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The art of transgressions and its fixed love,
Let us talk about the story of man.
Years the seasons come as well as others,
In search of powers of a *** he can.
What lost of love within all eternal,
To journey on only with his eyes seen.
Contemplating such of paradises,
What left of our world and all so between.
The empowering life can mesmerize,
Forcing one to live and tell as beyond.
How long must we go in order to know,
Our transgressions in which were dearly spawned?
The art of life not only fixed and told -
Us created and summoned to be bold.
Seven Seals of October - Seal III - Our story...
'Put my hand in the hand of the man from Galilee,

that song keeps playing in my memory, and I recalled

Or I thought I did, I imagined he'd walk with me
and talk with me
Along life's merry (or was it narrow?), way

a light touch, his arm around my shoulders,
as boys are wont to do,
I axed 'im,
help me fill the darkness behind my eyes,
which I think may have been blind, at that time,

I have memories like that.
packed away in old memes. That mean something...
Gold-something...
color maybe, Goldfarv? Bloom.
Right, my augmentatious savant
looked it up and I sorted what I recalled

Google The Global Brain, Howard Bloom,
where he named a kind of
category of knowability. Memes, he called them.

And I thought, memes mean something more,
not Dawkins's, nor Bloom's, but these,
heteromemes bubbling out my belly button,
look real close.

Here a seeing being done, words appearing...

fractally featureless by the time a clock could have been imagined,

the point of the story was made,
and there is no end in sight.

Pop. Another apocalypse bubble collapses by mortality. Whaddyaknow?

What remains when a bubble pops at a positron level,
after the charge is touched and
the tension-power-loss collapses the bubble?

You should think, you know atoms work, this way.

Touchy bubbles disappear when their form is disinformed,
the wall of a bubble,
one quanta of power thick,
vanishes
as the charge that formed it flees.
That bubble,
not cloud-based, random super positioning,but
elect
tric-magi-tech, a touch screened
at the quantum accounting point of real-ification,
but, probably,
a bubble,indeed,
powered, one way or another, with a single charge,
Go, that's it.
(I charge thee, son Timothy, go)
That's all an electron does.
It goes, as soon as any sense can be made of it,
outa here, oughta hear it, clear,
ping. No charge, no bubble, but next sure as...
No, ah, when I think about that..

****,
somethi' from nuthin musta hapt one time,

but ya'll take no heed, this voice,
m'fallin angel, Tantan, droppin' in ol-fren, tricky hybridbast...

Noah was a tellin' Ham the truth
found in wines that moved themselves aright,
slurry tongued, and laughin' but pisstoff.

The idea of somethin' goin' south in a family,
that started up again when
ever Noah started drinkin' old wine, sayin' sbetter'n...

Old story, *** damened 'em, not me, I just
built the box.

Who told you I was *****? Noah queried Shem.

-- aye, ye know, Noah was *****,
No excuse, but you know.

Things were said, that maybe could be forgotten, after a while,

But those father wounds a man imagines worst
are the one's his son's forgot.
Forgot can't be forgiven it seems, sometimes...

The story being told is complicated. See,
the Bible is a lens,
not a map.

I've looked so long through that lens,
that I began to see the bubble formed around me,
charged powerfully with fear,
'yond my bubble monsters lurked.

But, my bubble bumped another,
purest of happenstance,
the bubbles merged and merged again,
their power building to a wave,
crashing to the shore and no more
was I bubbled in my safe place.

I found this trail up from the beach.

It got me much farther than this, should you ever
visit me.
Did you regret the defeat at Ai,
or were you
Aachen, bold?

No, irrelevant, obtuse allusion to Yahshua,
that's not in the stack,
that card's about as relevant as McLuhan's hair of the dog.

Information unformed begins to boil deep in me.

Somethin', ain't it?  All them three meter dishes shrunk down
to the size of a spoon, a teeny weeny spoon, a coke spoon,
like on Miami Vice, back when.

Satellite TV changed the desert, fer sher, but 4g, brohan,

that was the trick. Elect trick.
Future, on demand, where outhouses are still de rigueur.

Before you know it, country kids,
too poor for any but outlaw dreams,
can audit courses at MIT,
if somebody
shows him, it can be done, prove t' him
it works, faith can make things happen,
but
happening as an event, in the Deep Field,
is sorta hard to nail down to one thing,
until the very last
Planc-sec.  
Astrophysics is part of the metagame, fer sher.
But
there's some stuff that takes some patience,
to learn. Fifty year'r longer.

Everything that's old and still works is only old, not rotten.

Olde time religion, at the oldfo'k dayroom,
where the clock runs the whole show.
It's another game show. Saint Bob Barker takes a bow,
and declares the potential worth of all your eyes behold,
behind the curtain,
lies the prize.

If, if, if you are a luckywinner and
you arise when I call your name
to come on down,
fall on your knees and declare the worth...

pure gamesmanships required here, golf whispers only,
worship, 'smuch more difficult to aim for than praise.
I agree.
Praise, appraisal, worthyness, worthship, prize, what's the diff?
How comes a thing to be worthy,
in your estimation? Tell me no lie.

A feeling? What's it worth?
Depends.
Safe? Priceless! Don't shout. There's money to make.

'Got a busy-ness pre-positioned high above the rest.
A super-positioned superstion. The darkness.
See, safety is a human right.
So we sell walls, impermeable. It's always, lights on
within, then
We'll be rich and powerful wallbuilding,
citi-zen warriors fed and fattened
by those we make
feel safe, from the dark unknowns seeping in.

That's the idea. It's worked for years, at least
since
we saw the Power in Myth and
capitalized Campbell's bliss and Sagan's billions and billions of stars.

Within these walls workers will work for food and a feeling.
And Facebook.
They choose a place and stand, and do what comes to hand.
Heartily
grip what's easiest for you to hold on to,
they are told.

Attendants bring the meds, settling every disruption
of the peace the patient craves in his comfort.
The price ain't right, m'mouthmumbles...

You are absolutely co-rect-allatime, tekayepeel.

There are wishes being made,
on all manner of stars
for happy ever afters.

If wishes were askings, what if
connecting to the source of haps which,
every expert knows, haps are
all happiness can possibly
consist of.
Oh, consist.
That sticky, gluteny idea stuck in my daily bread.
It's related to resist, desist and the command to stand.
Sistere. Shield-wall and all that. Turtles all the way down.

A disruption!
Day room Now! Granpa's shouting,

This is that bomb, this is a dam buster Jesus H Christ Bomb!
I'll drop it. I swear.

Something's bound on earth to go wrong,
ever since Eve bit that apple, if she'da left that apple on the apple tree
Nah, that ain't how it went down and
songs about it don't change it none.

But, maybe this is me interrupted... in my meander.

What if, nothing is immaterial,
as an idea, it can't go wrong,
and Murphy's law, obeyed, is good, all the time.
If nothing can go wrong, it won't.
Ask the pilot flying by faith in his checklist.

What if,
asking for help helps?
Was that a message? A touch by an angel?
Spirit, the idea? An answered prayer?

Are you familiar with its role in reality?
Something makes these bubbles spin, y'know.

Ignoring is bliss, nay,
No more,
precisely, nevermore,
quoth the raven, shall the man who can read
be locked away from all the stories,
telling eventualities that
men, wombed and un,
have told and tested for ever, it seems,

Stop
striving for perfection and let patience have her way witcha,

whatcha learn can change the world.

Look back. Good news from a far country come our way.
Grandpa made some sense and we built a fort, of pillows
This is a reworking of Good news from a far country, I am attempting to rein in my scattered mind. Let me know if you see improvement or parts in need thereof.
Erik Whalen Oct 9
Butterflies take flight in my empty stomach as my knees buckle and my heart begins to tear at its patchwork seams.

My eyes snap shut, as if some ethereal force gave way and no longer kept them to my beloved, now betraying my thoughts.

Newborn tears, borne of an extrinsic sadness, suddenly made keep in my soul and petrified the felicity that made the mind once homely.

I had experienced such grief in a time, but to none before had it struck such finality in its judgment. All at once, future revealed its cards, and their dealer had been deceitful.

Was I cursed with such a doleful position, or was this origin I had been inquiring a personal endeavor?

Melancholy to describe the day-to-day had never been an answer, not until this eternal second had plagued my mind.
Umi Oct 6
A winter never ending,
Dance with me across these frozen fields under the starlit night,
In a land with no sun to rise, this dream will remain for eternity,
The crystal clear snow, fluffy almost playful is carried by a breeze,
Each shadow has a silver lining, each minute is beautifully shining,
When everything is asleep, it seems the envirorment is at ease,
Peaceful and quiet with no noise but the wind and the falling snow,
Yet the beauty of this world is being ignored, is it too cold to go out ?
There is no reason to be afraid of the dark, would you like to sleep with me tonight ? After all, I am your demon your other side,
This perfect world you projected within your imagination,
Can I burn it all to its remains ?
This is a wonderland where nightmares are crawling into despair,
There is no beginning to this kingdom of ice, nor is there an end,
You look tired as if it was ****, come to me and I will bring you to your utopia, all you have to do is to stop this madness.
That angered gaze of yours, why is it making me excited ?
Your steps are wiped away by the blowing, merciless wind,
These tired eyes of yours are too exausted to stay open,
For now let's say hello, my dear,
Have a good sleep.

~ Umi
welp, I tried.
Isaac Ward Oct 5
I love you,
Like the sun loves to glow,
Or the wind loves to blow,
Because I can't help but love you.

Yet  if the rain could refuse to fall,
And should autumn not come to call,
I'd still be stricken with love for you.

I miss you,
As the winter misses the longer days,
As the surfer yearns for taller waves,
Because it isn't the same without you.

But, if bees couldn't care less about their flowers, and rich folk moved on from their towers, I'd still miss you, and miss you all the more.

Because you, dear, I adore.

And if by this account I reckon,
(And do know, know my heart beats so),
That every moment, minute, second,
I miss and love you further, oh,
My heart will forever endure.

Of this, I am very sure.
a thought visited his preoccupied mind again
as the galaxies are making its way to her
this man will wish  upon the stars
because he knew that they will listen
and all the celestial bodies will grief with him
when no one understands nor sees his pain
thoughts of her is the best he could think of
but why it is like the best things are worsts too
he begin to utter words of i miss you's
but no matter how loud it was, he was voiceless
just letting the tears drown him in such sadness
if time lapses are existing in real life
he will replay every second she was there
and skip every fights and every cries
no, life's too cruel for it to happen
in the blink of an eye, she became like one of the stars
there in a far away land of shining lights
giving him hope, giving them hope
but for him, she's not a star, not even the brightest
for him, she is the entire universe
that every time he will look above the skies
he will weep and after that is a bittersweet smile
a pure love that is severed in the land
will be continued somewhere else
and he believes
someday, they will meet again there...
in a much better place.
to all the postponed love that'll be continued in heaven, this is for you.
Kerli Tulva Sep 30
The sunrays flicker on earth
diving nimbly through trees
casting their light in search
of time and life they seize.

Down this alley of memory
leaves crunching in silence
I once wandered longingly
searching the soul's balance.

Collecting crumbled parts
where lies the spirit of a poet
the glowing, shivering heart
echoing in the eternal moment.
Maria Etre Sep 25
She's a gemini in her wit
an aries at heart,
a taurus at rationale
a scorpio at defence,
a Virgo at ease,
and a cancer at care.

She's June in January
and Christmas in August.
She's spring in rain
and snowflakes in heatwaves.

Morning dew in drought
and rays on cloudy days.

She's Jessica.
Samruddhi Sep 20
As you see him fade away
Don't lose your hope in him and sway
He would come back just for you
And he won't mind even if now you are new
For this feeling is just so pure
Like you are a wound and he is your cure
Wait patiently for him even if it gets dark
Don't let your doubts in him leave a mark
Even in darkest of the nights have faith and stay up strong
For you know, when he is around nothing can ever go wrong
Leave all your worries and thoughts to him
Don't hold back even anything that seems grim
Epitome of eternal peace just like a dove
He is the only one who would give unconditional love!!
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