I talk about angels like I’ve met another one but the truth is that I’m not sure I ever have. If I have, I can be sure it was over the costume of a dragon, the angel unaware of its permission to be different than the rest of the world in such a fundamental way. The permission to deny needing things human nature itself dictates we need. The permission to deny things as intrinsic as the need for love.
But angels are clanless, obsessive, unapologetic machines dauntless of being humiliated and thirsty for something new. Something more. Something you will never be able to give them. I look for that behind the eyes of the people I meet and sometimes I think I see it. But with the rules of a dragon's world in place, how can I know for sure?
Built perfectly for the destruction of all preconceived notions, Angels are the denial of thousands of years of conditioning. I can’t tell if that makes me evolved or dangerously primitive. Time will tell.
The Beat And The Pulse
In a dragon's world of logical response and the trade of emotional currency, sex is the only place we feel understood. Every of an angel’s motivations are sexual in nature, from teaching their dragon children how pain and pleasure will impact their psychology, to wishing they could fuck people to understand them better. An angel sees sex in everything, considering it the choreography of the universe; all interaction in a palpable undercurrent of the action and reaction of all things, animate or inanimate.
Like with everything else, sex is something I’ve pushed beyond the bounds of its known parameters of use or enjoyment, to some layer of space uncharted. Angels fuck until it’s not even fun anymore. Until it’s not even sex, it’s something else. A way to get deeper inside someone else’s mind or their own. To find secrets by performing dangerous psychological experiments. Sometimes it’s just the hottest and smallest place to hide, a kind of meditation in the blind and chaotic act itself being how an angel prays.
Every song on this mix is about sex. Every profile of the aspects of my personality to the most precise points I could possibly sharpen, all the intellectualized examples of the way my species’ mind works come down to one inescapable fact: All we ever think about is sex.
Innocence Is Kinky
In all the time an angel spends alone, what they do with that time is fixate. Whether they organize or fantasize, this aspect of the angelic nature is the result of a brain that doesn’t get bored. A brain that can entertain itself, sustain itself on what secret worlds they come upon inside themselves by performing menial tasks to aid concentration or meditation. Always looking for the right set of internal and external stimuli to suck them into brand new emotions and fresh head spaces, obsession becomes a drug of completely unknown effects.
What do you think playing Tetris for sixty hours will do to me?
The game starts to remind me of a dream I had about a horse living inside my school. That, with the faint smell of lilac from the open window and the way the light closes in on my bedroom and makes my vision tight and blackening around the Gameboy screen. I find myself curled up in a dark utility closet I don’t know, spilled potting soil gritty under my shoes. Where am I, and what does it mean?
What if I muted a porn on repeat under a constant loop of the last message my boyfriend left on my answer machine for sixty hours? What would that do to me?
His voice sly and sweet and quick over the open mouth of a blonde girl on her knees starts to teach me something about him. I find myself needing to know what lives inside a boy that wants to cum on a girl’s face. Specifically cum, specifically a girl, specifically the face.
A spiral begins in their playground of choice, their Sanctuary, and is as endless as it is terrifying; a wandering chasm of constant inspiration and gestation a true angel won’t ever really care to escape.
In My Room
There’s something an angel does to a space that makes it a hole in the world in which to disappear. A place it won’t matter if no one ever finds you. The sanctuary smells like cigarette ash and is softly lit by a single shitty lamp, its shade yellowing and cracked with age and a strand of multi-colored Christmas lights. The smallness is made smaller by the amount of dirty bedding making nests of every corner. A defective television is enshrined by the evidence of our obsessions; empty bottles and food wrappers, the soiled clothing of our lovers, caches of tattering books and magazines, all between walls papered with crinkled art prints and phone numbers on corners of notebook paper.
Rooms devolve into this state by hours of the most independent of spirits doing their obsessing and traveling in their imaginations. A million secret worlds are the playgrounds people keep inside themselves, and the sanctuary is where these are discovered and explored, starting in childhood, over nursery floors that become a vast landscape where all the toys live. An angel realizes all the world is a prison, and one’s mind is the key to anything they desire. In the sunless caves of obsession is grown magic, possibility, endeavor, and fascination that all perpetuate themselves and leave no need for companionship nor teacher nor governor.
It Takes A Muscle To Fall In Love
Enduring anything means being able to live with it, no matter what it’s done to your life. It means not letting it deform you, even partially or impermanent. It means going above the acceptance that everything is shit and making that shit smell sweet to you. Sweet enough to eat and not get sick from. It takes more than looking on the bright side of things, it takes living in a perpetual state of making every side the bright side.
An angel is never a victim because they understand how it was their actions and how they dealt with the actions of others which awarded them their position in life, no matter how awful. There is no such thing as control over another person, only ultimate control over oneself. Whatever you desire is yours, if you can get it for yourself, inside or out.
They know without a shadow of a doubt that they must’ve wanted it this way, however subconsciously, or they would’ve figured a way for it to be different. If an angel ends up starving on the street, they’re the ones who know it was their own fault, and they can re-trace every action leading them there to just the right point that shows them where they understand the outcome, however horrific, was what they truly desired anyway.
Time Will Tell
Humans are born hard-wired with automatic responses to stimuli, many of which keep us from being truly at peace. There are great reasons for that, but none of them apply to angels. At least not unless they want them to. Through a process of reconciliations, things like regret and worry pour from all angels like piss from the tiny, stone cock of a fountain cherub.
It’s difficult to care what awful circumstance has gone before, or what possible terror awaits us, without a sense of entitlement or ego. We do plenty of dwelling, but not on the things which might cause a dragon to complain. We get afraid for the future like anyone, but it doesn’t occupy our thoughts. I’m always where I need to be. I can know whatever it is I need to know. I trust the sun will come up tomorrow as easily as I know it won’t. I’m grateful, I’m amazed, and I’m ready. I could starve to death, but wouldn’t that just be something else to fall in love with?
Everything makes sense. Everything. And the only pressure on me is from within, a pressure I can alleviate at any moment if I want.
“If I want,” may as well be the angelic motto. Whatever I want, I can have. Whatever I have, I can want.
Well, I want a sense of passion for all experience and inner peace, please.
Left You At The Farm
How an angel communicates is the most stunning work of subconscious evasion you’ll ever witness. When played back on a recording, they say the voice you’re least likely to recognize is your own. When you talk to an angel, you’re talking to yourself, and unless you’re paying incredibly close attention, you’d never realize it.
Mirroring is an angelic action accomplished by way of linguistic reflection. It doesn’t matter who began the conversation, sooner or later, the subject is one you chose and the angel behaves just interested enough your own interest increases, just open enough you begin to open, and insightful enough you feel understood. When you feel understood, you think you’re connecting with the angel on an emotional level.
And when you think you’re connecting, it’s easy to think you’re getting to know the angel. But you’re not.
With this exchange set up the way it is, what a person is left with is a lot of blanks they fill in with their own ideas. Because the angel was supportive and inquisitive, one might think they’re agreeable. If you fish for a compliment from an angel, you’ll catch one. If agreeing with the wrong things, one might think the angel is malicious. Fish for something else, something darker or self-harming, chances are, you’ll catch that too. Suddenly, your opinion of the angel is whatever your opinion is of the world at large, and you have no idea who that angel really is at all.
It’s never mattered to anyone but with Evelyn, when I’ve explained this about myself. The truth is that most people can’t comprehend how it works. Not only that, it really pisses dragons off to have to admit they don’t even know someone they thought they loved. Furthermore, they don’t really know what to do with this information.
Mirroring is a side effect of being egoless and aids in the acquisition of someone’s secrets, some of the things we obsess over most frequently.
Take Me To The Hospital
An angel is the most socially dangerous thing in existence for its ability to heal from emotional wounds quicker than lightning and avoid them altogether more often than they’d ever need to heal from them. What this regeneration of self leaves a person with is a feeling like you don’t have anything to lose. Never feeling like anything can touch you deeply enough to change you at all is a slippery slope to the willful confrontation of that which no one really wants to deal with.
Angels are brilliant in arguments, rarely losing; their intricate footwork alone making them nearly impossible to prove wrong, even if they are wrong. Their persistence and tendency to circumvent their opponent’s hopeful endgame make them infuriatingly thorough and controlling. Controlling in the eyes of dragons, as the angel doesn’t actually believe in control.
To a creature that doesn’t regret anything for more than a few minutes and isn’t concerned with how the rest of the world feels about them, dealing with the most painful truths of being human is a really fun game. A game that, if played correctly, lands them in the emotional emergency room. Because surely I can push someone to admit only so much shit they never wanted to, catch someone in only so many lies before they get angry enough to do it back. Right? Fuck, I hope so.
Through the kinds of confrontations it takes to do this, finding out you’re an asshole because your parents didn’t love you or that nothing comes out of your mouth isn’t a manipulation of some kind is tiresome, degrading, and above all, damaging. The injuries sustained are deep, messy, and appear to be fatal. Unless you’re an angel and then, of course, you just want to do it again.
Everything Is Embarrassing
An angelic action is one that is taken without expectation or even consideration of a specific reaction.
Angelic: I wrote him a love letter because I wanted to tell him how I feel.
Dragonian: I wrote him a love letter because I want him to know how I feel.
Angelic: I wrote him a love letter because the pen felt good to the page.
Dragonian: I wrote him a love letter because I want him to pay attention to how I feel...
When it doesn’t matter to you that the boy you love doesn’t love you back, that those mean girls all say terrible things about you, your primary attitude is a dignified one. I don’t feel hate for ignorance or indifference because I’m not owed the opposite. I have not been robbed in some way. I respect the different worlds people live in, built by their specific perceptions, but remain disengaged from any attempts to place the responsibilities of those perceptions on myself. It is never going to be my fault anyone feels how they feel any more than it will ever be anyone else’s fault how I feel.
True dignity is achieved when one loses it completely and deliberately. The admission that things like honor or respect should be gained by self-possession. It means performing the vulnerable exposition of what society has told me I should be ashamed because rejection belongs to the rejector, not the rejected as love belongs to the lover.
Dignity is confidence against a collective idea one shouldn’t possess said confidence, taking something seriously most people mock, and neverminding the reactions of others when measuring your own worth.
A typical way an angel is perceived is guarded, playing their hand close to the vest. This couldn’t be further from the truth. Just because you can’t see what an angel feels doesn’t mean they’re not expressing it and furthermore, if you ask them, they’d tell you anything you wanted to know. But that’s because as an angel, you learn quickly that you must pretend to be a dragon or cease to exist. I usually choose the latter, as there are a lot more interesting things to me than existence.
I learned I was an angel when I found out everyone I knew thought I was someone completely different from who I really am. They thought that because I went through life watching the way other people portray their emotions and all I could do was mimic those. So, there’s a clown at my birthday and everyone laughs. What if I don’t think he’s funny? So, some girl says I’m fat. I can tell it’s supposed to hurt me. What if it doesn’t? Thankfully, I got really sick of being told what to feel and understood it was actually up to me.
I started to think about how many angels there might be out there, all playing the dragon's game in this dragon's world. The isolation that comes from abiding by the social parameters of a social culture that consist of restrictive politics makes the angel with the deep thoughts and experimental attitude hugely outcast. Everyone is taught to behave a certain way as to not make others uncomfortable. So we do that, and as time passes, our truest and most important selves get marooned on barren islands, all our questions, and desires to starve without the willingness of another person to go somewhere uncharted with them.
People don’t talk to each other. Not how they could. And because I knew there was something more to be seen behind the eyes of everyone pretending what you see is what you get, I learned I couldn’t give a fuck about all the rules of engagement based on a communal understanding, Not if I wanted to truly get inside someone and let them inside me. Angels integrate intellectual debate into emotional situations to bring to the forefront of an interaction all the things going unsaid, all the magic we feel but never express, to find meaning or to push an experience to its ultimate level, always.
Many people have proposed to me that I might be a defensive, unfeeling, manipulative, controlling, and sadistic monster. They only see what they can see. I know who I am, and I have every explanation for my actions… if someone were to ask. But trust me, they won’t ask. Thankfully, what comes with being the thing I am, that no one can see from the outside, is that I believe what someone thinks of me is their own responsibility. Gain all the information or your opinion means nothing. And no one has the time or energy to actually do that, so I don’t waste mine crying about it.
Instead, I am the change I wish to see in the world because what I love best about a dragon's world is that it can be influenced to become whatever we all want it to be. I want it to be a place where people show each other who they are, thoroughly, uncomfortably, truthfully, and a place where those same people look at the person in front of them. Directly, awkwardly, with interest, and without sarcasm.