A year ago, I was begging for him to love me, to remember the love he held for me. That I was finally done figuring myself out after I repeatedly told him that it was time I desperately needed. God did I love him so much, so much that it still hurts thinking about it. I would have done anything for him, ignored everyone if that’s what he wanted. I would’ve moved mountains for him, I would’ve lost myself entirely if it meant that I got to be with him. He never wanted that for me, he wanted me to be whole and my own person, he wanted me to love myself first. I didn’t understand it at first. I was angry and heartbroken that he didn’t want me to love and put him first. It was then, after it ******* near destroyed me when I realized what he meant. He wants me to happy, to take care of myself and my son. He wants only the best for me and that’s when I realize that he will always love me, from afar. We will most likely never be together again but he still hopes and wishes that I will be okay no matter what. We don’t talk anymore but all I can hope is that he is doing okay and that he will find himself the way I have. That he will never have to wonder if I still hold love for him in my heart because I will always. He’s been my safety blanket in a time of need and I hope that if this ever comes across him one day, that I will gladly be his safety blanket. Thank you, thank you Nelson, for the nurturing care you’ve given me even if I didn’t want it at times. I will always love you, after all, you’ll always be my first true love.
Maieutic dreamer, the ecstatic euphoria of cerebral cortex’s ****** matrix is pandemic. Extravagant exorbitances of flirtatious flamboyance and flippantly flighty flit-ness. But what of stint-ness snities? Excruciating exacerbations of laboriously beleaguering hypercritically meticulous tediums. Synaptic syntax is fervently intense like a feral phrenic frenzied ****. Ruminating humanity’s collective consciousness gives me hysterical deliriums. We’re frenetically febrile, atrociously impetuous impudents who don’t know our id conclusion from our impromptu innuendo juncture. And what of the organizational principles of our subconscious continuums? Do we only dream about dexterous articulation? Can we become the agile acuity we envision or do we wallow in the drifty drivel of dour droll’s dreary? What’s to phatic say about futurity fatidic’s forlorn wanton? We need chutzpah, moxie savvy’s panache. Is there no such thing as a universally acceptable ontological deontology? Probity is as obvious as due yesterday, ethology’s entelechy the omnipresent reward. Elan vital is not subjective, it’s objective. Explicating epiphanies of social contiguity’s prospectus so innate as to be irrefragable. Not perhaps the oligarchies of eclectic synectics, but perhaps the pugnacious audacities of emote to exude aimed imbue. Assay relay’s convey, foray delay purveys inveigh. Perhaps if we are all cogently fecund with our vituperatively vociferous the holocaustial cacophony of our obstreperously abstruse will be just what the grotto grouch gumption ordered. Infusing all with the capability of aspiring to higher powers and yet not forgetting the mystery of self and others. I know I know what an ingratiating sycophant on the introjection. Gambits of alluvium aloof impunity when we all know immunity is Epicurean absurdity, but I already covered that on the phrenic aimed holocaustial cacophony. Seriously of we all enunciate so on the diction of mesomerism's to punctual. Why can’t that be the essence of accidence ambience acoustics, the arbitrational attenuation of actuator's aorist. We are not ethereal, we are corporeally preternatural and the sooner we all learn to respect each other to that the sooner we can get down to the sublimely surreal in oneiromancy’s apotropaic panaceas.
A dream I had about explicating eventuation evocative's expletives. The amalgamated anathema android. The cure for pseudopodia interruptus. At those plastygoop nosed gumby ******* ***** mongers. Teleportation's telepathic tout will augur the demise of the shallow water scrod ******* dogs. Carousel ceaselessly ceremony chaos character charisma. Enigma entity's identity crisis on the futurity fatidic. Grimacing gremlin greaves and gauntlets gamut catalyst abstracts.
Like the mysterious ocean A life without a price The water a potion, Like evil, entice When stripped of emotion To veins they splice The mindless devotion Hearts made of ice Ingrown commotion Stuck in their vice
Captain Nemo who thought, The truth. And Fontaneda who sought, The fountain of youth
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It is the time of celebration for the Good health of our guest! They arrive at our village a week back, Now they are roaming around Over the sprawling wetland and grass land With joy and shindig, Their call makes everything melodic and wonderful! Everyone is happy They said that “Visit of the guest indicates there will be good weather in next summer” ! So they will celebrate for the good health of honey guest in next full moon night though God’s own way !
It is dedicated to the villagers of North East India who take care and celebrate the visit of migratory bird to their villages in winter.
They aborted it from her when they sold her the the false perfection elixir that soul'd her out
Hook, line, and sink her gut her, fillet her.
Ctrl-alt-del the fetus, the sacrifice of the inner-child. Molested into the machinery of Moloch
He butchered the absolute heart of the poem of life out of her body.
She stands naked goddess-less kicked into the prison pit of existence
Now she's like *everybody. She's nobody.
This is an excerpt from a song I wrote from my Soul Punkera. It's titled "Fashioning the Object" It is influenced by an art exhibit of the same name I saw in Chicago a couple years back. It really changed my perspective on the way our beauty standards are flawed, and the disenchantment of the suffering models are put through to obtain perfection. A lot of the Soul Punkera itself is influenced by Ginsberg's Howl. So I make several references to it.