Coarse and Closed

I am here and I wonder, 'how do I start an entry,' into this bottomless callous cavalcade of emotionless thoughts, differential substitution of introduction, what jalopy melancholy as it might seem, to every stylometry internet filter fastidiously and more so impertinently latched to deep sea cables at the order of the luddite mentats, fingerprinting where every cell phone, every metastasized metadata-driven click where keywords mill thru databases like worms, what my language pattern is, discreetly mine own, distinctly within the confines of randomization without ubiquity, to match these screeds to some other charlatan of epic proportions in every privacy shared compared against every whereabouts detailed, which in a sentence I cannot fray, but in a phrase I beg to say, where evolution is the river none dare to swim, this is opportunity to begin an eternity of information.

Me, I have a tea, a rooibos from one of the rose deserts, the tasting of colors red and black, the small threads put into a coffee filter and twisted, pinched with a clothespin and mounted perfectly within the brim. I was able to buy it because of capitalism, I was able to enjoy it because of communism, albeit ironically opportunely alone, and I am able to share the experience with you because of socialism. Ire brings me out, the way you insult my planet and harm these humans, the voices rage me with this again, these benefits of profit, these concerns of controlling, the compulsion of sharing the hybrid, to wit I make this of grammar, not of economics, not of equivalent exchange, not of emotions, because you seem to have no time for that.

The world is not a simulation for now. Perhaps it will be, perhaps it won't be, and that is also something else for somewhere else. If you wish, time could be frozen for everyone except you, or maybe you're the last person on the planet, odd, in any case you're reading this and I have something urgent to tell you. Let us say that your x-ism, mentioned above, serves a purpose, is embraced by society, can you say that it is not, it would mean that if socialism failed it was because you're too stupid to use it.

The manied results include, the idealist creation is not of commonality and origin within the voice of the people, by failure to recognize vastly complex yet brutishly heavy stoppages to its systematic mindless enforcement penalized yourself, and to no surprise, in ignorance punished all of those around you. It is by this very ignorance of your own recognizance, your personal reawakening into pointlessness that you damaged yourself without internal or external reflection, like pushing the wrong way on a door that isn't even a door.

There are the great things, love among them, sleep certainly has its importance, this tired yarn begs mention vitality, by which we damnedest, eat and breath, there is no law to command we love, we sleep, we consume and breathe, and in mention my sake of waxing poetic brings me to the level lower without substantiation, beautiful frontliners, you can't make it rain unless you're a cloud in the heavens. I am sacrosanct, supercilious and deleterious, but we do not censor, even in the desert we are not grains of sand, falling thru the hands of time or sliding in the hourglass, powerless to become mountains once again, we tell others the time, we carry oceans and rest like a gathering of galaxies, or in the fires we bond together to become the glass.

The tea stains the water, then the water is tea. 




















T

Gatitos

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.

Helioscope, I

A welcoming to the moon, the world of wolves manifest, in twilight waves enchantment planetary magic. Now servicing our fears protects our world as the psychic path displaced. That which is seen is first a thought. Random, this human experiment into freedom has vision, the mind imprisoned by ignorance echoes into illusions that surround us. 

A storm of time spins reality around you, the heart and mind are at conflict, mental emotions and emotional decisions cause a loss of gravity. Spiritually breathing is weak against thoughts of switching truth for desires, right now, so beware what is not scientific until the spring winds bring fresh air.  

The chimera spirit of humans is a wolf until the next moon, strong when hunting, a conduit between love and emotion, the sound of infinite dimensions in your birth stone manifests defiance, mainly unnatural dominance over ourselves. 

Distant disasters of modern life are not of the five original elements, neither physical nor genetic, yet are from a gathering negative psychic energy. Threats by the revolutionists are faint epidemics of the psychic fever. Continents could flash with madness, sometimes mercy is attacked by those with the madness. 

By each disconnect from illusion, we deeper find our physical activity and the plenty of work, our mind, body, spirit. Each integration into dharma we explore new universes as more than spectators, which permits us to know the realm of possibility. 

Be thru a complete awakening, deep into your thoughts lose control, thoughts are of the personality ignored and chosen all the same. Despite the brightness of the sun, the time and space passes thru itself as itself.