august.

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    In the mood of two we sway to the pendulum of the sun and moon,

    Penny boards that the penniless ride,

    Born to live, bored to death,

    You trust in society to take care,

    When the bandit is loose as you roll seven and seven over and over,

    Silver stuck on your fingers as you cream to the way ink touches the page,

    A squire to many,

    The divide is none,

    You lock in your answer,

    Scream ‘Alakazam’ in the Fractal Forest,

    Prepare to face peril in war,

    In a recession no one is friends and the fight for resources is a bare knuckle fight,

    In which diplomacy is a bare naked man with a gun in his hand.

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  • august.

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    Does anyone else feel that disdain?

    The clear blue skies from the August sun,

    That fractures our already fragile self-love,

    Oh, how we prefer the art of self-loathing.

    Dropping blue biscuits off to secret lovers,

    That we pour all our hope into,

    They are our redemption,

    They are my self-worth,

    The shelves come crumbling down,

    The blue biscuit dry to the taste,

    Spit out,

    Sprinkled broken hearts over the chocolate cake of shit,

    That is the grass you lay on,

    Claiming it is soft as hay,

    When needles are not hard to find and,

    Blood is all you bleed.

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  • dancing in the rain.

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    I think I’m allergic to sex. Don’t scratch the reaction, just allow it to swell as big as it wants and subside in its own time. That is the beauty of the human condition, you react to situations and stress and only make it worse the more you fight it. Like standing in quicksand. Flow. Flow. Flow. It’s a beautiful and quiet day. To know the best lies ahead and that things that are just simply out of my control are and the more I resist the more I go up and down. The more I scratch the more irritated I get. The more I lean into it allowing it to exist the more we can co-exist together. That is dancing in the rain.

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  • summer pollen.

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    I think I’m allergic to sex

    The initial intimate feelings are what I crave

    The transformation of our desires change

    This love affair becomes a fuck-a-thon.

    Our desires float in the sky

    In small white fluffs

    I call the Summer snow

    This will not last.

    It is lust we

    Ride too fast

    To the moon we aim

    To our graves we lay

    Now that the storm is over

    The wind has settled

    The dust has hidden itself underneath wooden floor boards

    Our minds creak at pressure.

    Starting with gentle sneezes

    That are cutely dismissed

    To panic attacks in the middle of the night about

    The summer you could’ve had and the winter you won’t.

    Served on soft tissues

    Issues by the universe

    Hard spanks from the devil

    The end of a love affair.

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  • inevitable.

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    To love something that doesn’t love back

    To hug something that can never bite back

    It’s without rhyme and reason that we make these decisons

    A choice in love is a blessing

    To choose wrong is still helping

    The blind to see

    That the devils true objective

    Is to mask glee

    Be defined by the loss

    Wallow in hollow

    Feelings that bring your demise

    Shame that harrows the brightest minds.

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  • the touch of your lips.

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    Underneath the pine tree,

    Laying on that blue blanket with the white stripes,

    Is the boy who chased the moon,

    Arms wide open he was ready to catch,

    The silver haired girl that lay in it’s womb,

    With chains on her wrists,

    A noose tightly around her neck,

    By the skeleton that held her captive,

    On this grass hill I will die,

    Memories of your hair,

    Worms in books,

    We are both rotting corpses,

    Blind to our smell,

    I walk alone in dark alleys,

    Accompanied by stars and a half moon,

    I wallow in loss,

    I sob inconsolably while a bush holds me,

    A black spider web in the sky that connects us all,

    I look up and the stars align,

    A picture of you, your past, present and future,

    I sob for you, I sob for us.

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  • the art of acceptance

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    Back and forth we swing like a pendulum. It’s yes and no, hot and cold. We are together and then we are not. It’s with these waves that I ride, to the higher levels of the moon that arise during every single night. Whether it is hidden behind the clouds or tucked underneath the shoulders of the horizon. We are all one and the same, reflections of ourselves. When I look at you during such a moment of pain, when we should both be in disdain and fighting with hate. Where there is a plotted good versus evil. The narrative of hate and love, evil and good has never been fused together the way the sun hugs the pavement. There is no separating the two and to jump back and forth between the fence that divides is an everlasting sentence of continued emotionally torture. The stories we continue to tell ourselves as we imagine ourselves walking up to nooses that we consent to be tightened. We take away the limitless possibilities of unrefined love that needs only a lightening bolt and hammer to strike in order to shine light in the darkest nights. In the art of acceptance you accept all that people shed to light in the deepest parts of your mind. You accept all the bad they make you feel and all the good. You ride these waves without pursuit of forcing a direction. You are continuously digging holes for graves for the new ego’s that birth over and over again. Wave riding is not meant for fame or fortune. It is meant for skill and balance. The materials and fame that come with it are only perks that are unnecessary for inner fulfilment.

    I look at you with radical love. I look at you with fearless trust. I look at you and see parts of me that have struggled for so long. To let go and just be and not let the past opinions of others to block my rivers. I look at you and as you shut down it is the most beautiful you have ever looked. I look at you and see the good in you while evil dances in small circles holding arounds around your body. Chanting incantations that whisper devils in your mind. That narrow your peripheral and make your heart stone cold. I look at you and spoil you with stability for the well I draw from is endless for myself. I give so that I may take. I take so that I may give. To whom this may concern, I look at you and I see acceptance of parts of myself that I have subjected to torment for years. I look at you, breathe with you, breathe with me. Your journey is only beginning, the trails still await, your inner love is only growing.

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  • the art of communication

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    It is far too often that many things are left unspoken. That in this universe we forget the things that make us the most special is our ability to communicate. Ideas, words and feelings of a large range of variety, the gift to share is one sometimes unappreciated. We are left to our individualism to lean on, our ideas of self dependence that is a hidden agenda pushed among ourselves as a bout of true strength. Be that as it may be true, the base of everything in this world is that we are nothing without one another. We bounce off each other, build off each other, live with each other. Strangers that sit across a cafe reading their own books and ruminating their individual thoughts are in fact doing it together. It’s an unspoken support of each other during those moments that energize us quietly. 

    It is more complicated than I’m sure you are thinking. We are complex beings with thought patterns and thoughts that seemingly come out of nowhere and have our individual needs and wants. That isn’t even accounting for our ego’s that swim slowly. Treading underneath the ocean that is our emotions like sharks silently hiding in the shadows of the waves waiting to bite at a moment’s notice. The layers of building a community and a line of communication are endless, yet it comes so naturally for us. 

    Forsaken we all feel at some times, alone and depleted of any hope that provides the safety of faith that we are enough are evoked from time to time. In those moments we curl up in balls and create separation from the ones around us for a sense of safety that stems from feelings of anger and loneliness. Non-consensual injections of fear cause the insecurity that creates thoughts that you are alone and rejected by everyone. You feel in danger of communicating, foolish for your feelings, angry that no one understands you. 

    It’s a leap of faith that is required. To jump and not know where you are going to land. To speak up and say the feelings you have been attempting to murder and bury to the spaces that you have had safe communication in. The spaces that you have demonized due to the fear that has killed your hope. The relief of tension that pulls the strands in your chest. The breath of fresh air that you feel was previously poisoned. The veil of your short-sighted doubt that clouded your thoughts raised from your eyes. You realize that communicating is as fruitful as it is dangerous. 

    It would be foolish to believe that everyone you communicate your true heart to will catch you with soft arms. That they would understand you and reveal the fear they feel on their own and affirm the union you have together. Others may continue to misunderstand you and ash their cigarettes down your throat. You may leap headfirst into the ground and your head will split open as you slowly die from hemorrhaging in your chest, slowly bleeding as the last thing you see is your reflection in the pool of your own blood you lie in. 

    It can be a painful experience communicating with the wrong person. 

    It’s the leap of faith that we continue to generate faith for. It’s the painful internal deaths we have to sustain to reach the otherside. The unrequited love and friendship that you will face. To find the deserved love, friendship and communication that allow you to be you. Your true self, unapologetically. 

    Die. Continue to plummet to your death and resurrection anew. The leaps of faith are chances you take on yourself and others. The faith you build that is torn down over and over again will find itself in arms that are just as strong as yours. You will be reborn. You will be able to communicate yourself to others and be understood. You are not born alone into this world. We can all be tastefully jaded, comically. If you find yourself taking it too far you may lose yourself. Lose the ones you care for.

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  • The art of escapism

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    We all find our ways to escape. To temporarily find a way out of the puzzle that is our lives. The pressures that you feel as if the walls are closing in on you. The despair that pours slowly onto you as if it was a pail of boiling water. That inscribes into you this feeling of hopelessness that seemingly seems impossible to co-exist with. It’s either them or you and when you are knee deep in shit the stink is so strong that you can’t think of anything else. 

    There are various levels of escapism that exist, some more extreme than others. A majority of a society normalizes many of them. Liquor is consumed publicly on a daily basis while we transport our brains into a reality that doesn’t exist as we put on a pair of headphones, throw it in full blast, look out a window as the family and friends around us disappear. We all just want to run away. 

    It’s difficult to accept that fact. With societal norms constantly changing, the perception of our natural instinct of fight or flight has evolved. No longer are we running from ancient animals with necks that grow past the clouds. Now we run away from ourselves. 

    Escapism is in a boiled egg a lack of self-control. Be it masturbation, sex, lovers, drugs, smoking and or music. To sit in the silence of our thoughts is a forgotten art. To feel and hear an uncomfortable thought that weighs on you like a rusted anchor is emotional death if you let it sink to the very bottom of the ocean. Without the scuba divers of our vices and escapes to intercept it before long it will be out of our reach. We can only watch it slowly float down as every meter bends our soul and wretches our heart so tightly that we begin to lose control. Lose faith. 

    The deeper it goes the darker it gets. The darker it gets the bigger the creatures that lurk beneath are. The darkest mechanisms you have crafted for yourself to escape. 

    In my case I don’t speak of drug use. I have jousted with that dark horse and have come out victorious with a mutual understanding between the two of us. No, I speak about Gooning. It is with this addiction, this escape that I have created a funnel that whispers to all my fears and doubts that they are right. That when I am lost this sensual voice will whisper that I am a loser. That I am a failure. That I am addicted. That I should accept that all I am good for is masturbating. That I should obsess and masturbate every chance. To turn me into a hand fucking bimbo that is stupid and all my worth is how long I can masturbate for. It’s a dangerous game. To accept this voice, this cult-like community that supports your fear to face your life. That reinforces porn addiction, cuck activity. Transforming your solotion based thinking to hand fucking thinking. This is my addiction. ‘Goon fuel’ is simply you allowing your insecurity to run rampant. 

    I had returned to it recently for noble purposes.. Or so I believed. I had met a girl recently who was every bit of filth I have ever dreamed of. I was very careful and only proclaimed I would be with her for the right reasons, I was only beginning to heal from multiple relationships I had stacked upon each other and the combined effect was overwhelming for a time. To say the most in simple words, I was not ready to be intimate and return to my sexual energy. But men will be men just as women will be women, they will fuck, fuck, fuck when their bodies just align with each other. So we fucked, and we fucked, fucked. I did my best to be in the moment, I was never worried about fulfilling her rather than having us both experience each other’s bodies. I am in no rush to have us having amazing sex off the bat, that is just unrealistic. However, through certain circumstances we had to separate and since then there has been a hope to return to our union and sexual frustrations have come to light since we have been so far apart from each other. Now I forcefully push myself to begin masturbation with myself to feel myself as I was simply not into masturbation at this point for the first time in my life. Returning was like taking a sledgehammer and bashing my skull with it. I have relapsed in a way that has me gooing away. I want to go goon right now.

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  • The art of anguish

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    I write this from a place of pain. My chest sits heavy as I close my eyes and can only see the colour purple. My heart is played like a guitar, being plucked one note at a time. Creating echos within my mind that force certain questions to surface.

    The pain hummed me to sleep, close your eyes and forget the world. To be continued..

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