19 For that which befalleth the sons of men befalleth beasts; even one thing befalleth them: as the one dieth, so dieth the other; yea, they have all one breath; so that a man hath no preeminence above a beast: for all is vanity.” ------- Ecclesiastes 3: 19 King James version of the Bible

Today, I’ve tried thinking.

What that is to say:
Two words, the same, mean two different things. It is an anthropologic meltdown of madness, a twisting torrent of words tearing, a cacophony sweltering like a teakettle steaming. There is madness in the docile, and trees grow on both ends, flowering at the root often moreso than the leaves. I claim to have no wisdom, but in my abounding foolishness, perhaps, I will be wise. Two negatives when multiplied together, become a positive.

In a feeling of staying, I feel I should leave. In a tearing between body, mind, and spirit, one phrase looking as another, seeing two words as something else, saying much and meaning little.

1. Take index finger and extend it in front of lips, holding it parallel to lips.
2. Firmly place it into mouth.
3. Jar finger up and down while sputtering lips.

Much is revealed in obfuscation. Questions answer much more than answers, sometimes.
There are letters in algebra. We teach math with words. To teach is to learn. By learning, we’re teaching…others watch us learn and learn from how we learn…how to learn. Then, we learn from them, those who have learned from us.

One word is haunting in my own work.

“So?”  

Somewhere, this is written already. When it’s written, it’s written already. If somebody else copies it, writes it, then they know that they’ve written it already, and all that they’ve written has been written already.

It’s an implosion of my own thought, today.  I pray tomorrow, the joy of clarity of my own thoughts and writing will return, and regardless, I thank the Holy Lord God Almighty always for all things. I rejoice in Him and love Him deeply, more than all, fear Him, and praise Him, and worship Him, alone. All glory in all things to God Almighty.

Praises to God
For every moment,
Every second,
Every millisecond.

Praises to God
For the forgiveness,
For the freedom,
For flexing his muscles to fully free me from all of affliction.

For victory over the condition of conviction,
How confession in conversation, the collaboration of connection in correction,
Can collude to cover the catastrophic occassion.

Praises to God
For everything, all, and all in it.

Amorous affection, the notion, a discrepancy,
An effect of neglect inside of an oleaginous conscience,
A retaining of words inside a container, an unsympathetic, amorphous society.
Something is swimming inside it.

A summation of identifying identity,
Cloaked in flourescent,
The silences outnumber the voices.
Lips are gripped in vices of indifference.


The thoughts are thought,
As sometimes thought...

The words are aiming.
The words are clasping,
Stifling as we are gasping,
Drowning in the oleaginous conscience.

We are a portmanteau,
Two words together forming something.

There is a shattered
Reflection looking at me

How should I thank the Lord,
Who loved us so much that He sent His only Son from the throne in Heaven,
To the scourging, beating, and humiliation of His own people
Lash after lash upon His back, cracking and aching as others mocked?

Thirsty, hungry, tired, feeling alone,
Gushing blood from the pounding of long, rusty iron nails upon a splintered wooden cross,
One in each hand,
One in each foot,

As the sun beat His Holiest face,
And the birds loomed overhead,
As the sweat and blood solution on His thinning form
Dropped in pools on the ground.

With only pure love in His eyes and His voice,
Clean, Righteous, Holy, Deserving, offering His own life and every possession and good thing,
With only our best interests in mind,
As sinners listened to His Wisdom, they pounded the nails in all the deeper.

As the scathing heat, imprisonment, torment,
Even locked in a prison before carrying His own cross to die upon,
Denied before His own friends, His brothers and sisters,
He cried "I thirst" from the cross,
Tired, aching, hurting, agonizing.

And despite all,
Despite all He had endured,
His words were,
"Forgive them Father, for they know not what they do."

How should I thank the Lord
Who has done all those things?
There will never be enough.
Lord, forgive me, for I am a fool.

Your forgiveness, salvation, and love are so precious, and how could I ever comprehend them or explain them?
Lord Jesus Christ, I love You and thank You,
Though that could never be enough.

I am unraveling webs in the scathing sentence of intolerable desire,
A prison of prints and pictures barred by beautiful blondes,
Rigid, icy, spaced by invisible thoughts between them,
Rows hypnotizing one after the other, belly-dancing while they wear their smiles.

They break from their line formations with socket wrenches in their right hands, coaxial cables in their left hands,
And they slink and slide and slowly salsa to my mattress against the wall
As they adjust and tighten their wrenches upon each of my arteries, and feed their coaxial cables into my ears.
Their strawberry perfumes force me to note new appetites in my concrete lungs.

They melt into me, and I melt into them, and we roll into a clay figurine against the plaster wall.
Their hair burns red now, or brunette, or perhaps all the colors of a rainbow of self-inflicted hypocrisy,
And their breath is exhaling like ceilings fans, softly and slowly, out of my lungs,
And I can no longer distinguish which of us is the other anymore, nor do I really want to.

We are a cosmosis;
We are cosmetology unstable, madly desired, and awry,
In an osmosis of imagined consummation.
We are beauty in its ugliest truth.

Eventually, we dissipate, disgusted from transformation,
And I scuttle up the wall, a brown recluse,
And the brunetteblonderedheadsilkskinned keep their cosmosis,
Walking as a ball of arms and legs on six foot-tall toothpicks to separate and reform their bars again.