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.