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Simon Jul 21
I became myself when no one else knew who I truly was. Why...?
Why couldn't anyone simply figure me out (ahead of time) when I could entirely (beforehand) figure myself out since even when I was first brought into this very world...? Well isn't it obvious...? A voice said, tempting me to gaze upon the very fixed position at which the voice came from. But when trying to focus on it harder... I seemed to have become both aware of and realized towards it's actual radius from how far it truly covered my very thought process. It became a rarity which seemed to last (somehow) for an entire lifetime. Because what this actually tells me, is that the radius came from everywhere! (How's such a thing even possible? I'd never know, truly!) No circumventing around any such corners or bends. No swerving out of alignment just so it could have a quick pit stop just to say something else that (could or could not have been just as important to what they simply just said right then...here and now). I was entirely speechless...! I didn't know what too think, except for what they said. Now sounding as if reverberating a soundless beat. Something that had used up ALL it's amplified power of sound to come to a now soothing calm beat. Something sounding too distant not to be fake. As it happened without any of my senses whereabouts from actually knowing. Because if my senses even knew where it was essentially coming from...they'd swear to know it was coming from deep within themselves. B-but that's a complete mistake...! It just had too be! There is NO WAY...it came from them.... Or else then, everything's not truly what it seems in one's very mind, right...? So in this very hour of need. This very desiring minute of youthfulness. These very repeating seconds that reveal totality in it's best remarks. Mind. Body. Soul. It's not what it seems to be. I've figured out my very self before anyone else could advance towards my literal cause. Because when I actually appeared before that very now still distant voice that simply gave off a very reverberating tension... I spoke back to it as if in the form of a single swaying of my gaze from the inside out. And do you ALL know what I saw...? NOTHING!!! I saw...NOTHING!!! That's *******! I thought too myself for a quick brief silence between (me, myself and I). There may be essentially nothing there... But I can see straight on through that nothingness as the horrors that await my true self. I know now why NO ONE else could figure me out or knew who I even was...before figuring myself out firstly. Because that's how it works... My true self is the horrors that await me past the horizon of that now still very distant reverberating sound. A message that speaks volumes against those outside myself to stay wary of who I truly am. (Or what I truly always was...without simply giving the very recognition it ever deserved.) I see ALL! Because I know ALL! It happened everywhere! Because it was everywhere! I surpassed my entire limits long ago without anyone seeing why that was. Only my own waking state, conscious mind keeping me rooted in regular reality long enough to keep being my still same sane and neutral self I've ALWAYS been!
When you've essentially figured out your entire self (before even growing up throughout different phases of lives very lessons)... You come to appreciate the horrors of what those very implications have in store when seeing everything else as a merely pale imitation trying to restore some resemblance back into just ("not knowing ahead of time")! When it's really the very creepy impression of ("beforehand") you should really watch out for...!
Simon Nov 2019
Mind. Body. Both are transfixed among one another. They attract a certain multitude of how both permeates the other with constant activations among it’s greater whole. Two sides to the same coin. Something remotely without judgemental issues to be weary of. Mind and body servitude one another on the grand scale of themes. Monitoring what it’s like to function without one another in the best-case scenarios. One would like to think they both do have separate parts among being each others counterpart. It’s more finite then one would think at first. The difference between finite and separate existence comes with its own separate finite pieces without the other to perturb it’s operations. Finite is a judgmental classification among something to do with how each permeates the other. Yet have many finite pieces among one another who they deem isn’t worthy of there time. There’s an operation going beyond both connections between mind and body can foresee. The skeleton key of mind and body! This key is able to permeate both situational events at one singular time. A simultaneous rate without virtue to uphold it’s investigations. Investigations being something without equal ownership to who’s to be the most separate among each other. And having their own finite pieces among mixed connections one is deemed worthy to uphold among differences entirely. Does mind and body disagree with one another? Or do they simply don’t understand what they are among one another? If they did, then why the hustle from one another? A simple documentation among desirable functions on instinct to never get along. Yet why be brought together to permeate among connections across many of their pieces they already deemed worthy? Is it because they have no choice, but are fixed to get along? A forced operation which localizes their own behaviours across mind and body’s actions. Systematically removing respect among one another. All the above are equilateral. But the skeleton key of mind and body isn’t equilateral by any means. It’s the warden of both mind and body. It’s the warded succession that binds these permeated systems together for peace, and agreement. Desires without conquest isn’t deserving among one another. It’s only deserving among two sides of the same coin, when the key hiding in-between all separate pieces of finite details which takes the entire cake! Why does natures evolution want to keep these visuals under wraps? It’s only the in-between operations without separate pieces of finite details to rhythm the constant of all processes. The skeleton key is the proper picture hiding in plain sight for (non being the wiser) to evoke upon. (A reason being obvious among other reasons without closure among each other.) A testament to become stuck apart, if not for the skeleton key to fill in the gaps. Constantly pushing the desires from urges which are constantly giving practice toward mind and bodies believe in one another. Believe equals sacrifice. Both giving a well-known awareness that they aren’t truly at conflict with one another. There aware of another which binds their desires from urges over and over again. Unlocking one’s own processes among believe which equals sacrifice on a huge scale! Trying to process a path of deservance between how life is truly instructed upon. Natures evolution trying to permeate the true picture from the original design back into another’s claim. Its skeleton key is the object to truly finding progress with the original design. Mind and body being just pawns in a greater horizon. Evolution is the shenanigans of natures ploy. A thing helps pertain the connection between mind and body. Subjecting a skeleton key to react over and over again. Why? Simply so it isn’t disowned by the original designer. Evolution being natures shenanigans is a crafty finite detailed version onto natures spectrum indeed. Evolution being the key to mind and bodies success. A deceiving skeleton key hidden in plain sight for non to equally see!
They say a skeleton key opens all locks. Forcing processes to uphold many believes that it is master of all in-between transmissions among a community without value over itself entirely.
Simon Oct 2019
Engaging the processes that never matter, is blasphemy! Coating with coaxed visions of what wasn’t the usual demeanor of completion. Magnifying a matter of consequence over structures of doubt. Magnifying another matter entirely. Switching off the coax disposition. Processes becoming enraged. Engaging what it truly wanted to open up onto itself. Performances exiled. Properties fallen silent for non being the wiser. Trippy situations become sensitive desires. Opting situational premises. Offered to become desolate in the spotlight. Spotlight blips out for a few moments of data being processed over along period of space. The time was undetermined by valid postures. Valid postures filtering out neat and tidy. Only wanting to look it’s best. The blips mean more to what time can’t separate. The space occupies reason. Reason being pushed into uncertainties. Uncertainties becoming trapped. Disillusioned in the path that processes an easy way out. Filtering more reasoning on pure logic alone. Logic is great. Yet undecided. Everything caught in tumbling transmissions. Engaging the processes that never matter, isn’t blasphemy. Until you find the route of measure. Opting more devices from within to escort the spotlight into submission. Submission prompting more blips in the spotlight. More processes become enraged! The blips being the true mask to what uncertainty flips around like a rag doll. Its design isn’t enraged because it can’t decide its own reasoning. It’s enraged because it’s engaging with itself. Similarities being too of the same varieties for one process over the other to notice in finite detail. A mirror reflecting off one component between another. Never noticing the illusion of itself being the only one of its kind. The twist! Being what it can’t recognize. Is the acknowledgement of another like it? Programmed to twist, turn, pull its way to victory in undetermined results. The logic is careless. Showing adaptions aren’t perfect. Tries and tries. Until something clicks for the escort route out of the blasphemy. Rooting you in place. Each component reflecting its own processes off mirrors one can only acknowledge. Wait! If one can twist its desires around itself, reflecting it like a mirror. Then how does it communicate with another component? The fate isn’t in the details. But for you to figure out. A fated bland disposition regains control. Processes become engaged once more!
Processes are messy, struggling idiots that can't depend on its own local frame. It takes time for itself to notice what itself is tasked for. Only then will it stop shining more light against its own mirror.
Simon Oct 2019
One story may change the world someday. One that will revolutionize the steady constants of how everyday aspects judges itself too harshly. Never finding the solve of anti pressure release syndromes. Plot is plot. Ideas are always outspoken. Even if one or the other hasn’t agreed. Won’t change the facts given to the recipient who may have already judged the opposing two. Without running through what they have already been about. Futuristic plot devices aren’t important. As it may not even exist. Storytelling being a futuristic realization to knowing something before it happens. Feelings clawing thought processes. Thought processes trying to equalize the incoming rush of emotions that rise and fall. Feelings being a different breed centered in the middle of the steady constant. Revolutionizing what you already know. Blind to see it through. Thought processes aren’t too judging. Except when you start to trust feelings too much. A jealous implication arises. Knowing what you already know before it happens. Is no different then how one already figured it out. Feelings handle it with care. Thought processes stuck in the mud. A puppy without any directional skills. A master never telling its true flaws if it couldn’t understand itself to begin with. Jealousy is rising even more. A fixed implication is becoming more dominant. Revolutionizing the main flaw more and more. Nothing is without equal if you never give it a chance. Feeling the way through all the clutter. Clutter not being your fault. You were molded by the pressure of what storytelling has made you into. Plot devices center these focuses without thinking outside itself. Your only to blame, when subjects apart of your judging becomes too sterile for you to notice anymore. Drying out the process of trusting something with care. Becoming one who is blind to never looking outside itself again! Becoming the stick in the mud. How does one avoid? Easy! Storytelling being a futuristic realization! PS… Don’t claim what you already know!
Storytelling isn't hard to figure out. Only when not knowing what comes after what has already presented itself genuinely. A fixed position on the properties of something yet to occur.
Rickey Spence Apr 2019
4/19/2019

I’m too skinny to be mean,
So why do I walk with swag?
That’s not maturity, I’m so green.
They say, “Work out, you’re such a scrag.”

I should try to smile more,
A scowl doesn’t draw people.
But the outside reflects from the core,
So change is not that simple.

Jesus change my heart,
Fill me – no, overflow me!
I need all of you to start,
To erase this mood of gloomy.

I’d rather be a nice guy,
I wouldn’t have to worry.
My old image – it’s time to die.
My turn to forget my history.

I’m still worried about my image,
I thought I climbed over that!
This culture values the savage.
In Your face, they’ve spat.

I’d rather be a decent fellow,
Someone readily trusted.
I’m quiet, I don’t bellow,
This way I was made, but I’ve resisted.

I was raised to be a gentleman,
What does that mean?
Call me a madman,
Act like Christ, when not even seen.

I’m done with looking tough,
I want nothing to do with grim.
I’ll act in a way devoid of mischief,
Even if I look like a weak victim.

But going back to culture;
I don’t want to slip into the throng,
I won’t blend in and become a vulture,
Feeding off the weak, don’t make you strong.

“Speak softly and carry a big stick,”
An interesting concept.
People these days are all talk,
That they are wrong, they’d never accept.

Even when I’m hated,
By Christ, I will show humility.
It’s not that complicated,
An extension of His credibility.
Rickey Spence Apr 2019
4/18/2019

When I feel like hanging out,
Everyone is out and about.
But when I need to get away,
They all seem to want to stay.

God bless my introversion,
Because the other way is confusion.
I dislike the way I am,
Don’t compare me to a clam!

You’ve got me wrong,
Though at times I look strong;
Inside, I’m contorted into a wince,
Praying constantly for more competence.

At the end of a long day of stress,
I sit and mull it over – attempt progress.
I wonder why I am so put-down,
Feels like I’m on the edge of breakdown.

Then I think of the days previous,
Everything becomes obvious.
I need breaks from people,
That’s always been the principle.

In the moment, it’s easy to slip up,
And think I can do this ’til sunup.
But I am weak when it all comes,
I quickly forget my problems.

I have unlimited limitations,
It’s hard to turn down invitations.
People can’t expect much from me,
But I can’t just blame my anatomy.

It seems a daily and vicious cycle
Splurge and crash, it’s becoming critical.
Balance doesn’t seem practical,
Why am I so hypocritical?
Rickey Spence Apr 2019
4/15/2019

I need a way to let my anger out.
But there’s not even a thing,
That I can think to be angry about.

I need to slow down my breathing,
I need a way to calm myself down.
Tonight my mood is the definition of seething.

My face in a perpetual frown,
I fear what I may appear to be.
Resolution can’t wait until sundown.

I can’t believe the benefit of this hobby,
There’s a beauty in the uses of poetry.
Truly a calmer person, not just a wanna-be.

Time to end this miserable soliloquy,
I think I’ll go for a walk.
Life is better spent, not being solitary.
Rickey Spence Apr 2019
4/10/2019

To the one overcome by other people’s struggles…

Are you some sort of therapist,
That so many lean on you?
They line up as if for an interview.
All this weight on your shoulders – unnoticed?

You don’t mind helping others.
But how are you supposed to grow on your own,
If all you ever do is groan on your own?
You’re still alive, but this weight – it smothers.

They say you gotta find a lightning rod,
To relate all your problems to.
Hey, that’s what you thought once, too.
But your immunity to pain – a facade.

The burdens of other become your own.
Issue after issue you assimilate,
And their privacy, never violate.
You know what you’re doing – it’s by design.

Your back has become numb to the weight,
You are growing stronger…
Now people will love you longer.
You exist to take on their pain – but wait.

This sounds all too familiar.
You’ve heard this story before.
This connection, you can’t ignore.
The man who’s already done this – no failure.

Jesus, the man who took on sin,
So much sin that He died.
He paid the penalty, but never cried.
But through death did he – win.

Could you compare yourself to Jesus?
Could you bear as much weight as he?
No, you don’t even have to ask an actuary.
He’s the only one who – frees us!

So what are you doing with all this,
It’s not your burden to bear,
To you it has become your snare.
But all this on your shoulders – dismiss?

It’s not that easy to drop.
It’s been there so long,
It’s part of you now, making you “strong.”
Someone else needs to make change – swap.

But if Jesus really took the world’s sin,
Then you can’t stand in His way.
You’ve gotta let Him win, give in to His sway.
But He also died for you – took your toxin.

“Jesus, please forgive me!
I’ve been playing God.
And all that reaped was fraud.
I am but a nobody…

“A nobody whom you choose to love.
Show your love once more!
I’m begging for that encore!”
Freedom – all you’re dreaming of.

All He asks you for is for you to ask,
And out pours His forgiveness.
He doesn’t respond with vindictiveness.
And He’s already done – an easy task.

Just like that, weight falls off,
It feels so wrong, the price still paid,
Jesus took your entire burden, an unfair trade.
With His life – down the drop-off.

Hell was reserved for your ilks,
You had your name reserved on a seat,
Jesus paid that ticket, gave no receipt.
Let go of regret – which only bilks.

From now on, you’re no therapist,
Now, fewer should lean solely on you,
No more line-ups for that interview,
The weight on your shoulders – also noticed!

You can share your own problems,
Tell others how you’re doing.
Your attitude, start renewing.
It takes time for healing – but it comes!

Don’t slip into self-sufficiency,
On God, you must be reliant,
He’s the therapist, you’re the client.
The trait of dependence – no longer a deficiency.

With your life, lead others to Him,
He is the One who’s strong,
In Him, we all belong,
Jesus – Love is a synonym.
Zywa Feb 2019
When there's moving so much
inside me, my belly, my heart

and parallel in my head
chaos everywhere

how could I be quiet?
My muscles follow slowly

because of the small balance
wheel my whole body rotates

just as the earth spins around its axis
because of elementary particles

shooting around back and forth
I am in the middle and I don't

feel the speed, united
with my own storm, I am

movement
It is called inertia

but I call it life
The rotation of the earth is the delayed effect of the movement of the elementary particles

Collection “The light of words”
Pat Broadbent Apr 2018
It’s possible to speak too much to remember what your words mean.
And so is the two-fold danger faced by writers.
Danger is to pace a hole in the floor.
Danger is to stand until you can’t move anymore
like when shallow waves **** your feet into the sand.

So I try not to stand when I write.

I keep a narrow tack
without too many big words
which pedants use to dig great holes in the ground
–moats to keep others out–
or make you think they think big.

But anyone who reads knows about Icarus
and anyone with aims must beware:
to shoot directly upwards is to strike your own head
when like fate the arrow
returns to source.

You’re only as good as your mind,
your characters only as strong as you are.
—at least, this is true in so far as you know.
True in so far as they speak.
For to test them you must torque them
and twist at their cores,
and make opposing forces meet–
but only
as hard as you can.

This makes writing a hill slick with oil.
Insecure. Potential energy.
Potential failure
seated
in all of that grime
that cakes your toes like grease that coats
the teeth of great industrial gears.

So I try not to stand when I write.

But whether the better take comes when you plunge
and you slide and dissolve like so much ice,
I must say I don’t know,
the thought
seems nice.
But the same
It seems like those who let go
Are the ones
with the least to say.

I can't decide
either which way.

All I know about writing is
most sentences are punctuated wrongly.
The period is certain,
but writing is undecided.
It is the figuring-out, a quest-bound troop
that moves with all its own fanfare.
Question marks curl up—
invisible smoke on a summer coal fire:
heat twisting the air like irons in stoke
giving sign of the transformations there withheld.
For fire mediates matter,
so writing stands ever-between.

But I’ve spoken too much and I don’t know what these words mean.
And so I fold like there’s danger in writing,
while danger is imagined like borders on a continent.
Danger is thinking
I'm dangerous enough to keep silent.
Like shallow waves,
given way to sand.
So avoid letting voids form
where the mind dismisses confrontation to more capable smiths.
Writing is –at best– an attempt.
Even with shallow structures
in rhythmic din,
the silent breaks by force of pen,
and all because of the simple fact
that quiet refuses to bend.

All I can hope is my writing upholds these unknowns
while I try not to stand.

But you ask about writing?
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