16 April 2017



They dare not for the similarities to the oppression, we are not you, the lies you do not learn of truths you will not learn, and they are not like you because you cannot be likened, and i am one this way in many ways where all paths are my direction, all directions in any way, you or I.

Never showing and the wicked walk, imagine my eyes closed and the hate of your words, if there is an enemy, then I have two enemies, the first and the second, and I am threatened by my mortality and thus you live endowed by threat, hated them I would die as pawns below you, I am one of your enemies and I am not what you despise, I am one of them, I am the ones you hate, I am all you hate, and you despise them? For they whom have made sacred life, yet you hate them for so? I am the false one, and you call them liars before you speak? They who would beg for your life before you open your eyes, yet your hate is ever heretofore?

I make thoughts that offend you less and trigger more action from your charlatanism, your bureaucracy, your weakness on the masses, you muted teachers and student slaves and critics of absence taken by the spirit of apathy, fie wretches slumber thee. I am not the way and I would not follow you to a line to pick a line that parts me from oblivion.

There will be things too yet I am to be not, principally amongst them, everything!

To infinitely split a journey between that which is motionless and that which cannot be moved!

A human, or as much as a grain, is the heir to infinity, each and all at any cost, things are made in the images of other things as much as the human mind can infinitesimally design, imagine, in as much that the divine energy and the final point of the complexity and totality of entirety can reveal to the damned mindful, blind or not, that the bigotry of some 'leftist' or 'rightist' against the other is fucking only in their minds and damnedest amongst us in your minds, like a wave of waterfalls of diamonds with no source.

These kindred mine, begging to be taken for your sins, how petty must they be for you to accidentally tell the truth by which is wit for the wicked, could I even beg these echoes of darkness in these shadows of time where weakness is the law and emotion is justice, I am a slave to this discovery, inasmuch waiting to see how hastily hath countenance, by it, or at all.

Even against them there is no need to go against the evil, but to become it, chasing dragons and moons and the sunset, fantasies like mirrors, the raindrops fill the veins of plants as the wind takes my heart. Responsibility is not something given, to demand it is absence as is the expanse of space demanding there be life, as all agree so too I am part of this truth, as does work to make sacrifice in others cheapen duty also is theft not the purpose of true work.

Somewhere a carpenter and a walrus are having the same discussion.

30 March 2017

Syndrome of the Arts

Were you reading ahead? 

Nono, you're not supposed to do that. I then told this later me what to do. I've only ever told myself what to do. It's bad business to know memories from the future, even if you know a thought doesn't mean you should always think it. 

If I were to tell you to be, and you've been, you can't make the past any different even if it were unanimous, because the past stays where it is. Even when the past change it was only by what came next, giving life to the future with action in the present. Knowing the memories of others is less common because memories when stored come from a literal future and a figurative past in that it is that most common action to grow our memories. I can't ask others because I already know and those sessions are prohibited to those without centuries to spare. I can only assume at the cost of trading memories for ghosts. Rain hits the ground, the water, the earth, components of sound, there are no components to memory. If it is not known then it never happened, rewriting the past causes violent storms and thunder, and the humans are just as bad. I never knew those who helped steal the memories that will now be. 

Many of them are the few. 

07 March 2017

Coliseum Hippocratica

It's easy to say you can have all the boxes in the warehouse when there are no boxes in the warehouse.

I gave all the boxes to people who needed them, and I'll buy new boxes with the money from the people who don't need boxes, but right now everyone needs boxes, so this isn't going to work. Historically, this has never worked, the word never, ever, so let's try something else.

I put a doctor in every box and everyone gets a box with a doctor in it. Instead of having medical savings accounts, and until we do, I'm going to give away boxes to the people that need them, but the boxes will be cost effective, insomuch, small package boxes and the doctors that ascribe to fitting in tiny boxes will have to learn to fit into those boxes and not charge extra.

The doctors cannot ask for extra boxes, albeit we don't know where the boxes originate yet, they are in high demand, because where there are medical boxes there are doctors that will want to help you with your government box.

I can't believe it, two thousand years on my calendar, and i have the smallest calendar in the calendar box, and this was waiting for me to open it. We were having a lot of fun.

There will be no murder boxes, i would like to let you worry about your box, and i promise to think about your box as much as possible, I'm definitely not going to pay for your murder box.

We're still in charge of the magic portal boxes. There are different boxes for different tasks. If you cannot afford a box, one will be provided for you. Portal reference. Continue testing.

If you should buy your own boxes that would be good, and as an added incentive, if your box has a doctor in it, we'll pay you back. This is known as warehouse insurance, which dutifully prevents unconscious objection to productivity. When I reimburse you for buying the doctor box, i will buy the doctor back, but I won't be paying the doctor for things he didn't do, and shan't be paying the tiny doctor more than he's worth. (more on productivity some other time)

You can buy box insurance, but that will only be for the promise of a box and not an actual box with a doctor inside of it, and if you stop buying the box insurance it isn't a savings accounts, so overall seems like a bad idea to me.

If you live in one place, and you want to buy an insurance box from another place, that must be allowed, invisible commerce lines are stupid.

I will not be making you buy a box, box insurance, gov't insurance, or anything else. It's supposed to be about free will and evolution. The money saved on perpetual cost curves, and initial costs, can be redirected toward savings accounts via state coffers, and by that i mean a medical savings account program, and this plan maintains functionality by society's general preference to be alive.

People want to have the best boxes, but sometimes they need my boxes, others want to buy their own boxes, it would be stupid not to let them because it is less appealing and the natural precursor to medical savings accounts - both of them will be better than an imaginary box with an imaginary price.

A small portion of those accounts could have a stock-market value, or they couldn't, i don't really know more than i wouldn't bet the whole warehouse. I wasn't thinking about school boxes, but I'm willing to answer any questions.

Legal Disclaimer: Communist countries don't prevent capitalists from buying plain boxes, but some of those countries legislatively reserve the ability to prevent (true/private) [#discuss] ownership of plain boxes. Check with your local authorities to obey local laws, and if you can't buy a box get new authorities.

...and that's how you make healthcare affordable...


14 February 2017

Merlin 3:61 Love in a Burning Building

M 361: Love in a Burning Building

Lilith: Having fun, Merlin?
M: We never really get to enjoy burning cities too often!
L: I’m sorry, I was too busy talking to trees!
M: If I wasn’t wasting time succor to the demons!
L: I can’t hear you, I’ve been waxing poetic, bloody stupid namesake cambion!
M: If you weren’t so imprudent, you’d know the difference between rack-rent cajolery and portents of fate!!
L: You would, too!!

His hands and arms bloody she flies across the ground at him and shoves him thru a fiery wall into a scorching building. Wrestling in a pile of embers, they see amicable smiles on each other’s faces and begin to free themselves, she bites his wound and wipes the wound from his skin, the bloodstains on his arms become ashes in radiance of his tattoos now wrapped around her waist, a black tongue licking the blood from her fingers he is healed, the fire heats to slow rises and waves of sunset, her hair glows red and gold as her shadow hides him from incineration with diamond eyes.

Other buildings stand strong, raging hearts calm, a quiet soul excites, and many warriors check their wounds.
Agnar, giant, checks his bruises as a rare case for him to have any, as Jonak, hexer, wraps his own hand. Braden and Katina, shockers, take a seat and wait for Merlin.

Kat: Odd they socialize like that way. Why is that?
Brad: I don’t know; I think it’s exciting.

Kat punches him in the arm. There is dialogue and exposition among minions.
Nick, deathless, runs into the scene faster than his feet, the gravel rolls beneath his shoe tips as he turns corner, to save Merlin from the burning building, assumption of danger, but Belladonna, plaguer, stops him.

B: You can’t.
N: I’ll stop her and save him!
B: Everything is fine.
N: Nothing is fine! Move!

Belladonna doesn’t move and Nick collides with her to ground, enough that she poisons him in her defense, but her newly strengthened and uncontrolled powers poison him severely, as he falls she attempts to reverse his new death and cannot, his veins blackening roots, hardened tearing thru him as he struggles.

Belladonna: Somebody help him!
Agnar/Braden/Katina/Jonak: He’ll live.

Nick resumes from essence, taking energy from the fires Merlin and Lilith nestle with themselves and smile overly happy, she rises as Nick sneaks thru the rubble, already known by her she hears a first footstep and a second foot twist on the ground, but before Merlin and Nick can communicate, the burning building collapses on the three.

Lobo: He doesn’t know?
Braden: He doesn’t know.

Nick exits in trauma come rage as he crawls from rubble and ember, coughing thru the smoke from his clothes, egregious scars of burning heart and emotion, now in livid accost ire precious little restraint, standing before Lilith wrapping sooty cords around burnt linens, as does Merlin in standing beside her. He realizes they are not enemies, nor the salvation affordable only to Ana, immolator, captured by Sino.
Nick runs again, this time stealing a sword and cutting a horse from wagon to pursue, shouting back at the crew hauling the blade.

N: He has Ana – I run him down – with or without you!

The wolf-men run toward the end of the city, howls gather beasts in entourage into the sea hills to the sound of tears of those who’ve survived, the hooves of horses of Braden’s impromptu cavalry, and flames that toss like ship sails as Lilith escapes Merlin thru a wall of fire into another dimension of black fire and winds of darkness.


07 February 2017


If Cronus permits, I'm donating O+ when this entry goes live. Speaking of which, did you know you can save more lives donating blood to RedCross than repeating #FakeNews you've heard on the tv/web? Click to learn more. and follow @RedCross

I'm not going to generally be worried about this next part, you can quote me, i feel safe saying what I do.

The spectator patriotism of raunchy dissent from liberals over the rule of law that approaches their fair-whether sense of smell, considering the last eight morose years, is absolutely delightful. Uninterrupted sentences giving me liberty to not be interrupted is a bliss, i rarely get to argue that the problem is endemic of the Tourette's, and not the other way around. I forget what I was saying, moreover, it sparks the manipulative side of me, as it does the motivating row in political diatribe, like an outright tantrum when it's just a game.

I'm in a reading mood, perhaps I'll start with the pale classics and work my way clockwise.

Too much acid burdens the skin, weakens the body's cells inside and out to cancer, and we must be clean. So we drink the proper ph water and eat the proper foods, in too much meat we could scour the brain, but what if it were not enough vegetation, all that growth needs. It would take years for me to taper-off into eating only old growth, the remnants aiding life. What I feel is mine, my opinions, you cannot have them, I am not a sign on your journey, there is no perfect score to an incomplete test written by assuredly an imperfect person. If they cannot harvest, and knows not why, then might must be an option.

That must be it, the masses don't contribute to creating the remedial tests they take, whereas life is a test, they contribute as much.

I hope this finds you well, like taxes or stupid opinions, it's a tea whistle added to a crashing spaceship. There was this talk of fascism, not being sarcastic, I just don't think you ever adjusted out of the irony equation of a larger function. Fascism is more akin to corporatism and union prevention, nobody came to take your right of assembly, nobody came (hold on, didn't mean to make this so adult) and enforced a welfare-state that legitimized generational theft on a governmental level and with precision at an educational level. I'm getting ahead of myself, the healthcare companies wrote the healthcare laws, the lenders wrote the lending laws, the taxers wrote the tax laws, and it doesn't apply to them, that's literally fascism. You could get a stolen café espresso on your way out of Mussolini's house.

I'm not really giving anything away, i have the psychic version memorized and the physical version hasn't been written.

You can't hold your breath forever, you can't speak forever, breathing out is breathing in, and vice versa, this is equanimity. Active breathing proves much and learns little, stress brings deeper breaths, you can't be surprised at how others breathe unless you weren't paying attention. This starts to border on the tantra. but if you can't breathe i'd breath for you.

"Change - and everything is change; Nothing can be held on to - to the degree that you go with a stream, you see, you are still, you are flowing with it, but to the degree you resist the stream, then you notice that the current is rushing past you and fighting you. So swim with it, go with it, and you’re there. You’re at rest." ~ Alan Watts 

02 February 2017

Curses / Maldition

I must've been tired so I wake before the three alarms set to make sure I do anyway. Sleeping too warm without sweating, I need water, my head is dry from ear to ear, I turn a slow tide into movements into taking a drink of a mixture to drink before a workout next to the bed, my blood warms and get hungry before I can cool, feeling starved I rock myself out of bed and walk to the hall, the main room, the kitchen. I'm staring at the fridge again, the light actually, wondering if I should be lost in fridgelandia with headphones and music to help me choose, not a good idea to have breakfast carbs, too much effort to make bacon so soon before having to wake up, a whey powder mixer would be in order, something filling to take a nap. It hits my stomach like straw in a furnace, two and a half hours is almost like three i convince myself and I close the cold door.

Only a streak of night sky enters the room, it is too late for me to stop it, if I had only been rested I could prevent this. A man is standing next to me in my kitchen, I blink and get attacked before I can open my eyelids in less than a second, the fear is enough to make me faint tears into every part of me.

I wake in my own blood, it's everywhere, and I'm late for work. I put down anything red over it, wiping counters, hoping to call it laundry day if anyone were to notice. I put on my 'I'm late' sports clothes and run to the subway. Seven long stops away and the entire trip I can't stop looking at other passengers by the reflection of the windows. Flipping thru the songs on my phonecard I realize that my headphones are broken so i throw them away, distracted with another reflection I miss my trainstop, so i run to the street to angrily spend good money on a cab. Distracted again my phone vibrates but there's no ringtone, I must've turned it down checking the headphones...nope, audio broken, I'll have to get a new phone, it's my friend at work calling.

I've been scratching at the glass and the cab driver is hollering at me for the fare, he pounds on the plastic wall and I pay him with my hard earned cash, I should spend it on something else, "i grew up in a town with a butcher" I tell the fat cabbie as I stop to notice the plethora of buttons and stickers in the middle eastern versions of classic redneck slogans. I bounce out of the seat, no tip, it's, my, money.

Suddenly I'm in board meeting on the top floor, standing around one of the longest tables I've ever seen, holding a clipboard ready to take notes, I look at my paper while most are trying not to look out the windows, I see the city, I see the first letters of each word followed by a drunken drifting cursive, and when my friend notices he gives one of those faces and I hold it to my chest. The CEO is giving a tirade about the tirade of another CEO at another company and on a good day I strive not to throw him thru the glass, I'm not really understanding the synergy message and nothing can stop me from scratching at the back of the clipboard.

I'm leaving the meeting and I don't know how things ended, there's my friend, he's smiling and agreeing with me somehow, my automated response must be appropriate, I'm getting pieces of a joke about bipartisan politics, I know how this one will go, I'll take the bait, I take the bait and nod, I begin saying the first word that comes to mind and in the first sound he's praising me, I feel like a dog that only gets his own 'name' and things like "bacon" or "outside" as he speedreads his own dialogue.

We waited for the small C-Suite elevator and now we're heading down ten floors to the plebeian interchange, before lowering to the role-playing fantasy that are the misty peon levels, where we'll swipe a card for great company coffee, one of the perks, it doesn't taste great and I don't know why, but my friend shares empathy with my facial expression, I wish someone would tell me why there are so few people, those people cluttered by the elevator door have the right idea.

We queue for the lower levels drop, my friend punches me in the should asking questions, harmless question that help him learn more about me, I answer and realize my hearing is out, water on the ear after a cold morning perhaps, damn, my headphones weren't broken, the elevator fills and fills too much, my friend and I have to wait for the next one. We wait, we enter, the doors close, I tear into my friend and in a struggle the guy I know works in the mail room, what was he thinking being here, this is my elevator, good old what's his name, there is blood everywhere. I'm sitting cross-legged on the floor of the elevator eating brains, I press the emergency stop button and a red light takes over the white halogen. The elevator music is back, one of those popular annoying songs that everyone sings when coworkers go out, recreated with a piano and sounds of bells, not as bad as them singing, my friend is delicious, I bet that guy is delicious.

It's time to stand up and brush myself off with gutsy hands that make more of a mess, I'm very calm, this is never happened before, never this calm and never an elevator bloodbath, i think i'm almost smiling, I've to abandon my entire life and run from the law because of that camera in the corner of the elevator, but i'm smiling, this is nice, i wonder how many cameras are in a building on average. I pry open the door, i'm kinda stronger now, i'm already hungry now, i know this feeling now so much i cannot forget it ever again, i peek around the doorwell, i lick my fingers then make a dash into the empty area, i steal a coat to cover myself and leap back out of the small office.

I can't remember the night before, i feel terrible not knowing, i'm in another cab tapping my fingers on the seat, bouncing my heel on the floor, at my building i'm so ready to leap from the window of the cab, no tip, it's his money, but i need the cash now more than he does, into my apartment, the mess is still there, this is damning evidence that adds to the cameras, i mail my important things in carboard to a PO box, i'm prepared for this sadly from online paranoia, wow i was really paranoid, i grab my three, count them three, split kits, my tech, i'm not even scarred, not knowing what happened is giving me more fear than anyone, i hear footsteps in the hall, i prepare for intruders, with none I leave, this life is over and i'm good with this, this is absurd, i just start walking to the worst part of the city that i can remember, i'm already starving again


01 February 2017

Las Guerras Tinieblas

Darkness and the flowing water, a current and cascade of noise so constant it seems forgotten, the sound of pressurized hydraulic machinery releases a burst of gas unlocking several large bolts one by one, air exits the doorway and an a shadowy figure enters thru it and approaches a much larger bolder shadow-outlined man. 

What news bring you that none will speak? 

Many breaking at point of force that met the translucent at the dawn.

Make sure they have to be their wisest forge and make them allied by the nearest animal regiment. 
Sure as so, but the nearest breach of they duty bound by westerly a two phase sight. 
How make for sign is the widow wall, can they be given one returned?
Sure as so, my shadow, but destined will and have for known at the transparencies numbered, fighting be, for a skirmish as the red waters of the balanced, the many heads on the shore. 
By an imbalance of their account this to it I'm sure. 
As so, and yet your kin, ....the
Soon defeated, to match my heart. 
The, soon defeated, by numbers merely missing and not by, the count is blind.
Then digging graves looking down fly the cemetery, or you will sow what they reap. 
These are not told by the other voice to tell you naught they are likely here. 
You could've led with that, what is wanted? 
Missing is the report, not made, not relayed. 
Bade make worry tales will hurry alacrity, if not for this darkness, accursed darkness. 
Forgivances, my shadow, lost at the borderlands by swimming beneath the grass. 
With the humans? 
Yes, with the humans, my shadow, soon as so, would that it were. 
Send half of the oldest wave at the demons in the sunset region, do by time what showing their tallest make to figure behind a closed tribe, closed mind you. 
Say what make I at our fangs, my shadow? 

Counted, ...and I will count them approached I. There will be a mirror by the voicing animal.

To voice?
To have voiced made so when they finish digging, I will bring them what I find to plant. Maybe then will they remember my promise. Then reflect with mine, we might see each other in this darkness by makings done. Go now, relay. Until there is light. 
Until there is light. 


30 January 2017

Dom spiro, spero


The eyes see all the colors in darkness, where there was this memory that it never happened, dreaming that I fell as I slept on a throne dreaming that I reached into the air, waking myself up. Taking the emotional response into sleep I dreamt of a place, where thoughts are all that have power, thoughts of thinking of thoughts, the mind as a mode of emotion, communicating with memories, or temporal futuristic beings if you prefer, where imagination defends itself and reality imposes belief as a means to confront our own desires, there are interpretations of infinity and representations of truth, and yet I found a surface, where there is a wall there is a way out, not a mental barrier of mortal ambition for I had brought that with me, but something more than the human condition or emotional barrier, by beginning and end not, those trivialities of consciousness, the surface i could not see was cold before contact, by my fingertips the knowledge of moisture and texture, sight and sound a real wall in my dream of dreams. 


I drink from the serum of life, I borrow from light to make sacrifice for time, of all things shadow of a soul, the echoes of pure darkness colliding with my skin, in the wake of creation I am an atom, and yet unable to define purpose like the first of a species to see its reflection, this place from beyond has become my memory itself, while I breathe I hope, as I speak I am cast from the eternity of salvation into the chaos of the omniverses, brittle are the divinities be they thieves of the atoms that bind us, the prison of time feeds the essence of my soul and i pass thru its walls strengthened by dying stars and endless light, to escape and know the demise of the enemy, incomparable of memory of dreams of memory, nothing is as it seems, nor is it otherwise.    



29 January 2017

Of Immortality & Ice

There are many tales of heroes come and gone, as poets let them live forever, building sagas from rumors a story lives a long time. An immortal man, living as if he had no time to spare was punished to be a statue for 1,000 years, and one day he escaped, as all immortals eventually do, to see a world memorized for the first time as what it had become. 

So he wandered with a dead language learning the world with only a few phrases taken from his captors and other prisoners, doing good for the world and making many mistakes, and in a quiet place learned of a wizard to end his eternal boredom freeing him from immortal duty. In this low place he met a witch of fire who giveth him light living forfeit to burn with his passion for her. 

In three years time she was with a child born in the first winter storm, their magic powers against the violent skies bore a child like the mother with the gift of fire, you may now this story from the people near her statue carved by the immortal man at the base of the black mountain Palidrias. They say for childbirth a mother's water "breaks," now I would have you imagine what fire would do instead. 

The immortal can recount many experiences more than there is time to hear just a few by so many that he knows, but for his family's safety he made it that only a precious few knew their life after the childbirth other than the gods and ghosts. 

Now, as trees sleep, being immortal and in that most dangerous magic of love the wife and child could live extended lives while supernaturally bonded to his soul, and they hid in the child's birthplace in the mountains titled by the unused name for the poisonous flowers that grow in the snowline. The fire magic allowed mother and daughter to burn away the toxins and the immortal would die and wake from time to time, learning that even having walked the world he lived in a place unknown to him. 

In three years neighbors were met, traditions of fire magic celebrated in old ways that humans and most cities wouldn't. Terribly, three years later the child became sick, with magic it was postponed and this new tale of loss to the immortal frightened even he who is usually without fear. The mother and her coven tried to burn the illness and the child's blood would not purify, and so they tied more of the immortal's essence to their auras. It almost killed him, not waking until the spell was diminished. 

Offering to sleep for the child's life he rested in a silo, to channel him his immortality required offerings of life that would wilt in his presence, and the child was not dying, but not healing, and in only days what things once wilted now quickly became ash. 

The mother became rage and fire as one and drew a circle on the ground and summoned that wizard that her immortal husband once sought, promised, and abandoned. The magician was thrown from the ground with a tear and a laugh and held accountable for all things in time, whose quick response was to offer her a diamond made of pure coldness and night sky to offer the immortal. 

For reasons of honesty, there is too much to understand in this story to explain both why and how a puddle in mud became a mirror, from it three men without mouths crawled from it without ripple, which then became muddy waters again, and the druid has better places to be right now. 

The immortal man grasped the cold-star and woke, fear-driven eyes he worried his awakening meant his child's demise he ran toward his home, the mother chased behind. 

The child was getting much worse, more as they ran, the child began burning in magical fire to heal and running outside to breathe, seeing the stone ran to them, taking the stone and collapsing. A silence consumed everything and they watched as flames died and child rose, black veins receding toward the neck until the eyes black. 

"Are you well, can you see?" they asked.
"I can see...I can breathe..," smiling first in weeks, "but I am, ...warm?" she asked, almost complaining. To relieved to worry they hugged their child.
The mother asked, "Can I see the stone?"

When the mother took the diamond it burn her deeply, matching her pain with her magic fire to heal the child, intending to make holy fire burned a shade of green, making the wound worse. 

The immortal moved the child away taking more damage to his clothes than any danger, asking the mother, "Are you healing?" 
"I am, not by that diadem shard," she replied, healing herself, holding his hand. 

They watched as the child quickly learned what still looked like familiar fire made mountain grass brittle and water eventually freeze. Putting the stone on the ground made the child sick again, troublesome veins and making bones to strains. Putting it to their decision that if the child was warm they would move up the mountain and left for a tethered ridge with a common breeze. 

It was only days before winter, in a few weeks they had to build a cabin where the treeline meets the stone of the world itself, and still the child would often sleep outside, such an altitude that even their resilience needed fire to cook and keep warm, but mostly for comfort. 

The stress caused hate, the most common of elements, to be uncovered and derided, and caused a contemplative tear from the child that quickly turned to snow and drifted into the wind. This mixture of magic and melancholy made a sound only deities of ice can hear, of wolves and spears in distant echoes.  The immortal opens the door to the rising storm of the summit skies and the child is gone, footsteps and heavy sleeted wind he chases his daughter austerely for the track's path could erase it. 

He followed the tracks until they vanished, in the growing storm the mother also went looking for the child, running until escaping the snow into a clearing of blue sky and sunlight. He is snow-laden and damp, his child sat on the ground to the side and one hand, smiling at the immortal man. 

"Fair greetings, my father, you are very snowy," the child said.
"Out of breath, ...out of my mind, ...who in all the hells, ....are you, ...?" he gasped.

There stood a woman, dressed as priestess throwing the seeds of the poisonous flower on the ground as would a farmer on a spring morning.
"Your child has something that doesn't belong here," she said. 
He replies, "And again, who are you so I can decide to run with my child."
"I am Skade, this is my storm, every stnowflake is mine, and there is a bear in your house."
The immortal kneels, "I know your name, in your audience I ask you heal my daughter for the diamond."
Discontentedly, "It is not a stone, it is an eye, and there is no cost, one cannot keep things from me."
"Then please, my child is sick, my 'little torch' is sick, unable to fight the poison flowers like the wizards and witches, heal this child or tell me what it is that I can fight with my aching heart!"
"Witches of fire suffered a plague when their home-world split during Ragnarok, they called it "the night root," and unable to get a cure from another realm they nearly died. Your child is descendant of them, altho it is rare the risk is more so from being surrounded by the green poisonous flower."
"I am well aware of the worlds having been, but i cannot guess who has the cure, that stone is the only thing keeping 'the child' alive"
"'Cure?' You will sadden at the pain, and you will hate the reason."
"I am ready for everything when by living I am not alone, one way or another."
"Taking the stone, the child will not enjoy, curing the child, you will not enjoy."

Skade walked to the child and raised her hand to the immortal, freezing him in his footsteps almost unable to move. The trees stood still watching snowflakes hover, she knelt over the child and tore it from tiny hands. The more the poison turned the child's veins against them, the more the child screamed. The immortal can move slowly, but Skade notices him as he almost cut her throat. 

"An immortal? in this forest? we will freeze your time more so for your patience," she said. 

She slowed the immortal to a total stop, the toxin moved faster thru the child, and Skade began pulling out the black veins faster to compensate, pulling at threads like fates. A very black blood was everywhere and the child didn't move when Skade finished. 

Skade stood and release the immortal man from frozen time, the wind blew, the storm circled and he knelt at his child. 

"What have you done!?" he asked.
"Your hearts may beat as one again, " she said, but then her voice became many voices with the powers of time and space, "Stand, give yourself selflessly, and the child will live!"
"I surrender to the cosmic balance."
"Sleep," she said as she touched him on his face. 

He fell directly to the rugged and jagged ground, into he bloodpool with the child. The mother, burning dark colors to survive the storm in squall surrounding the the other two, enters the utopia without cloud or shadow. Seeing the mother's face Skade collapses that utopia, the storm retakes the entire summit in earnest. The sky diamond is gone, the witch's fire is all that protects them. 

28 January 2017

Virtue Signal I

The pathological liars are everywhere, in for all, I write arguably badly fiction, and some of you I think were told not to lie and took it as a challenge and, after a thousand times, it became instinctual/pathological lying, which you should do as an adult, and some of you have jobs to tell the truth to millions and critically shouldn't do it, sleeping was invented for the very reason of not being able to stop lying. Basically, if you can't stop lying, dream awake or fall asleep.

Because I didn't realize this challenge by heathen protestant intradimensional idealist insomniacs was in effect, I'll start posting something, imperfect work and projects, i won't dip into the blogger drafts folder, but there will be stuff. I subscribe to my own blog by email, because I can, and know posts can bind in delivery, so tomorrow I'll wake and do an image interpretation for that fresh britches feeling, you will be fine having been warned, thus lo it shall be to those who'll hate it, yes, there are those among you it will not scratch their surface, this light is of their burning machinations reflecting off-of me at their immense power to hold power over stars and consume raw matters as the universe expands at a constant rate, while some of you are made of stardust and we assume your atoms will drift into the nearest orbited star from whatever planet you died.

That's settled, now let's waste the rest of this entry by settling a few questions.

A resistance fights a transition, to the new order your opposition is more like a rebellion or sternly-worded dissent.

Altho time waits for no one, it does wait for people to stop arguing, if it be about science, on the scale of things, we're not any farther until we go farther, stop complaining.

If you're reading this, your life isn't hard as it could be. Remember that.

A pro-life socialist wants programs for babies, a prochoice antisocialist doesn't want money for babies, and women don't always look at this that way.

Despite what they told you, you can put "Anti" on any word you want, even if people have never heard of it before. For example, I'm anticlimactic.

We are a species, however quaint on this suburb of a planet somewhat in the galactic sense and largely in the universal sense, there is no reason to starve anyone. Don't be shitty.

I almost forgot, if you couldn't do something in 8 years, collectively, unanimously, famously and willingly, let the people along the way you've hurt fix what you've broken.

Cake is a breakfast food, cereal is a lunch, and bacon is clearly a desert.

The first day of the week is Monday, day month year, water is wet, we tried to warn you, I'm sorry.

Hasta mañana

23 January 2017


The things that exist are drawn within the lines of reality, that which is everything else is drawn with perception, to imagine a future, to remember it in ways others cannot, the undiscovered truths of facts realized only by greater beings, and then there are the rest of you.

I hadn't really thought that this was a necessary post, condescending and pointless, they wander drawing lines in the air for others to see, and as much as i envy those tracing the celestial boundaries only to color them with dreams there can only be my objectification of those that draw these lines for others, how they put so many into layers of those above and those below, never knowing how low they themselves wallow in moral turpitude.

How very kind of you to lead those who can see, faithful to a promise you only made to yourselves, to not have need of allies in your quest to blame the world, a sovereign depression, a contagious angst, never a retaliation toward ... I'm getting ahead of myself, we know you didn't want to actually fix anything.

Well hello to the protectionists, who spent all of yesterday learning the day before's words, lashing out at the silent with your impudent rage, enough to spare time blaming others to celebrate disdain, but i shook hands with the devil just to see you smile, this repayment is paltry and infantile.

I despise calling people what you are as a mode, the rains do not cause the wind, the day does not cause the night, even the most colloquial languages and ways of life attempt to prevent barrages of profanity at their children.

I am I, of course except for when I am not, writing prayers to send the dead to where they belong, tremulous in circumstance the living are on their way, these matters of the day give me trepidation enough to light fires for the clouds and reign-in the eight seasons, not every echo pissing about a voice.

Make you weary, like a voice from the shadows are the whispers of war, like a thunder from heaven is a passing of storm, waves break on stones like words of the living, only do those that travel carry the sea.

I was thinking of the wailing witch of the sea and the man of the woods, one sinking ships, one hating trodden trespass, it is like this i in fact do see two worlds, there are those who do not see any suffering in the storm, the sea the banshee cannot control, there are those who dare not question, the leshy lets anyone leave if he doesn't see them steal from the forest.

Forever these i see as past and present, not forward or backward, not in existence in now, prevaricating without vacillation and heading to one or the other in the wrong direction, you too will be remembered in one way or the other when you are done.

A melody of the bird, how many notes to the cat.

03 January 2017

Té Mélange

My light does not find me, 
and i am told to shine at endless space, 
chaotic expanse of wavelength, 
massive wave in storm of dawn,
universal light perceived not,
eyes like the sky beneath it all, 
stopped by aura and fauna, 
spirit and breath making memory,
a questionable approach to sight, 
changing future in this moment,
changing past in pure illusion, 
this celestial grace would perish, 
as a desire in a metaphor, 
broken by all that is impossible, 
a planet a ship or a star an empire,
or a galaxy a quaint fortress, 
like the desires of winds and roses,
endless gravity consumes light,
reflections of surfaces above current,
revelations of howling canyons, 
endless sand that cannot hold tears,
weightless songs of war saga,
pious emotion without shelter,
time hammering thru lies, 
sins staggering for vicious spies, 
a moment's posture rent,
castles at corners of circles,
bridges encircling wraiths, 
unable to hear the light,
maker's task to forge the heart, 
and carry the wisdom back, 
these relics of mystery boughten, 
a gotten fear to writing gramercy,
a bridling ire and libertine rage,
taking after the teft of sageness, 
the greed of things not about me,
I druther to let you have yourself, 
save putting arsenal amongst you,
forbade of all you desire,
farthest from the blades of grass,
farther than the final moment,
far more than can be known,
as far as the eyes can see,
made of the energy within existence,
so many words for word, 
and none of them with meaning,
surely if the gods are on high, 
we are beneath them all, 
grasping at clouds of mist,
stalling time denying action,
yet better to erode for beauty beneath,
they are sands of time,
and strands of timeless, 
for demands of timelessness, 
made echoes and postures, 
like raindrops and roots,
in this future nearly abandoned, 
for a handshake and a cup of tea.