There are no good: -politics -politicians -politicos -policy -polices
There is only DISTRACT and TAKE!
If it is bad, fake It good if its fake, fake it real
if it’s obvious make it someone else’s fault manipulate details and statistics too lead the questions, get the right answers for you Mass Programmng Media secret Not Saying Anything service hide behind our own goods
Freedom these days is all about -
And the illusion you are in
Politics by its very nature can only exist by divide the greater the divide the easier to fraction easier to fraction eaier to incite aggression and violence the resulting fear makes us seek peace we legislate our freedom away putting hope in lies the greater the distraction, the easier the take
Peace is an illusion, a God-like ideal A frightened little bird hiding in the bough of a tree barely out for a second starving to death confused and lonely because the fear of fear is so great
Political Peace is submission and oppression while convincing you that its in your best interests not to resist or persist.
You are then provided with a guilded cage distracted by how different the cage is next to you or the fence that divides you but you are safe?
All policed by consent the unmerry road to oppression begins and ends with distraction and take all selling illusions of peace and happiness while selling you out
And YOU are too distracted to notice YOU are killing your family and neighbors One fear One prejudice One judgement at a time...
Who polices the politix machine? Who polices you? Why gave them your unalienable right under *God to legislate your freedom faith and happiness out of your life, for you without your consent? Is that why they want to **** God?
Folded ripped and unfolded You see the symmetry and its beautiful But when you take a step closer you see the emptiness in the tears. You see the valleys left behind in each crease of every fold The rugged edges of the rip Fingerprints left from a sweaty hold Yes, upon closer inspection I am but the sum of my parts And often all my parts appear to be disasters And often they are I trot around like a work of art But few see what it took to get that way How I was folded ripped and unfolded Few can't see past what it took They see the holes left in me but not the pretty shapes And some see the shapes and I wish they'd acknowledge the holes Still even fewer can comprehend the resulting work And frankly, Sometimes I'm not sure I do But I manage A crippled work of art made beautiful by how neatly she was torn apart I struggle to hold my new form in the wind and amongst viewers Try to look like something relatable And not like life spent too long on me Worked till it got weary and persisted when really it should have rested its eyes I try To uphold my form as though every overworked corner and tear isn't centimeters away from destruction As though the slightest snag or tug won't leave me hanging Noticeably Deformed and mishapen But I stretch and I retract with grace Perhaps this is how I dance now my life a pas de deux of trying to hold it all together Just folded, ripped, and unfolded.
And when you pray Ask from your heart And when you pray Seek from your soul And when you pray Sniff around without ceasing Through your tears To find the doors That He has prepared To brand new frontiers For His pioneers. And then - Knock.
Ideas are like the wind they come and go like common cold they come with goals like ball and post
some we achieve others we only perceive
but one thing constantly remains after they have buried our remains
more will perceive few will achieve
because some will be cowards and others will be forward
that's how they will exit and their ideas exist in a place where ideas are luxuries just because they refuse to persist.
The Grave yard is the place with the most ideas... Find your purpose and never should you be afraid to live it... Life is short and no second time on earth, make every second count and don't forget to enjoy it, while you are at it.. cos no matter how long you live death must come..
Imagine if I could hear your heart from a distance If the left side of your chest were a boombox Imagine if the branches holding your muscles decided not to hide anymore Imagine if they grew their way out of your skin Maybe then you'll see you the way I see you Maybe then you would feel what could be drawn outside of you This world will tell you all about tears for it hates your eyes It will **** every bit of oxygen out of your lungs just to see you shrink Let it Let it drain you of the fluids keeping you whole Put your wrists forward Show them that chains can turn to bracelets and that there is nothing more precious that the clouds can give to the earth but tears I promise There will still be wind Even when they put boundries between you and the ocean There will still be wind So to **** with the world We'll take away a piece of the sky and make another One that doesn't require the clouds to cry.