Perhaps,
any thing that can happen, does.
That, then, is the realm of all possibility.

I am in this and
you may be, if you read along,
aligned with the considerable stars
unseen in the civilized consumption centers,

if ideas appear as stars,
are galaxies ideas until we see them closer?

Teleos, far seeing, fore thought foregone
conclusions,

never
happen in reality limited by life, in theory
of mind, as I imagine
minds. Kinds of whole POV schemata data,
virtually implanted

via **** and Jane, but more by cinema, the idea,
manifested,
as a way to entertain, compact mass attention
into states of common knowledge
assumed

you know, so you are guiled as well, until you tell
how did you know that you were
naked? no, were, if you are
even now,

if I imagine you are or not, changes nothing in terms
of possible or not.

But if I imagine you are so smart that any effort
art imposes
as a joy to behold, a grand grip on truth as beauty,
sublime beyond

so, so, simple arithmetic makes interest compound,
and money is never actual matter any more,

and we have the data that proves it infinite,
which Feynman hid under the rug, as part of the
possible joke.

The spirited man knows
when to end the journey
and when to persevere
until the very end.

He knows the difference
of all that’s blurred
and masked by
great deceptions
of this world.

The spirited man finds
what he seeks,
but what is found
is never the goal.

The spirited man loves
without division,
he knows that to love
is to be truly alive.

The spirited man asks questions
that have no answers,
he believes in nothing,
but his faith is unwavering.

He knows that to truly live life
is to share its precious moments
with those dear to his heart.

The spirited man knows
that to be spirited is
to be different,
and therefore be destined
to walk his path alone.

Sometimes our expectations
devours our strength
instead of being content
until the right moments arrive
too late too little never enough
bury our patience and loses
the best we had to offered
and never received.

Take a knife and cut the hollow shaft
Of a white feather
A few more deft cuts
And he has his calligrapher's pen.
In front of him, in an old leather case
More goose and swan feathers
He will begin to write on a calfskin parchment.
For the next four years the Holy Book
The illustrations will be illuminated
With gold, silver, copper and platinum
A masterpiece that will survive
Many centuries after the monk has departed.

In my own way...
...i love
...i despair
...i succeed
...i fail
...i fight
...i crave
...i sin
...i suffer
...i admire
...i despise
...i feel
And I celebrate a hopeless and boring life...
...i ponder about a life not lived
...dreams not fulfilled
...hopes broken
...opportunities not taken
I could have done so much better
But I just couldn't do it
I'm alive now and may not be in the very next moment
And if I don't witness the next sunrise
I will still celebrate my somewhat unsuccessful existence
And I will always be grateful for all the things I've gotten in my life...
...Maybe I was a misfit or simply misunderstood
...But God knows I tried...
...and in the end that's all that matters

Envy devours your soul just like a fire burns wood..don't let it overpower you.

Making a good poet out of myself in a cheap apartment isn't something I have got planned for myself. Being sobered up to the reality of being an artist, I am aware that a legacy doesn't await me. Stuck in the middle of several choices, I choose the right ones. Only a calmness regarding the endearing moments of life will stay with me after I leave. People will want heartbreak and entertainment years after I'm gone. My story will not provide a catharsis or any form of solace.

Probably, because my story offers cold comforts for one's drug-addled fantasy. The next time I'm in love, depression, and a mess, I will not be writing for the money. I can assure you a deep satisfaction that follows reading my work. I can promise this because I remain disenchanted with my lines.

There are some kinds of pain that never go away no matter what you do...you just have to learn to live with them.

time will heal
and silently
collect the scars
that are
meant to be
left in the past

after all
love
simply isn't enough
to make us last.