this is the land of god
not some feel good new testament turn the other cheek god
this is a genesis god
a jealous, angry destroying and creating god
a god that tears open the sky and with his hands drowns his children in apathy

here the earth shakes
and the ocean breeze is just foreshadowing
of the big wave
here, was made in god's image
an impressionist interpretation
and we are brush strokes crassly made
in the frustration of self expression
an image never finished, imperfect and static

here is where our world ends
just off the coast
we see judgment in the sunset
blood and fire
pussy pink and balls blue
temptation from above
because he is a jealous and angry god
it is an anger only the artist feels
accompanied by the self reproach of self expression
we are the wrong colors
put together in his image.

i fell asleep for two years
i dreamt i met a valkyrie
we conquered the world
and bled all the while
after every fight
i licked
honey sweet
from her dripping wounds

sun rise over a fallen tree

then i woke up
and she stood over me
without wings

sun down into the sea

she took my hand
pulled me up
reached in deep
and cut me apart
from inside she ripped hard
clutching my pain
and paved a path
then said "walk"

moon like a hole in heaven

still, i walk beside her
across my paved pain
i thank her for her trouble
and i lay myself across the puddles

the morning comes in waves

someday i will die
on this path of suffering
and she will take me away
with the wings of a valkyrie

Abel once was glorified
by old lore
and now is the one blowing leaves off the porch
as Cain sits inside
so comfortable

I hate to say
that as i see my hands typing i see the mark of Cain.
White,
clean hands once covered in the blood
of Gods chosen child.

we killed them all out of jealousy
we just called it manifest destiny
and the closer you look,
you'll see
Abel deserves an apology

i certainly wouldn't accept it
and i would certainly want revenge
only showing how certain it is,
it was we, who killed them.

maybe i'm not being explicit enough
and this probably needs further explaining
but just for myself
i'm apologizing.

This is actually written by Emory and his girlfriend Hilda MacKinnon.  X indicates passages Hilda wrote, Y indicates passages Emory wrote.

(y)

choose say carefully choose...
defer
ance... an idiot following a tether ball:
"just wait you fucking moron it will come around again you don't have to wait long for it to collide with your head and when it does you may just know more than you did in ignorance".

I have this problem. all my english teachers told me
this is a mixed metaphor:
She and He was God with horns like an ox and they slithered faster than the chariots of heaven. They was innocence crutched with despair.
What metaphor?
the trees start to ignite this time of year, and soon they will be ablaze. embers falling to the flames that we so naively plunged into as children.

pay it forward bitch.
pay it left bitch

there's a drunkasshole upstairs. I will never try to talk to him. he has a confederate flag on his wall. he yells afroman lyrics and wears cowboy boots. I will never talk to him because of this. i'm quite convinced he's an idiot and probably an irredeemable human. but who's to say anyone will ever be redeemable.

pay it now bitch

(x)

somewhere there is billie holiday
she is singing for me
smokey

somewhere in this room
is what i come to call
my life
my daily existence’if i’

shuffling
papers and buds and dirt
and metals stuck under my fingers
but all

just powder
powder.

Charcoal powder and the powder in the space
Between our kisses
do our lips touch lover?
could they?

but, dear, you are the one
looking for some
resemblance

we are the they
with horns like an ox and slithering and shouting
and heaving sobbing
and you find no answers, do you?

just another picture
i’ve drawn
of your face

but we don’t smile much lately do we
just glare at the ceiling while the man with cowboy boots we will never talk to stamps upon our heavens the
offwhite puckered sky
above our bed

with horns like ox
we never touchyou have not gotten an answeri cannot draw

(y)

we transformed
from us to they
love replaces self and we/they/us, our
love becomes us.
I guess my point:
our lips are always touching. our love is we and it is I and in I us.

I find answers everyday in our push and pull trying to stay me and you in the midst of becoming we/they/us our
love will tear selves apart.
but what could self be
without another
for reaction
and without anther
I am all
and i would rather be limited in You
then drown in everything.

as i've said before they are God and as you pointed out we are they. love makes us we and the consequence
is our love is God. like everything i always thought they're cruel beautifully, generous grotesquely, and immorally
honest.

but it is always the truth.

(x)

iamalready
inside of

in your gut
as theyweus crawling god
with horns and hooves

time bending onward
and the heavens above don’t matter

you see i have this problemi
would like
to think that i die
every night
so if this selves
this and me were
to become they

as much
as part of me
as part of you

will kill me
and God
will be left only
you:notme
What metaphor?

(y)

you do die in your sleep my love
every night
your dreams kill you and me and make something grotesquely in between and i feel it.
they only show you what you wont see
im guilty also of dying in my sleep
when i say i killed you i mean it quite literally;
every time i fall asleep your elating empirical evidence is lost to me
and you might as well be dead.

as saddening as this may be there is (so obviously) it's equal opposite entity
i create you everyday, some days more slowly
than others, when i wake up from my deathsleep
and your absence
is so
unfamiliar immediately i must create you
(for me)
to fill the void next
to me
and slowly as i get up and see:
your clothes on the floor,
your bong next to the couch,
the cold coffee in the pot
piece by piece evidence
creates (you)
for me

and so how could i ever get bored of you
my continual creation(victim)
my continual creator(murder)
because we are
"what metaphor?"

(x)

-(creation)
once upon a time i said
let me sink with you
this sunk beingbecoming
something newvictim

-(creator)
once upon a time i said
and when the blood runs down your arm
i will be the one

paper thin bladeinhand
whispering i tried
to warn youmurder

-(accept the mysterious)
once upon a nowlove.now.
just build me a pyramid of rolling
papers eyeliner plaid
patches paisley tears
and we will build each other
in a love affair inside
this box of camel cigarettes
pressed close to skin inside
your pant leg

with bear paws and liquid
emerald eyes remake us
every morning from smoke
breath into false
sense of self
of separateness

although we are just a hole
in the contimuum
and worship androgynousgod
made of daily death and unending
love
full of paisley tear piling
into pyramids

i call for the abolition of Man
Man who crippled his mother with machines
andevermore
gaudy displays of (mis)knowledge. Man who masquerades as 'God' in the absence of any truth because Man needs progress. because Man needs destiny

but Man is nothing more than a monkey in a tailored suit [a cute lie] the naivety of Man!
to think we were ever more than a fancy beast. and i see the cute lie everyday, people plugged into the (adorable, cute, fucking nauseating) lie by the ears, and the eyes, i see the cords connecting them to their (wonderful, innocent, stomach turning)

I-lies

Man forgot what was imperative to remember, and now too late to recall
"And the Lord God formed man of the dust of the ground"
Man: nothing more then disillusioned piles of mud, piling mud in the image of 'God'
Man: nothing more then a dog behind the wheel of a car.
Man: nothing more then anyother word symbolic of a beast

and yet we remain
so fucking naive.

you do die in your sleep my love
every night
your dreams kill you and me and make something grotesquely in between and i feel it.
they only show you what you wont see
im guilty also of dying in my sleep
when i say i killed you i mean it quite literally;
every time i fall asleep your elating empirical evidence is lost to me
and you might as well be dead.

as saddening as this may be there is (so obviously) it's equal opposite entity
i create you everyday, some days more slowly
than others, when i wake up from my deathsleep
and your absence
is so
unfamiliar immediately i must create you
(for me)
to fill the void next
to me
and slowly as i get up and see:
your clothes on the floor,
your bong next to the couch,
the cold coffee in the pot
piece by piece evidence
creates (you)
for me

and so how could i ever get bored of you
my continual creation(victim)
my continual creator(murder)
because we are
"what metaphor?"

i'll devour the son and let time devolve to blood
i'll be wrenched in the machine and be grateful to its intricacies
its destruction becoming me

and it will come to pass
that faith is despair
the "sickness unto death"
only the holy share

let them all die and like a mother feeding a child we will spoon feed their bodies to the world. the world hungers now. hungers for the mud it lent shaping flesh and bone. we left Eden to know right and wrong but Eden will swallow them whole.

i wonder if the earth feels despair,
we come from her so full
go back to her so empty.
does she lament us in our ignorance
or does she find joy in our irreverence

choose say carefully choose...
defer
ance... an idiot following a tether ball:
"just wait you fucking moron it will come around again you don't have to wait long for it to collide with your head and when it does you may just know more than you did in ignorance".

I have this problem. all my english teachers told me
this is a mixed metaphor:
She and He was God with horns like an ox and they slithered faster than the chariots of heaven. They was innocence crutched with despair.
What metaphor?
the trees start to ignite this time of year, and soon they will be ablaze. embers falling to the flames that we so naively plunged into as children.

pay it forward bitch.
pay it left bitch

there's a drunkasshole upstairs. I will never try to talk to him. he has a confederate flag on his wall. he yells afroman lyrics and wears cowboy boots. I will never talk to him because of this. i'm quite convinced he's an idiot and probably an irredeemable human. but who's to say anyone will ever be redeemable.

pay it now bitch

my existence is strained
who i am?
this body
or some immaterial thing that sits inside
waiting? no, hiding
for the right time to slither out of this
flesh and bone
and move on to some unknown abyss

and is that i?
this hiding thing
a substance no one has felt or seen
no one has cuddled with
or conversed with
is the person i've been
just a shell for this
hiding thing

no, that can't be me
and my soul is not a scared child
this body is who i am
it is scars and pocks
but it knows (better then soul)
what it feels like
to let my fingers stroll down the silk
that spent the last year
shaping this body

now i feel this soul is not mine
nor is there any one
assigned to this body
but rather (on better days then this)
i feel the river
of heaven flowing through
these clumsy, stained and coarse fingers
letting me feel every soul
letting me feel
what it is to be
human

things happen
when you're alone and sober
that you might regret
or forget
but true friends
will remind you till the end
of mistakes
past charades
that only exist
because of witness
and alcohol
the greatest game
morning guessing
and redressing
of truths
torn wide open
so stitches are staples
trying to keep
a battleship floating
and cigarettes a
combustion engine
10,000 feet in the air
trying to get a turbine turning
the turbines blown
it's a nose dive now
straight down
to the ocean
and here is empathy and
compassion
cause we're all drownders
we sink together
cause we drink together
and we're forever
drowning