Cosmogony of My Emotions: Teleological Theosophy of My Personal Theology
Death cannot defined. Being of ultimate consequence it is above causation, yet reigns supreme as an effect. It can only be affined: Aqua, Ignis, Terra, Ventus , Umbra, Lucem/ Hydro, Pyro, Gaia, Aero, Erebus, Aether, all swirl in dead languages spoke a thousand years ago yet they all have been read by our generation in our youth.
The veil of death is a tabernacle in which only the high priest returns from walking, all others are drug back rope around their solar plexus. All paths of death are two fold.
First, from the feet of the Teleologic Cosmos of Emotion we grow towards the Son, the Father, and the Holy Spirit. From the abyss we stare at the knees of the concave exterior of healing. Like the twins of June, hate and pain, are the two closest modes to death, but not the most direct. I feel fear is the ultimate neighbor of death. The flow of Consciousness lies first in the womb. Concealed from the light, darkness sheilds us from the illusion of Illumination. Hate feeds into pain as Pain feeds into hate, like a sibling rivalry. The knees (pain and hate) bend not to cushion the feet (death) but to stop the pelvis (fear) from shattering under the weight of the back bone (Stillness).
Adapted to the new ways of my mother's demon of lust wedding sloth and gluttony. Sin is the seat of unconscious control, or lack there of like a drunk blacked out asleep, already anticipating his next drink. Hate is Ache followed by ate. Pain and hunger are two sides of the same page. What can I say, everything happens for a reason. Even if I feel it was treason yet I'm no regal prince, nor a Mercury lying closest to the Solar, I drenched myself in my own masochism: physically mentally spiritually, and had done so for years. The basis of your emergency alert was quite founded, yet not without ignorance. Yet to me, you felt i was going to rise through fear to descend into pain and find my new year 25th, death. But the beauty is in my birth with one hair on my head I left the manger a man, no wig, feeling for the first time while the police speak to my mother searching like the warriors dispatched of Herod. My blood spirit is free, having saved Adam through the pyramid I dethrone Satan by the sip of the crown of the feathered serpent. Yet you hate he who fell. I fear the vile nature of the burning fields respecting the ignitor of the flames as the sole cause of err that lead or Savior to accomplish who no one else could. For without the fall of the unholy, wingless, cut from tip to tip, Iesus-Yeshua-Judah would not be your most beloved. Without the pain of Christos (the annointed), Khristos (the enlightened) would not achieve ideology of the cosmos. Pain rises to fear shortly, and shifts into hate in confusion as siblings squabble, as I had done internally for a decade. Yet through the gift of the heart heavenly Saul is able to see the life lesson to use the lower part of our mind to find the Big Blue. Pain ascends into love if and only if death can bounce like glue. If you aim for the Sun and the Moon you can only be a child of astronomy, yet you showed me my dreams to buy you a ring of Saturn and hand it to you on a Sunday. I believed my pain laid plain and bare could convince you of you're convictions. My mission in the deepest recesses of body was for you to give into your fears so we could slip into the underworld of sin sipping red wine until the mounring in my heart rose Rex by the fading starlight. I dream to live a lye, basic as alkaline, I wished to be a battery. I saw myself freed of my woman battering heritage ceasing the cyclic self fear that posited the ferocity of my fore fathers, due to the love of a woman most beloved and true. I felt you could be the instrument to my Burning Lyre, my love Plutonic I felt my crow caw. As I held you in my arms singing with you in harmony, setting the bond between the viscous cycle of Pain, paying dues with Hate, to rise like smoke to face fear starring death in the face like a shadow below. The night sky black with how to Know, twinkling with the star light of Love. Only above the vault of heavens clung Joy, Hope, and Live.
Without poeticizing further, what I term the Basement of Abasment consists of Death at the roots (red inverted triangle) rising into Hate (orange w/ red center) and Pain (tan w/ red center), with the connection of Pain and Hate forming a cross with the direct bond between death and fear (yellow w/ small red center).
Proceeding up the towards the chain of being, leads to what I call the equator of emotions. Cling/stillness/resolve is the grey region connecting all body's of feelings as the Moses, the leader of the Exodus and the appellation of the celestial globe. It binds Love and Know laterally to one another, while connecting the Vault of Virtue to the Basement of Abasement.
May 12, 2016
May 12, 2016 at 1:45 AM UTC
To Rayne
Wishing, four seasons, with treason, appeal sense to vent dents that Autumn
Rain and a waxing Moon argue Orange, awful
approach 2 tokes at the stroke of this eleven O' one
Guns that shoot Roses are love that flew the coop as hopeless
Proton on Neutron lets be Nucleus, let us feel lettuce fetus lust,
Innocence keeping bass as Anger sustains treble. Trust
A Rebel Angel into, a tribe found blades angled like his name is a Misnomer Homer Simpson
figured Gods found in Nature's Odyssey the Iliad as Sedition of traditions and only begs others to get with him, some jagged some jaded these bladed edges aged like scales cowardice feign frail
Manicure Manure nails on nails hands grasping Kale as livers rot like Soldiers on cots
just a dot, a red headdress on roads surrounded by nights sky star lit. Is now the time to form alder hide, or for flight of the quadrupeds instead tread felt as led to find a bed inside throbbing heads hiding amongst stys pigs tower over rats yet behave just in space a time is known as fright
full of Delight tonight, the bottle shattered, dream scattered the dark chieftain's humor as Oliver Hart
wishing, fours ease on, without reason, apples steal the lay on hands heal. I seek
The Rain fail to fall all in September, I guess I'll wait Axis till Axels turn November.
May 10, 2016
May 10, 2016 at 4:33 PM UTC
Synesthesia as a Synthetic
Cynthia recognizes my Synthesis
If I agree to this decree
I will need the silence
For this positivity unseen
in this scene, a black coat
hides its sole in the corner
under a pale, wingless painting.
If I agree, my Conscience
be free, accoutrements as duality
a binary in my triplicity, I
will smack God four times for
Mein Serenity
May 5, 2016
May 5, 2016 at 7:14 PM UTC
Soul, my soul, reascend over the edge of life, -
Far, far from the din burn into tranquil skies,
Cross bright ranges of mind measureless, visioned, white;
Thoughts sail down as if ships carrying bales of light,
Truth's form-robes by the Seers woven from spirit-threads,
From wide havens where luminous argosies (... line incomplete)
Gold-robed Wisdom's divine traffic and merchandise;
But there pause not but go far beyond
Where thy natural home motionless vast and mute
Waits thy thread; on a throne facing infinity
Thought-nude, void of the world, one with the silence be.
Sole, self-poised and unmoved thoou shalt behold below
Hierarchies and domains, godheads and potencies,
Titans, demons and men each in his cosmic role;
Midst all these in the lone centre of forces spun
Fate there under thy feet turning the wheels of Time,
The World Law thou shalt view mapped in its codes sublime,
Yet thyself shalt remain viewless, eternal, free.
Mar 29, 2016
Mar 29, 2016 at 4:43 PM UTC
The inverse of lamba squared is ten thousand to the power of the heist
Your Presence has premiere rhythm; Substitute halving my health
Estuary bearing burden standing true grit
Loaded dice humanity Undertaken uneath
forsaken aether Fluoridated month
Perfect posse palpitating puncture buck shot Higher than an ambush ambassador
Ceasing the sky fills wounded knee high to smokescreen rising Picking golden stunning silence
Mesmerizing Ocean wind wild card crying colour
All I want is form, yew grows always happy
Death defying lateral trial Destiny Timings
Legendary League of Ten thousand feet Emissary Ameliorate Stark inebriety
phantoms fathom cat and mouse Sanctuary in Sensory
Hustle bustle Gravity’s Blasting Muscle Pulses Corpuscles To Alleviate
Spiraling Carcass harness the sieve erase the harvest remove the artist’s grin
Smirk at Graves and hunt their Twisted Fates
Jan 12, 2016
Jan 12, 2016 at 12:11 AM UTC
Our hour is one, rest is rest
once arrest is rested
ascension is now magic
If insanity tires and fails
is sanity trying without succeeding?
Mar 17, 2015
Mar 17, 2015 at 9:43 AM UTC
I chase the Scarab until the morning glows
With a winged friend I mistreat following a henchman's horse
To the Dunes we ride eyeing the night sky waning
The face of my child entreats for me to be weary.
A diamond in the raw, uncut was never the most valuable.
a board game logic parks upon the boardwalk of Santa Cruz
A friend would never charge for you to stay in a hotel they owned,
a game is a game only if one refrains from believing in consequence
as reality, that time is a space left between motions created by decision
evidenced by interaction precise a dreams manifested sequenced as love ever after.
A price is one custom we have all come to be adapted too, yet how are the best things in life free, if Jewels are the most expensive?
Mar 16, 2015
Mar 16, 2015 at 5:12 AM UTC
Well the summer bleeds a foreshadow of what's to come and go to waste
It blankets me, braces me, something sweet that I can't taste
You're my mother, I'm your morphine, let's go make a baby out of two guitars
A heavy heart, I'll seem happy when you're looking smoking, singing, eating, *******
One size fits angel coma, you're my favorite stranger
And I won't hate you till I know you
Somewhere between the garden and the grave
I bypassed the machine, I wouldn't have felt its effects anyway
Sentiment is the ***** that bored this special hollow
Cram it in my old cuts, it leaves a whole lot less to swallow
Exercise your right to never buy what you can borrow
Carve my sorrys in the sky and hope the sun hides them tomorrow
Manufactured disaster, it seems I've made my bed
No one sees the burn holes until the sleeper wakes up dead
Take my hands away, I'll pull the moon down with my wrists
Making plans to fake 'safe as possible' is dangerous
Well every once in a blue moon I read your mind
Heaven ended too soon and stole my pride and left me blind
Exercise my morning shakes pretended I was born this way
Wearing my Academy Award-winning performance face
Snake shedding skin, it's all in my head again
Life fetish led me to a dead end
I said when but no one was listening
Obviously cause they filled it to the brim and are spilling it all over me
Crawl, crawl, crawl, crawl, crawl in this hole with me
I'd fall on my face just to make sure that you notice me
Your cold shoulder's always so sobering
I'll be understood as long as I don't overthink
Walking on thin ice, talking in the form of song
Singing in the key of life, I'll lose my voice before too long
Head came loose and they ******* it back together wrong
Fire behind my eyes, desire died all night long
Mar 14, 2015
Mar 14, 2015 at 11:14 AM UTC
And this for, And this is four touching the He A drone old and un-grown the same beat goes unchanged, unknown so old, just eat it to survive and the real test will be in time.
The bathroom never lies whether you look at the bottom or not
the stomach digestion is never forgot.
I will burn for my fetishes as i drive place by as a Passenger Hawthorne Six Wands scary divination a study of sing a king the Unsung hero never learned to believe and Please don't forget How numb the water felt as it convalesced As a Serenity home farmed eons living longer than the leviathan can be beached.
When did Men learn to think, Oh once in a while i randomly stumble upon a little humble bubble before i burst in reason to feel the besseched treason of an exodus of paradise ending as a leasing agreement betewen the understanding of inside-outside upside-down bear in steam bears the whole release of an existential equation, a tranquil season the drop of weather beat to the endless feeling of orange leaving to say hello to sticks and pine needles I had an idea that you and i sing to each other every time the forest sleeps that the core of the Sun I Am is fused together in a fissure, and i am the monster with the lowest attack.
Not power, not Strength, just a tack on the wall within the sake of arriving with you, I can make this into everything a transcendental feeling an incredible leeching bloodless as a long spear on a chariot pulling the Reins of the Morning rooster's triumphant call to start the shaving of darkness from the last drop of dusk echoing across the Sabbath. I no longer want o jeopardize the love rather I readily swear to keep the hope that the perpetual yellow Sun has promised us, Forever, thank you
the Christened Kris of Hoarse Illusion
Mar 9, 2015
Mar 9, 2015 at 6:00 PM UTC
where did my phone go
the bonobo doesn't know the only goal is soul.
Tread lightly on the unknown, the queen bee is dumb as hate
I ate what i ate then the figure eight has been skated a great intimate
lethal pajamas are all plaid laid pink and black alternating
whose laying down and feuding hysterical manic destitute
a lewd groomed spitoonn running out of gas like a dragster of the unconscious mind
The double dark chocolate appears vanilla at the witching hour eleven minutes before
the score shows the trolls no longer know where home or a bridge to go
sticking needles in haystacks, a lit cigarette laid back smoking next to a burnt out filament
A lightbulb incandescence is a recipe heaven sent from ****** addiction
just like ritalin is diagnosed for children prescribe amephatimes for the future
to cling nooseless to sleeping pills for tomorrow comes this morning
Feb 25, 2015
Feb 25, 2015 at 7:19 AM UTC