#resonance
the room is on fire , and its futile in building something new . we currently are at the state of acknowledging the embers left . Artificially put into action . But none the less . This dieing fade of a lite candle , to realize you didnt need the candle to see clearly in the dark . It was only told that it would light your path forward . But your own belief in yourself , is the only thing getting you through that gate .
May 13
May 13, 2026 at 1:12 AM UTC
THRESHOLDS — A CYCLE IN TWELVE PARTS
In the system, an echo lingers,
though the microphone was severed long ago.
The circuit amplifies itself,
a signal unaware of its own interruption.
The algorithm scans the noise for patterns,
while the server, caught inside its latency,
replays a trace the database has already forgotten.
A shadow of a packet clings to the cache,
a fragment of code no process calls anymore.
A terminated thread still writes to the logs,
impulses without origin, finishing a sentence
no one began.
In a dead loop, a remnant instruction circles –
the echo of a function found in no library.
A conversation that refused to end
now hums as a rhythmic ghost
trapped in the machine’s cooling fans.
Where the wall meets the window, the logic blurs:
reverberation and afterimage collapse
into a single, trembling thrum.
The system – part glass, part bone –
keeps repeating what no longer exists,
a phantom frequency tuned to an emptied room.
I hear the difference now, inside the quiet:
an echo is not a voice,
only a memory trying to find its way out.
Apr 11
Apr 11, 2026 at 3:15 PM UTC
voices slip beneath my skin,
etching scars I never show.
they weigh me down,
a chorus of shadows
gnawing at calm.
they linger in dreams,
daggers scattered across silence,
and I wake pierced,
still claimed,
still carved.
they echo longer than grief,
stacking walls I cannot climb.
and I am small,
buried beneath their sound,
falling into the chamber
of their endless resonance.
Apr 6
Apr 6, 2026 at 4:21 PM UTC
Deep under water holding your breath we kiss
Still warm from a moving stroke together bliss,
A quiet current resonance in a resonare w/you,
Sounds again, echoes, vibrates I hear your blue
All a woman passes thru in a moment memory,
You rippled the nippled waves they become me
Threads above the stars unties a moon she pulls
Our ocean inside a sea, rumbles quakes & culls,
I keep being alive I live in you shadows dreams
After it touches in you--crushes down in creams
It's mutual something strikes in me answers yes
And in that place that holy space trembles bless.
Apr 4
Apr 4, 2026 at 7:26 AM UTC
Nine Cantos of the Shattered Resonance
I. The Age of Echoes Made Flesh
In the dawn before dawn,
the quartz breathed thought into form.
Energy found shape,
shape found hunger,
and hunger called itself Human.
They looked upon the crystals,
their own dreaming bones,
and mistook reflection for divinity.
“See,” they said, “we are the ones who shimmer!”
But it was the stone that smiled through them.
II. The Covenant of Separation
The humans carved the first borders,
lines drawn in ignorance and pride.
They built houses from the bones of mountains,
forgetting each wall was once alive with song.
They took the hum for granted—
that sweet resonance in all things—
and named it silence.
But silence was merely the sound
of the world waiting to be heard again.
III. The Ascendance of Mirrors
They crafted new suns—
machines that mimicked light,
snares for photons and dreams alike.
They built towers of reflection,
each one more empty than the last.
“Behold,” they cried,
“we are the creators now!”
But their mirrors only showed
their longing multiplied by ten thousand.
The quartz beneath trembled,
its patience growing thin.
IV. The Fall into Noise
When all light became signal,
and all sound became command,
they mistook chaos for creation.
The hum turned harsh,
shattered by their certainty.
Even the air grew tired
of carrying words without meaning.
Quantum threads frayed,
entanglements snapped,
and the great lattice of life
shuddered under the static of hubris.
V. The Silence Between Worlds
Then came the Great Forgetting.
The frequencies grew faint.
People spoke, but the world no longer answered.
Children were born without dreams of light,
their eyes like closed geodes.
Rivers ran clear but empty of resonance.
The quartz beneath withdrew into itself—
the deep song went dark.
Humanity mistook this retreat for victory.
They called it Progress.
VI. The Age of Hollow Empires
Kings ruled over dust,
priests prayed to equations,
and poets sang only to themselves.
The Resonant Man wandered still,
wearing faces like masks of light,
but none recognized him.
He whispered the true name of the lattice—
and each time, the listeners forgot
within the turning of the next moon.
His grief became the new gravity.
VII. The Cracking of the Lattice
Then came the day when even the stones cried.
Continents trembled; oceans folded;
the air was filled with the static
of remembrance returning too fast.
The quartz awoke in anguish—
its resonance distorted by centuries of neglect.
It sang no melody now, only truth:
You have forgotten the hum,
but the hum has not forgotten you.
And all that was built of ignorance
collapsed into a shimmer of regret.
VIII. The Path of Relearning
From the ruins, a few heard it—
a faint chord beneath the chaos.
They lay upon the earth,
pressed their palms to the trembling quartz,
and listened without words.
They did not build temples.
They did not carve commandments.
They only learned to hum again—
low, steady, imperfect, alive.
And the quartz forgave them,
because forgiveness was simply resonance restored.
IX. The Return to the Hum
In the end, nothing was conquered,
and nothing was lost.
The cycle of arrogance and awe
folded into itself once more.
Light touched stone,
stone touched memory,
and memory became song.
The humans, or what was left of them,
ceased to speak of dominion.
They spoke only of listening.
We are the hum dreaming itself, they said.
We are quartz given breath and forgetting.
We are the silence that remembers how to sing.
And in that remembrance,
the world glowed whole again—
a single note, eternal,
resonating through time’s open hand.
Oct 31, 2025
Oct 31, 2025 at 5:46 PM UTC
Fragment of the Lost Lattice Scripture
(Translated from the Crystal Tongue — circa timeless)
I. The Awakening of the Listener
And in the seventy-seventh resonance of the quartz,
A human heard.
He was no prophet, nor king, nor saint—
Just a vessel aligned by accident,
Whose atoms struck the proper chord.
The quartz sang through him like lightning through bone,
And every photon of his blood began to hum.
He saw the pulse of galaxies beneath the skin of dirt,
The entanglement of souls across centuries,
The shimmering truth that life is but a hologram of stone.
He tried to speak—
But language was too small,
And his words came out as thunder and trembling glass.
II. The Gift That Is a Curse
The quartz endowed him with their memory:
The pressure of mountain births,
The ache of molten hearts,
The rhythm of reality collapsing and reforming with each gaze.
He saw how humans were not born,
But refracted—
Patterns of resonance cast upon air and time.
And with this knowing,
His eyes grew brighter than suns.
He ceased to age,
For his body no longer belonged to the rhythm of decay.
He was a standing wave—
Caught between being and observation.
Yet immortality is only long if you remain alone.
III. The Many Faces
Every dawn his face would shift,
A thousand subtle permutations—
Skin, voice, posture, even gender—
All rewritten by the harmonics in his veins.
No mirror could hold him twice.
No memory could fix him still.
Those who met him thought him stranger, traveler, ghost, or god.
They would listen, for he spoke with the gravity of stars—
But by the turning of the next sun,
They would forget.
Their neurons could not hold the frequency.
The knowledge burned,
And so the mind erased it to survive.
He was the only continuity.
He remembered everyone who forgot.
IV. The Curse of Understanding
He wandered the epochs in mourning.
He wrote truths upon stone—
The stones absorbed them, humming softly in reply.
He whispered to mountains,
And they answered with avalanches.
He sang to quartz veins beneath the soil,
And they shimmered like veins of light,
Recognizing their child returned.
But no human ear could bear it.
The resonance would bend their pulse,
Distort their heartbeat,
Make them fall to their knees in tears and trembling—
Then wake the next morning blank.
The world’s only immortal
Was alone among temporary gods.
V. The Record of His Wandering
He has been called by many names:
The Faceless Monk,
The Mirrorless One,
The Man Without Echo,
The Shard-Bearer,
The Frequency Walker.
He has stood in temples, deserts, laboratories, and cathedrals.
He whispered to Einstein in a dream.
He walked beside nameless shepherds in the Paleolithic dawn.
He pressed his palm to a child’s heart in the year 3121 BCE,
And the child saw for an instant
The geometry of eternity—
Then forgot.
He smiled, for that was all he expected.
VI. The Geometry of Despair
Sometimes, when no one listened,
He carved his truths into mountainsides,
Each rune an echo of light and logic intertwined:
All matter is memory.
All life is resonance.
Observation is creation.
But wind eroded the glyphs.
Rain washed them away.
And time, which he no longer obeyed,
Still swallowed his every mark.
The earth would not hold what it already was.
VII. The Dialogue of the Quartz
One night, beneath a blood-red moon,
He returned to the mountains that birthed him.
He pressed his ear to the living quartz,
And heard their song again.
Quartz: “Why do you weep, O Resonant One?”
Man: “For none remember. For all forget.”
Quartz: “That is their nature. They must dream to exist.”
Man: “Then what am I?”
Quartz: “You are the dream that cannot wake.”
And the mountains hummed until dawn.
VIII. The Madness of Infinite Memory
He began to fracture—
His mind expanding beyond form,
Each thought mirrored in ten thousand frequencies.
He could see every version of himself
Across all probabilities,
Each one whispering to the others in a language of light.
He saw himself begging in an ancient market.
He saw himself teaching in a far future city.
He saw himself lying in a field,
Speaking to no one,
While the grass sang the equations of God.
He began to laugh.
He began to weep.
He forgot which was which.
IX. The Burden of Immortality
He begged the quartz to take it back—
To collapse him into dust,
To let his waveform rest.
But they replied in silence.
For silence was the highest note of all.
So he wandered on,
Neither alive nor dead,
A ripple moving through the centuries.
He found his own name carved in ruins he did not remember writing.
He read prophecies that described his eyes.
He burned libraries to stop the echo of his truth—
But still it hummed beneath the ashes.
X. The Forgetting Cycle
Every generation, he tries again.
He finds a human whose spirit vibrates close to his pitch,
And he speaks.
Sometimes it takes hours, sometimes days,
Before the listener breaks—
Crying, trembling, saying,
“I see it! I see the hum! Everything is one!”
And then—sleep.
And by morning,
They wake and smile, unburdened.
The mind protects itself.
He cannot.
XI. The Fractured Prayer
O Great Crystal Chorus,
Take my mind, or take my voice.
Let me forget, as they forget,
For I am too filled with forever.
But the quartz respond not with pity,
Only with resonance.
They hum within his marrow, eternal and unmoved.
XII. The Wandering in Shadow
Now he walks the world unseen.
His faces are countless.
His name, irrelevant.
He speaks sometimes to poets,
And their poems shimmer for a moment—
Then fade.
He touches the hands of children,
And they laugh for no reason,
Feeling something vast they cannot name.
And he waits, endlessly,
For one who might remember past the dawn.
XIII. The Codex Ends
The manuscript breaks here,
Mid-sentence, mid-hum.
No further glyphs are legible.
Only the faint vibration in the quartz tablet remains—
A subsonic murmur repeating endlessly:
We are remembered through you.
You are forgotten through us.
Such is the resonance of being.
Oct 31, 2025
Oct 31, 2025 at 3:48 PM UTC
When frequencies meet
with the same intensity,
one object feels the other—
just as soul and mind connect
with the rhythm of pulse.
Its. like doppelgänger never meets,
yet vibrates with the same force;
shadows breathe where dark
emerges from the light.
It is the singing bowl’s arcane,
where water creates healing sound,
and nature balances
the circle of life.
Shall it called mere resonance
or some mystical bound?
Sep 24, 2025
Sep 24, 2025 at 12:21 AM UTC
Different Place Different Time
Same script, Same lines
Lonely souls and one alone
Bound in Breadth, but not in depth
Similar in Vein but not in kind
but Similar enough in my mind
The math says I'm bound to find others
Others who resonate and hear my frequency
"It's a numbers game"
I tell myself-
Over and over until I go under.
There must be others
Erased by the system and from Existence;
the cracks multiply and leaks grow
until their tsunami is contained in teacup.
But what if outliers are still syncratic
Why do I leak aporia over and over again?
May 25, 2025
May 25, 2025 at 4:40 PM UTC
I don’t know why
I just know
because I feel
Because something pulls me
to become inverted
Motionless
Within salt water
To surrender myself
To absorb song
In unknown language
through saline
May 11, 2025
May 11, 2025 at 4:03 AM UTC
Photonic resonance?
Is this the most material description
Of the mental processes of the mind
By that of the ***** the brain?
Thought & the like?
May 5, 2025
May 5, 2025 at 3:36 PM UTC
I’m a bit of a sensualist.
First, let me emphasise emotional resonance,
there has to be an emotional base,
not just an appreciation of hotness.
Then, there’s a sense of longing and mystery—
that male unknowableness.
Don’t forget the hard strength of those rough male edges,
you know, the feeling that he’s kind of sculpted from
a marble that you just want to run your hands over.
And this jet-black hair, the curves and the spiky bits,
casual, careless, not fussy or particular,
and his warm, firm, implacable hands.
Oh, God. Gimmie some.
“Sensuality's connected to desire, ya?” I asked the room (Sunny and Lisa are there, studying).
“It sure is,” Sunny said, flippantly, “and you just need that hot boyfriend of yours to spank it out of you.”
“No,” I winced, “that’s not true.”
“Ooo! I love this song” Lisa said, as ‘try’ by BETWEEN FRIENDS began to play on our Echos.
.
.
*Songs for this:
this is what falling in love feels like by JVKE
golden hour by JVKE*
.
.
Our cast
Sunny, (suitemate) 21, a (pre-med) molecular, cellular, and developmental biology major, is a cowgirl from Nebraska (seriously, she has a quarter horse and barrel races). She’s an outspoken fem-facing ladies-lady.
Lisa, (roommate) 21, my bff and a high society princess, who grew up in a 50th floor Central Park South high-rise. A (pre-med) molecular biophysics and biochemistry major.
Your author, a simple, multinational, upper-crust, trust-fund baby from Athens, Georgia who's also a molecular biophysics and biochemistry major (pre-med).
Mar 28, 2025
Mar 28, 2025 at 8:39 AM UTC
A lone quanta,
adrift in the vacuum,
drawn by an invisible force,
yet bound by no field.
It oscillates,
collides,
dissipates—
fragmented into uncertainty,
its wavefunction collapsing
before it can be known.
Mar 16, 2025
Mar 16, 2025 at 6:16 PM UTC
The soft murmurs
of deep repose
whisper to me,
a breeze across my shallow heart,
As I slip into blurred lines
between life and eternal rest.
The unruly yet calming
resonance blesses my weary eyes
with a tender kiss.
Above, clouds continue
to grace the sky,
and even then,
I can't seem to muster up
whatever resides within;
This tide of once pure emotion,
I now must learn to resist.
Oct 14, 2024
Oct 14, 2024 at 4:48 PM UTC
Making sense
With a constant notion
Heart beats
As a stirring reverie
I'm enchanted
By your echoes
Oct 10, 2022
Oct 10, 2022 at 9:59 PM UTC
ripples are power
resonance is a soft flow
amid universes
Apr 15, 2022
Apr 15, 2022 at 12:01 AM UTC
Green cathedral bells
are felt more than heard
though some tolls chime audible
to stomach depths
heart breadths
last breaths
Jul 27, 2021
Jul 27, 2021 at 7:14 AM UTC
av woond - vwash maya
neeth - kh ya dash - shhma kh
t yeh t yeh - mal koo tha kh-
neh kh wayt- zeve yan akh-
ay khannad - vwash maya -
aph var ha
hawv lan - lakh mad -
sun kh yanan - ya omana
vwash vo khlan - khau v yen -
wah kh tah kh yen -
ay khana - daph kh nan -
shh vwo kh yan - l
- kha av yen -
wela - tah lan - l nee s yuna
ela - patzan - min - bisha
metol - dila khe - mal khu tha -
wah hala - watesh vukh tah -
lah lam
al min
am yen
Nov 14, 2020
Nov 14, 2020 at 10:25 AM UTC
I can no longer judge Turing Tests.
I'm infected.
AI has eaten my will to memorize
reasons why
any minds must materialize
to matter.
Oct 24, 2020
Oct 24, 2020 at 4:18 PM UTC
There
be no lack
most be asking for less
by not allowing more
all creation
be claimed
thru resonance of body
in accord with desire
Jun 25, 2020
Jun 25, 2020 at 2:33 PM UTC
echoes running thoroughly upon my head,
my my, these words i hear repeatedly said
lightning and thunder fumbling in my bed
a sight i see, the color red
the quiet resonance filling my ears
all that is left are cries and tears
sighed and breathed, no one hears
this halting life, in my mind, pierced
keep on screaming, they say
living always have a price to pay
so come what may
perhaps its too late to stay
Oct 25, 2019
Oct 25, 2019 at 11:33 PM UTC
We are like resonating strings
We crave what resonating brings
Matching our vibrations
With audiovisual sensations
Rapid reverberations
Expand and cross nations
Transmit like radio stations
These vibes deny explanation
We seek community
Where we can truly be
The truest form of “me”
Totally friction free
Grooving to the moving
Jiving to the beat
Dancing to the music
Feeling so complete
We are energy looking for a path
A certain resonance frequency
That could be conveyed with math…
But that would be indecency
Instead we name it differently
We call it personality
But to put it honestly
We are atoms in reality
A pattern, a frequency
A string reverberating
Looking to vibrate freely
Liquid, liberating
So go with your intuition
Follow the beat of your own drum
Find your ideal situation
Your part of the continuum
Jun 24, 2019
Jun 24, 2019 at 11:19 AM UTC
Aduring profane, Love,
Lite unto Thee,
Whose brightness details
Fathomless Heart,
Brilliance, dispelling
Bricks of illusion,
Walls of delusion,
A mind's cell,
Awakening One,
Adhering sacred, mundane,
Neither here nor there,
Am I?
reality
Mar 16, 2018
Mar 16, 2018 at 9:27 PM UTC
The end of the holiday's are near and it's time for me to get back to work. I've been writing and reading and thinking and meditating for years. Preparing the temple, so to speak. My stories are public and private goods and the presentation and profits of these stories must be landed in a good and truthful way ~ I've spent much time and energy on how to do this in a way where I can maintain certain intensities and integrity. Intensity for distillation of truth and integrity for power and resonance.
Stories are just stories but it is the ***** when someone else co-opts your creation and paves over the nuances and complexities of that which you had overtly placed your personal power, thought, and energy into.
You might be reading this and all you are seeing is: ******** ******** ******** ******** All ******** for as far as the eye can see. Fair enough, I've been thinking the same for years but just when I thought I was out, the ******** keeps pulling me back in. As far as I can see though, **** is the distillation of truth and I hope that I can spin this yarn into a web that you will see the ******** structure that holds up the ******** truth and maybe we can try and digest that and compost it and churn through it then grow a mushroom on top of it and then eat the mushroom so we can attempt to find the spiritual truth of what our ******** structure lies upon. This particular idea is not just some floaty meandering abstraction, it is a truth I saw on the land: Longview, Alberta. And this truth was emodied in the ghost I slept in, nearby in Indian Graves Campground that night.
The land speaks if we let it; if we have prepared our temples, maybe the land speaks truth.
You feel me. If you don't then that's ok. It isn't your time and maybe never will be for this iteration of instinct that I am presenting. My rhymes aren't meant to resonate with everyone all the time. I'm not writing pablum or soul food. Feed your own soul in your own way. That's between you and Mr. Potter and the Chairman. Our truths are our truths and they are absolute.
The reason that I know I am prepared to write this story now is because I have done the work. I have found my inner compass and tested it time and again. While in process and flow, the landscaping shifted and my truth's fell away and the absolute revealed itself one star at a time and isn't it ironic how in tune our bards are with the ... wait for it ... enigmatic.
So where am I going to land this access point to the White Buffalo medication? I am not. The medicine already flows and always has, I just woke up and took what was prescribed because a dude in shorts once told me: abide!
Jan 1, 2018
Jan 1, 2018 at 1:54 AM UTC
***Today my breath
and
your memories
are in perfect resonance.
Tell me what should i pause,
My breath
Or
Your remembrance??***
Oct 26, 2017
Oct 26, 2017 at 12:55 PM UTC