Intervals of a Collapsing Entropy

Heles.
My name is what I am called.
I was using my musculneles when everything changed.
Someone had put me into a shakague unwarrantedly.
It wasn’t long after that the barketice made its way there.
Somewhere they’d say was very vacarestracian as such.
Manners on the sneablathes anyone could do it either.
Excusapsycholo didn’t have the water and neither do I.
Outrance or not, it wasn’t the kind of mercy I was born.
Yet if the hygienevangelist was anywhere, it was here.
In veravel or not wasn’t why that couldn’t take any to see.
Simply hendassa isn’t even where the drop is safe.
Refleep or not, there was going to be flying monkeys.
Yet this iminitionsule isn’t the kind to be taken lightly.
Gorealm was good this time of year making chores as such.
And if anyone was going to accustictianks by the time they did.
It’s not like superiness or anything they usually know, I think.
Contraislangs that could be, instead of making soup of it.
It just goes to show pruste if someone were anyway, they would.
Some of us make hioffpo in the meantime try to fall down.
But that’s clearly not the disporbicy of this with high grades.
With plenty dermerprection they bring a lot of tornadoes.
That is even if they know how to chrinofle their waffles on gameday.
Caimatizes are they when the apple falls from even horizon.
If the fianalins are to do what they have to make, wow, just wow.
Every eccenblim in my stratosphere is telling me, “ahalty” rn.
You could even say that it’s excerow and I’m the turtle.
Blankellie on myself right now and better off unsupportable.
It’s just at the time of this writing and thank ponector also.
Togrash looks good on them, it’s too bad about the trees.
If you’re going to preparize your labels, wobble the jockeys.
By that time it was too late and it was ideary in under 30 minutes.
So, I took my gazint and gave the leader a finish line ribbon.
And ixcent, they weren’t happy, but the stars were falling down.
Each with a distard breaking and then into pisces horizons.
Covering the sky with ducinewyers, leaving before the year’s over.
Oh right, I forgot getting to palicianced and the tactilenecks.
Aplayeard came at the lodisabooked and nobody wants that.
So I peartzle the waffle fries and called it an apple pie, so what.
The grass seems fihalent when a buffalo, but I wouldn’t tell him.
I’m kidding, beowieff all you want, nobody goes to hoboville.
Maybe the polis do, but they couldn’t nalpure in a lidaneers hole.
When I grow up, requelime won’t lag my computer this much, meh.
Caticlasurghts can and won’t, or walk into a zoo again.
I lombined at the moon, and even then the cars were fast.
Workinding and workinding and could only eat the darkest.
Ajorken I did, unless there is a time to tie snakes like that.
Our sweeds could only end playing in a sunbath with vultures.
We evolissuppoint and nobody sees the rest of the trees fall.
But that’s okay b/c I’ve got xetarious feelings to the touch.
I get up and in my extorious ways pop the one, and the other outside.
Thru the blaminkmons of course, but I like to think it’s the coffee.
Some call is exprecis, I made the shot and good it was.
Moderock and some professional runner wouldn’t smile, but I’d know.

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https://www.feldarkrealms.com/ Post 777

A Cup In A Waterfall

Logic will do to chaos what spirit does to warlords. Considering that if their debates were instantaneously turned into a game show they'd all be sent home early.

It's my belief that dark matter is the water, and the big bang is just a bubble of light matter on the surface of our omniverse pool, that would be just about big enough to make us small enuf to witness a blackhole as the invisible gravity that pulls against the smallest states of matter, and that we're inside the atom, and viewing it simultaneously -- and I'm still kinda loving the idea that black holes are the byproduct of really fast space vehicles and we just lack a complete picture of how space and time work. 

Hell the idea that the deep has little between worlds it's not much different from society. The middle ground of space and time, I kept thinking until I was thinking. I kept listening until I was listening. 

Two enemies in the light and truth, the scarcities of reason, the scarcities of resources, and in that act, being the enemies until they were enemies. It seems disturbing to peace and long life that two worlds would be one war. Needless to say that the cost of your own ranks means you weren't meant to lead them. 

Now onto the ones afraid of laughter and standing. The subject, in the old sense of the word a person is subject to rule from another, would be forced to joke until the warlord laffs. The warlord, would have to stand and find something entertaining. One learns to speak to fight, one learns to fight to speak. 

There is a fun game of words called Improvement. Two warlords sat drinking tea, in a monastery far from their homes. They decided to discuss the shadow downhill until they could truly be discussing the shadow. Then decided to discuss the growing grass until they could truly be discussing the grass. The name is the rule, improvement, and serves as the basis of conversation. In order to be wise enuf to debate or conversate, they made rules against disagreeing. Only statements of perception, this improves communication -- and only questions, this improves perception. 

One very much loved shade and all shadows, and the other very much loved grass. 

Blades of grass grow in light. 

Blades of grass grow in light making shadow. 

Shadow of night lets grasses cool. 

Shadow of night lets grasses cool while they wait for the sun. 

They argued and argued for twenty days, but in the spirit of improvement, so that their armies wouldn't fight until they were just fighting, so their armies wouldn't die until they were just dying, the two philosophers never got emotional. 

Understanding they are very much two different people. 

Understanding they are very much two different people, with important different perceptions. 

There we are, left to understand that the two philosophers found a fusional goal, the way fog surrounds what we can see, and covers what we can't see. Our memory is synthetic, not a photograph. This risk of passing bad analytics, or bad logic, we can pass to ourselves. Analyzing sometimes takes the form of doubt, the way fog also reveals nothing. So it is, the vague image of peace had to be held in their focus until the fog lifted when they could truly have peace. 

Words have power and shouldn't be wasted until they are truly wasted. Your memory is a cup in a waterfall. Learn to learn, drink good memory until you can drink the river of time. Toss bad memory until you can fill the space. 

A blade of grass does not steal the light any more than a brilliant star steal darkness. And when a star dies, the other stars don't share thr light, they become one, as they shine until, they are shining. As two, as one. It is that nature is the governing principle that we should strive to be natural, not at each others throats. If you all need to collectively worldwide meditate maybe you should try something easier first, like tea or waterfalls, instead of blades and darkness. 

There will be time and space for that until there is only time and space. 

Dah'rak, The Second

Dah'rak, The Second

and had become the language of reason, everything so loud, the keys beneath the wrong fingers, the words in the wrong place, the rain on the wrong blades of grass,

had for ages seen the limelight, the time where brazen storm with evening vanished into the paranoia of well-laid plans, interior without inferior manied storms in first wave over minds of sullen caves where the brave were here to save, where the next were meant to look,

for the time this seem prophetic and was nearly not it's ones and zeroes, like sophist heroes or assassins with muddy feet, all to say what had been promised like the start of every message for sale,

the most of many which, the scorn of others stitch, and the likes of matters circumspect the laggard with the mile, so haggard with the smile, replacing gift with prosecution as if stain and turned to style,

most for asking had to ask them, both were trivial insane, yet the heart of butcher's mercy was the start was not the game, it seems, and by much the very circumstance is tethered to a breeze,

for quit come near with start this gives, at best the sort of ending naked in the rain complaining about the temperature being one and one half degrees wholly unbearable, like the sins gone incomparable, ever incomplete,

quit of some, writ of none, parser barren of the sun, watchers taken, shakers shaken, and the rivers cried and won, at least match the gussied catch with waves like that would make eyed all the flitted crossing snake eyed,

of it tiresome glow shining stars across the bow, pull the string and cross the ocean of the mind, and yet it seems that many mercies have gruesome seas, and by their human sacrifices, do we all carry this blood,

it became dark and rigid warfare in the sands inside the stone, bones of bathing made of weapons others teeth were meant to hone, recorded nonsense as if kindred, should they bear that cross alone,

became the sleet many bricks against my skin, endless waters sinking a rebuilt fortress, floating in the stars itself, impertinent endless irrevocable need for rhyming like the flag of skull and bone, were the wind of sons and daughters,

the darkness doesn't blow, just as a cloud in the night it rests on stars, replanting eyes at night to count the days, a storm bending the newest blade of grass, crassly dust stares dawn and the light bends the same,

darkness at the base of the empty throne, lightless mist spilling into the walls of colors unseen, but more unimaginable by mortal heels, a castle and ship whose doctrine roth spoken true, decreed of of suns and waters,

at the seems the honest claim of exchange, surfeit a word, afeite absurd, eschew procured, written textures read of leisures where the ground is warm and sewn, and the wars were blood and bone, tragedy of home unknown,

the latent pasture of this mastery as escape from time and atrophy were those genes of human hatchery that give dementia its final crown, but the passing of the weeds by nest is rare, latter edits more profound,

latent of the wicker and the light around the moon, and as we look around the room, fewer eyes would soon subsume, temper tantrum motus random apparatus vile contraption twisting capture into blatant, hardly, truth,

of this we knew of one, one of many like a scarecrow, but if it is shadow that can't be caught, make this nonsense into parcel and then gag them on the spot, which the rest of us won't need it unless all of us are caught,

this was peace and that was past like the smoke among the grass, now it's daylight and the clouds pull rows and sheets across the surface of the droves, currency in positivism, and skills sets scores,

was there something in translation, spending days to learn the order of subject, and object, and verb, and the code for secret words, all to have made peace with lazy learners as the larger tribe attacks,

there was indeed water between the reeds for the blood to fetid sour all the ragged wooden power, as the earth would sift thru light and dark as has the earth before it, the seed would reclaim the forest, unless the dust had covered frost,

was the world to shake it would split in two, if you had asked an ant or an ox, but the farmer can see downhill like the child can see a thrill, motive brandy or tequila turning pages shapes the world,

the one yelling at books has burned them in dreams, screaming about bloodshed between the seams of society and patiently and quietly and in some avalanche effect now so riot-ly, had cut themselves bleeding,

one who lost their voice screaming, scorned themselves burning, torn themselves turning, be search Achilles surfing off Chile, did not swim to shore to bury his head in the sand,

who had made, valleys haunt my vision for the trenches of oceans listening where old moons from distant systems are burned and buried and their foreign soil raise creature, like false prophets do,

had any made it to ache from toning like this, the way rest makes tense, and direction relax, the many joined in making better forgot to put their own to task, surely three or more when one is less,

any time to tip would be valuable, no more than others in the quiet riot, or giving some such sort, when we die the worms retort and the fish curse gods of tide and spears, and fishers block the light from the surface,

time was given, and gratuity was not, and these unordained inordinate rigid colorblind kleptophiles keep punching at the skies, oh you're disparate disheveled not without so many lies, and hands out with fewer tries,

was what who, where how many gave their all, so that none giving none was the quantity of sum, and the total of parts wasting on assembly lines that don't exist, for the storm would so persist deep into thunder,

what is behind the typhoon is the water, not the ground, but the sound of the atmosphere spiraling from god in your language's control, pulling cold from space, condensate rain, and swelling oceans just the same,

is this miracle on elm street not the surface or the fire, which the songs of better winds bring truth to our insane, where we make our bones to claws to climb the darkness, and use our skulls to dig,

this alarm began about them with the notion of extremes, then the fires started smolder where the lava was a stream, then where forest roots the waters flaming river at its edge, throne alone with fog of darkness pours from darkness edge, like the cliffs becoming blood fall in the spirit of the night, dawn will follow every fight