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The wanderlust burning and scorching my soul,
Yearning to unravel great wonders,
Through great travels.
A static feeling of un-enthusiasm  
and standard pleasantries.

this world isn’t the same
as the one that goes inside my head.

That one is filled with adventure
and promise.

I crave something with meaning.

But the closest I can get is my writing
and re-enacting stories already told.

I'm struggling to find purpose and meaning
I wonder if I will
I wonder.
Worldview by Stephen C. Shilling
Say I know, no question, what the Good News was,
the Jesus good news, but

nobody believes that. And its free good news. Who pays me?

Think Gaiman's American Gods,
true believers everywhere, no truth, no free ificity,

sufficient, suffice, artifice, artificial freedom, if

you can't imagine artificial freedom, how do u test AI?

we can imagine all sorts of hells, and miserable lost evers

all phantoms from the stories you've believed
believed by the tellers
who told you
you were *****.

Is this a theme?
Are we manufacturing sensible un-believable
idle word redemption tools.
DIY? No App?
Empowering the believers to unbelieve, at will, with effort?
Very little effort, but yes,
My calling, yes, previous to full-time Peacemaker.

I e-merge several streams of thought, gentle, --- un belief is,
it hurts like you imagined ****, almost exactly.

Monetize your lies,  who said do that?
you don't believe them do you?
The ones you tell
Where you know prayers are answered

Because
You
know sorta. Knowing a thing is so,
you know, defining.
Be and lieve together they make a meaningful
you know

Re-ifing and de-ifing,
being a believer in whom is no guile,
is that
actable.
Could a thespian make us believe he believes what I believe if he were me?

Is that in the bible,
that walk a mile as me proverb?
It's true, if you do it, in your head or mind,
if you think mind ain't matter

or doesn't matter, okeh.

I don't.
D'I ever tell you about the time I realized I was safe,
lazy days o' summer,
way back when was no TV, no video nuthin, then

when I woke, I was here as sure as I am,
that I know next

to nothin for sure,
and for a blameless,
shameless old man, who catches Jesus winkin'
in his thinkin' ever day,

' cain't say damday and asaid it anyway.

It's about time I tell my story, if that is my job.
My story means the story I tell,
the one I think I believe I know and enjoy.

Tellin' it, I en joy en trance, never thrall.

Life is predominantly fun.
Empiric evidence. Take it, by faith,
we all know how,
we laugh and say we don't, but we are lost with out it,

no hope.
Oh, my ***, desperate for you.
They sing that, they call such singing praise.

Somehow they have come to believe
Christ has left them desperate for any good things,
forsaken them after promising
other wise

Who would teach a chile such a song in Jesus's
whole body, I swaneee

Hopeless, t's what desperate means,
desperados are not disciples
of the tendency to a bias toward good, by grace.
nosireee
---
Can I speak living words,
is that living water flowing from me,
if I agree with the story I am telling,

Yes, all the promises of ***.
Come let us reason,
we are past the scarlet sin.
Sin means disconnect in today's terms,
missed aimed-at-thing's the original Greek expression that
made it to the Bible.

And a blog is as good as a book, some say,
as far as words are concerned, meaning-wise

but spoken words go farther, these days.

Rhetoric is returning to try men's souls,
and the peasants have Google and IDW
(Intellectual Dark Web wuwu)

and the real Bible Daniel and Ezra 'n'em put together from all the sources they could muster under the banner of
Lest we forget.

Was that the banner spoken of
by the prophet so and so?

Could be.
Runner-up th'pole 'n'see who kneels.

Emoji winks are too cheezy for real poetry,
you never see 'em in songs.

Jesus winks but not at
your-my disconnection from re-ality.

We can't be **** Sapience Sapience
if we don't think about thinking.

The unexamined life's not worth living,
old Greek guy saying.

Jesus saying, as a man thinks, so is he.

And I think he was talking about good and evil.
A man can think good and evil, but

(and this is one of those forever buts I mentioned last time I was thinking on this thread),
evil can't swallow good. No matter how long it chews.

Funny, really, how stuff works.
We all live until,
as far as we do know now,
time
for conscious mortal me,
each
of us in this we, me
ceases.

De-sist,
recall the way it feels to lay your armor down
and know,

I ain'tagonnastudy war no more.

But, we are called,
chosen to fight the good fight of faith, Amen.

Ah, men,
we ain't got enemies.
We fought.
You believe you believe or you don't.

Have fun and don't make anybody miserable
and stand up straight,
with your shoulders back, good advice.

Next. There is a reason to go farther,

I think, but don't know right now, what that reason is.

Praying being asking for assistance in persistence,
I am praying this is plain, past simple, plumb to sublime.
The hope for a larger crop, for some reason I ain't found, more sowin', means more reapin' and reapin' for them has done it, thy know that's the hard part.
We wander, we wander,
By moonlight, I ponder,
Whilst sailing my ship towards that shimmering star!
How we who are pirates, so willingly wander, both hither and yonder, no matter how far…

Methinks to myself, “Not a bad life to lead, no longer a ***** to the land like before…
The wind at my back, so utterly freed, to seek out adventures, on any fair shore!”

“Why do it?” Methinks, as I stand on the prou, the breeze on my face, lightly tossing my locks,
For any a man would be called crazy now, for braving the sharks, and starvation, and pox!

Is it the gold, that calls me to sea? Where hurricanes howl, and sturdy  sails rend!
Or is it the freedom that calls out to me, and gold is not more than a means to an end?

For me, ti’s the freedom, to do what I love, to sail by the light of the stars up above, And stand on my deck, under moonlight, to ponder, how we are those pirates who willingly wander…


My ship, a fine lady, a handsome thing too, a good set of guns with a competent crew, her holds full of treasures, and finest apperal, and row upon row of *** by the barrel!

So drink in the morning, and drink in the evening, and I would be lying if I didn’t say, We guzzle the *** from dusk until dawn, and me-thinks I’ll be sipping it all through the day!

We dance on the deck, for the music is playin, the chilly night breeze has our ship gently swayin,

Then off once again, for we willingly wander, “But why?”  Says I, as by moonlight I ponder…

Wouldn’t we like to at some place belong? Would dropping our anchor for ever be wrong?

Perhaps there’s a place with a temperate climate, and someone to care for a salty old pirate?

But till that day comes, I shal willingly wander, and whilst I’m the captain, by moonlight I’ll ponder…
I borrowed this poem from my friend, Captain Herraldo, who is in fact a pirate. I took out some of the more gruesome bits —all true accounts— but tried my best to communicate his over arching ideas. He’s a good guy for a pirate!
Help me understand the method to your madness.
Take me on a journey to where your thoughts and desires thrive.
Be the open page my eyes gaze upon.
You are my favorite book.
Jack Oct 30
The temptation that the Siren sings,
A slow wave back from shore,
The sorrow that tomorrow brings,
A hundred days, a thousand more,

Casting lines of smoke and steam,
In search of great white whale,
The tragedy with which we dream,
The grace with which we fail,

A map carved upon a liar’s tongue,
Teach us to speak, but never say,
White knuckled on bottom rung,
From which we swing and sway,

As laughter consumes the setting sun,
Those echoes keep us company,
The first regret tells us we’ve just begun,
The last reminds us we’re still free,

But we awake to find familiar coasts,
Ships still bottled on their shelves,
And we realize we’re all just ghosts,
That don’t believe in themselves.
Emily Oct 30
What would you do for adrenaline?

Speed along uneven country roads,
Aim just right for that special ****,
Fly upward unexpectedly,
Drop back down with a thump?

Sweat in a long queue,
Strap oneself in tight,
Fly up and spin around,
Drop to earth from a great height?

Pay for an airplane,
Add a parachute,
Jump bravely,
Create a new route?

The great lengths some will go,
Simply for a rush of adrenaline,

But what would you do for adrenaline from these?

Misplacing a wallet,
Racing to its last known location,
Discovering a stranger took it,
Wondering if it will ever return home?

Driving placidly along,
Stopping abruptly,
Missing by an inch a hit headlong,
Hoping the car behind will stop?

Why pay hundreds to risk life and limb by diving through the sky, yet do anything to keep one’s wallet?

Both produce adrenaline;
one for free with no risk of life and limb, yet it’s the riskier one,
that’s sought even at great cost!

Perhaps it’s because:
adrenaline is best enjoyed when expected?
What do you think? Is my theory valid?
All of the scholars
Were scorned as
Adventures.

All of the wanderers
Were accused as
Abandoners.

All of the dreamers
Were shunned for
Believers.

And the moon
Exiled too soon.
Lougene F Oct 28
I never really get tired
of long walks or mountain hikes
but I needed to stop
once in a while
to catch my breath
and eat pies

but when I stop
it doesn't mean I'm done
this is when I get ready
to pack and run

stroll up by myself anywhere
looking for a mystery
wandering to find
a hidden gem
wondering if you'll follow me
I always get tired when do much but I am not stopping for what I do. I rest and go again. #randomthoughts
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