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Simon 3d
Like probability. Fate exhibits the constraints to a more tolerable atmosphere at heart. The heart of an atmosphere, is the atmosphere functioning with a heart. Completely one sided. Never admitting who’s mentions are who. Whose opinions mattered the absolute most. Options become tiresome. Tolerable frequencies through pure hearts devoted without contract to inner self awareness. Prompting the judgment of what atmosphere has over the heart of the problem. There are problems within hearts? WHAT!! Contrary to the balance of symmetries without depth. Hearts full of many brimming effects. Only determined to sending out there resume for better times. And which one is disclosing from the standard developments rotting the better picture into ruin? Pictures printed with resumes aren’t fruitful. When dynamics in the surface, isn’t comparable to challenge. Challenge lays claims to birthing the right focus. Take charge! Listen carefully to directions! What does that all haft to do with fate being exiled? It doesn’t. Well, not conclusively anyway. Fate is a thought manufactured behind the scenes. It won’t show it’s face directly. Too imposed in everyone else’s business. A directive with no claim in its heart. An atmosphere unsocialized with parts never discovering inner desires. Concluding fate never trusting itself. Fate exiled… Means to test one’s own claims of basic will. The hint is why does fate act? Rather then think the way it’s acting? Could simply be a perspective too old for the majority to classify broadly about. Justifications rise and fall. Birthing the right assorting facts, isn’t a focus. It’s diverging away. Imprints full of empty reassurance. Concluding something different in a basic platform the majority concentrates on. Fate just stands taller than the rest. Filtering all unsuspecting protocols from the inside out. Propagating pressure with insolence. Insolence flowing in-between the rough exteriors of right and wrong. Abiding time for another surface. Triggering the inside out dynamics at large. A picture finally noticing a part of itself without deciphering what complexes itself apart from the others. All this is a much-discovered piece of evidence. But it lacks companionship. No light or dark. A patronage not as diverse as the one heeding influences out with a weapon changing velocities around left and right. Pieces of quietness is an illusion. The surface being what it is. Underneath is where fate discloses further information completely. It’s weapon of probability is just that. A surface area too big for noticing details in itself. Rather picking others to commune a wishing sentence. Hinting at probability being a fake! There isn’t probability in the logical area of flat platforms without big thinking specifics. It’s all hogwash! Fate determines exilement to rush the borderline potential awareness of others. Except that’s probability maneuvering as a mask in the light. Tricking typical surface dwellers in an area too complex for delusional purposes. Even it’s claims are full of doubt. So why does everyone bounce from one flaw to the next? Practicing what it means to put one step after the other. Exercising doubt completely as a waypoint to a better tomorrow. More like a fruitful one-minute moment of standards too gray for focuses to admit. (Tricking won’t get you anywhere, if your full of bland statements.) An assertive quote straight from someone who exiles themselves onto others for practices into the next benign claims. Resumes with a statement that’s only delusional to what tricking isn’t. Showing you exile is the right future for an atmosphere with a heart. Which functions its heart towards the atmosphere. Switches in claims divert the true knowledge around in circles. So, who is fate, exactly? What possibly could they decide amongst themselves for the better future to the surface area of majorities? Try flipping yourself inside out. You might just want to write (Exile) on the permission slip of your own determined mark. Welcome to your identity in exile!
Fate claiming its own rights to act for itself, rather then wanting to break down others interpretations completely. Exiling every piece of information in one’s heart forever! A trick amongst claims.
I am a creature
Of movement and pain.
In movement and pain I exist
And have always existed.
To cease movement
Will be to pass from existence.
I am a creature
Of movement and pain.
A marathoner's mantra.
Both living and dying,
Awake and asleep,
Eyes opened wide and still so blind.

Ears to listen, a voice to share,
A mind to wander and a heart to feel.
Rarely used, taught to shut.
A technicolor being in a noir world,
A vessel of which the whole universe choose to reside.

The divine in the flesh.
Who believes these are two separate entities.
Or is it not?

Forever a question with no answers,
it is an abstract infinite loop with no alpha nor omega.
Existence itself is a rational paradox
and a corrupted masterpiece.

As we learn that there is no creator without its creations,
and no creations without its creator,

Are we able to exist without the ego or the soul?
To truly live with no purpose? Or is that in itself, a purpose?
Simon Oct 9
Life, the universe, existence, and all its possible occupants aren’t truly what they seem. Coherent enough between intervals and radiuses. There all present, right? Present is a term meant for the typical surface area. Things aren’t always what they seem when hiding in the dark. Darkness is without equal. Light is a mere pale imitation full of global pandemics! It’s our belief system. Darkness is turmoil. Light is delusional. One without equality, has no bearings to equal itself. Itself having no identity. No speaking. Nothing to argue about. Sitting in a stereotypical platform! Nothing dynamic about life’s purposes. When everyone is cleaning up the trick hiding in the light. Darkness has no equal. It’s scared. Not out for itself. Light is, because it understands too much. Shutting out the one who is truly full of equality to begin with. Revolving around the spectrum we call life, the universe and existence. Mere plans that sit and stare. Never making a true mark on anyone’s very sense of self. Sense of self bleeding dry! Being dry doesn’t mean it’s without equal. But without purpose. You all never understanding why that is. Tricking you into believing what is, and what really is. When what really is just another diversion staring off with a blank expression. Life is inside out for one reason. Components become instigated by mere lies. Stamped by something totally made up. Tethered by the strings of half lies, and half truths. Never perceiving the real giving’s on what truly matters. That’s the problem. Half truth never becoming that realization. Too dangerous for outsiders to truly perceive. Components are stamped to believe in false impressions on purpose. Reasons that go beyond the spectrum of every sense of life combined! Life, the universe, existence, is nothing without its occupants. Very reason they have thought’s and feelings. Nothing is without reason. Unless it’s a forced gimmick hiding in the light that isn’t equal.
Life isn't tolerant to it's equals. Prioritizing those equals without harm or division. Consequence isn't dividing if one is abstracting all conflicts without breathing the words dry!
Simon Oct 5
Emotions have cracks in them. Totally in dependable when reacting to flaws uncertain for regular eyes to see. Cracks hide you see. Maneuvering between rough outlines of outskirts that cut awareness too short. A fishing line snagged a sudden position that wasn’t its destination. Prize was a few paces all around you. Surrounding your visage. Clearly don’t seem to notice. Warping every visual that can’t be in reach. Not the outer boundaries fault. It’s yours! Your impatient. Selfish! Impenetrable to experiences outside yourself. Cracks becoming mere targets to your undoing. Something still convincing you is all but diminished. Obvious signs one isn’t aware of what is outside themselves. The rough outlines become more edgy. Rigid! Complacent among desires without conquest. Never being a deed well nourished for choice and claim. Reasons are faltered. Balance is futile! No constraints steady enough to admit which is to blame. Or which one succeeding this entire time. Isn’t obvious, because it’s logical. A well-oiled machine fueled by cracks making decisions. Cringing in glory! Never an upset to potential. Cracked emotions offering more pendence to a variety without notions. Options shooting up on selfish highs! Opinionating one flaw to open one crack. Releasing the selfish highs those emotions needed. They get off on it. It’s their coping mechanism. Keeps them feeling soft on there toes. Grounded to a halt! Fixating a claim without remorse. Opinionating another flaw to act without self decency. Decency sinking too low for one to hoist back up to the clearing. Another crack starts to open without force. One being stretched far as one’s awareness is outlining the real issue. Structuring the inside like the outside. Rough outlines can’t pass short for outskirts never crowding enough issues to what is performing inside. Reality becomes toxic! Which is which? What is why? Why never having a claim. It’s already too late to fasten the logical seat belts. Rough outlines cracking up on the seams. Everything becomes distorted. Showing multiple fractions of law and order switching places with different cracks. Opinions urge the inside to act. Creating more cracks! Never outlasting the stretched-out limits leaking foreign material across developments. Developments offering solutions to. Crisscrossing the maneuverability of emotions raging with claim! Selfish highs breaking records from deep inside crusted depths. Environmental concerns aren’t operable. Being pulled into the cracks with joy. Becoming more of the collection that’s always dry to a crisp. Pulling a snagged cause further into the unknown depths. Producing a balancing act. Being kind without focus. Determination of instinct displacing emotions without cracks. Cracks never influencing you to the cause all together. You’re in luck. Having an anchor sinking into the rigid depths. Decisions start negotiating a little splice of different grins. Never noticeable for suspicion. Keeping it inside there inner circle. Pleading all works for the desire of knowledgeable surfaces. Surfaces now having an edge of there own. A bold disposition reclaiming victory over itself entirely. Decisions watching the fishing line creep more and more into the depths of uncertainty. Depths stretching too far to be any ordinary cavity in the construct that is raw emotions. A plan? A claim? Decision making unfiltered correctly? Nothing more accurate then letting the snagged line become eaten by the cracks forming into one gaping pit!
A somewhat stable consistency to stay active on a cracked edge. A slow free fall that doesn't consent me to actually fall. It's an illusional trick you see. Plain and simple.
Poetic T Oct 5
You'll never dilute the memory
                           of my last words..


That as I wondered the paths you
                               never trod upon.

Some uneven, but still I gazed upon
                       things you could have


gazed over...


But you never would walk footsteps,
              taking you beyond the safety


of those you followed...


My path was never smothered by
                                misconceptions.

I walked in life,
              while you stood still...


Mine was a diverse wondering,

                   some more heavy than others.

But I carried the baggage of my past and took
          new paths...


My last words are,
             take more footsteps than
          others,
              for if you stand still to long the view

is dull, and you haven't lived till you took that
                                                             extra step.
Simon Oct 4
Is like a calm standing wave of pressure less lust. Binding all factors together to gain rhythm. Molding until factors appear larger than what was interpreted at ones first breath of life. Magnifying properties of ones own gratifying claim. Properties share. Properties shape. Do they lie? We would never transpire such a claim. For it’s the pressure less lust changing factors into the way things join paces of one molded majority. The calm standing wave doesn’t take charge, as it does not need to take charge. It is purpose itself. For reasons without pleasure. Presenting itself without claims to itself. Finalizing the properties as it grows, while swaying different processes in one standing wave. So does the factors that just are. It is what it is. Trying to understand it, will take your claims away. Your properties don’t lie, when you’re now lying to yourself. Just embrace the pleasure. No questions asked. No actions wasted. Pressure less lust will guide you on a nice smoothing sway of immaculate processes.
This is the very first poem I ever written. Hope you all like it!
Simon Oct 4
EG is my friend of all values. She can’t respond in the sense of regular views. She responds with her heart, with feeling. Only changing in many different ways that bite our senses down a bit. Revealing more we never thought possible. We eat, scream, fight, dribble ourselves over every exercise we do. Maximizing the intensity of logic. She is fearing the logic. Not because she’s scared. She resents it. Not her thing. Biting down on senses is what reveals the delaying perception from fully maturing. Making our true self’s thoughtless. Yet emotional. Constant struggle for finding the brim full of pressure. Pressure that exist without being tamed. Thoughtless and emotional. Trying to find and tame brimming pressure. It’s not our faults. It’s life. Just live it. Another thing happens without whereabouts knowing. Maximizing another view. A promise of broader horizons. Through thick and thin. Full of trembling ice! One showing she has and always will be, my friend.
This poem is about a friend who helped me through the bad times, when I felt completely alone!
Simon Oct 4
Universe is its name. Existence is it’s claim. Nothing but a muck of remedies in an open spray can designing an open view of everything all around you. Claims don’t recognize the innocence piling into one mural. Until people notice details. One universe could outshine the other. If not for gimmick being more then one. Existence becoming more then one claim. Open spray cans sharing broader horizons with people thinking one existence was it’s claim. Fantasizing about the universes claim could be? People finally capturing more then one abstract detail in its imagery. Mural taking on a life of its own. Perceiving what one claim isn’t. Broader horizons forcing people to share ideals. Demonstrating remedies of different visuals. Open spray cans taking on newer colours and forms. Different strands of colour to much for an open view taking in all at one glance. Molding into newer ideals. Designing a newer claim. One without one claim, or one viewer. An open view turning into multiple accounts. Molding different forms, until the horizon becomes fast pace. Growing without steady rates. Claims don’t worry. People start to question more harshly! Is it rash? Only if it changes ideals for the better. Names exhibiting more then one standard. Gimmick lays claim to the mural. Exhausting all efforts into one design without its own equals. Gimmick is no design. It’s a product of innocence. The universe is playing itself. Fantasizing one gigantic ego!
The universe isn't the only one playing games!
Simon Oct 4
Being in-between is never the lackluster of choice. I heed choices around like flyers wanting to join a cause. Imaginary circus of arts that never heed the claims of self choice. Choice disregards the claims of the imaginary circus. Disregarding all claims. Flyers flying around the in-between being free. Captured within there realm. Realm full of artistic surges! Extending past its bubble. Purging a focus deeming itself without worthy statements. Since actuality isn’t much of a focus for being in-between. A bubble surrounding even greater surfaces. One marked by choices. Marked by claims. Even marking self choice. Anti disregarding symptoms. Caring for what actually happens. An illusion in the light, that purges the shade holding two halves into one singular point. Points too judgy for claims, such as responsibility. No yes’s and no’s to be the counter balance. Imaginary circus becoming somewhat tainted. Heeds around choices without claims to care. Surging the realm full of arts. Nothing happens, until it chooses to act. I am in-between. And I am balance itself.
Growing up while fissuring my way through multiple crowds, heeding my choices between their claims.
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