#scott
Travis scotts concert was 100% a satanic soul harvest. He sent those souls to another dimension.
Think I'm stretching? READ ALL THE WAY THROUGH.
First off. He called his event a "festival". The definition of a festival is a feast. Did you see a large amount of food?
Or did you see a feast of souls?
His stage was the symbol for alchemy. The egyptian ankh. The Egyptian ankh has to do with life. Because the wealthy know when you die and when you are born, you create a ripple in time and space for your soul to come and go. The best way to describe it is like a pool. Imagine you are about to jump into your local swimming pool. The water will break your entry and you will safely hit the bottom. Now. Imagine there is a person at every single part of the edge and you all jump in at the same time. Now you've got a problem. Soul harvesting is the same way. When you die your soul creates a ripple and it can safely leave. But. When you have a bunch of people dying in the same spot the spiritual realm becomes stressed in that location due to the high amounts of energy our souls resonate as they are leaving and entering the in between of this realm and other dimensions. Therefore they have created machines that have tapped into the in between to ****** your soul. Who gets it and where it goes? Other things are possible as well. Like the exchange of a good soul for whatevers on the other side?. Have you ever heard of cern? The large hydron collider. It's the largest machine in the world. This is NOT knew technology. The Mayan indians knew about this. The egyptians knew about this. THIS IS WITCHCRAFT AT THE HIGHEST DEGREE.
Let me break it down.
Travis Scott is a WITCH. The microphone is his wand. He is a (M.C.) (Master of ceremonies).
With his wand he uses his voice (frequency) to help bring in the energy needed to open the portal. He brings a crowd of 50 to 70 thousand people who are generating IMMENSE amounts of energy into a low vibration. Love is the highest. Aggression is the lowest.
Then the design of his stage along with the lights become the sigil to help open the portal. Remember his stage was the symbol for alchemy?
YOU can't see the portal. You just see a fancy light show.
But those who are dying and their souls are separating from their bodies can.
The only way a living person MAY see through the portal is if they had taken an Elixir like Ayahuasca.
Do you ever wonder why all these "rappers" want to date the highest ranking Arminian witch family Kardashians?
Could it be because they are witches?
They do these kind of rituals behind closed doors all the time. What you saw was them coming out in the open.
The goal for you is to pass on and move to a higher dimension. You are drawn to the heavens because that's where you came from.
When you start gaining wealth, you start the search for immortality. Wealth is a drug that most refuse to part with. So this is where satanism comes in. There's a theory of reincarnation if you can create enough negative energy for yourself, you can weigh your soul back down. This is where the technology of transferring your consciousness back into another avatar has its place.
You can see why we are at a cross roads of transhumanism and luciferienism.
Some believe the elites WERE once humans and during the days of Atlantis that changed. Their technology hit a point they no longer needed human bodies. And they became the pinnacle of Transhuman. But no longer human. Something else. Maybe this is what "sanat kumara" is? A.K.A. Satan.
Nov 25, 2021
Nov 25, 2021 at 6:14 AM UTC
You are not like the rain
You never teased my skin
Planting ideas in my head
That grew roots in my heart
The acid Dripping from your tongue,
You burnt me.
The storm raged
The waters haven't calmed since.
I felt love, I Feel love, I bleed hurt
And long for a tsunami
To sweep me from this nightmare.
Come back
Break my skin
Please
Show me what it feels like to love again.
Let me dance in the toxicity
And bathe in the poison
Your scent
Your fumes
Paint
Dirt
Home
A fresh rain falls
I'm drawn back in
Let me drown
May 20, 2020
May 20, 2020 at 10:18 PM UTC
I want to be
your tattoo
skin deep and meaningful
a complicated design
of interconnecting lines
forming an image
a symbol
expressing an intimate
part of
you
I want to be
what you need
passionate red
for a setting sunset
calming blue
for a starry night
invigorating yellow
for a vibrant sunflower
darkest black
for the wisest quote
always moving with you
when you dance
when you laugh
when you cry
But if regret comes to be
I want to be
your mistake
covered up
a hidden memoir
of your past
guiding your future
an ink-stained lesson
lingering curse
but I will still be
part of
you
Mar 13, 2020
Mar 13, 2020 at 2:33 PM UTC
Romance is a sweaty assembly line
With shop talk and flying metal shards
Cracked safety glasses and warning signs
Hot oil, bolts and screws, and heat guards
Romance is 12-hour long night shifts
After 8 hours of class and study
Stuck in a warehouse with men on forklifts
And a redhead too shy to talk to me
Romance is a bold negotiation
Bargaining for his job next to her
A week of cleaning his workstation
A week to get her interest to spur
Romance is a stupid expression
A flower, chocolates and teddy bear
In front of the guys, a bad decision
Her running away, face as red as her hair
Romance is a terrible movie
She insisted I watch at her place
A film - to this day - I’ve yet to see
And, yet, its mention still makes my heart race
Romance is losing yourself as you touch
Fingers running softly through her long hair
And feeling lucky she wants you so much
Even after an ill-timed teddy bear
Feb 23, 2020
Feb 23, 2020 at 2:02 PM UTC
4 am
Stumbling through the dark
Wife needs the sleep
Youngest daughter’s crying
A blind diaper change
Warming a bottle and falling on the couch
Now 2-year-old’s crying on my hip
Burp then back to the cradle
Other daughter tucked in
Suit tie briefcase keys
45-minute commute
Bus duty for middle schooler
Fights broken up graffiti foiled
90 students in 6 periods
Grading lecturing consoling mediating
After-school program
Organizing monitoring guiding
Long drive back
Screaming kids tired wife
Laundry dinner dishes
Drive to part-time job
Inventory customers cleaning up-selling
Meeting with manager
Numbers are down you might get fired
Anxious anxious anxious anxious
Clock out drive to class
Parking running looking at watch
5 minutes late
Where were you prof says
The test has already started
Scantron answer sheet
Only a pen in my pocket
Unbelievable he says
With no pencil I have to fail you
Consider this a lesson
You need to grow up
This is the real world
Feb 11, 2020
Feb 11, 2020 at 10:28 AM UTC
Remember how we’d sneak out of the house?
We hated the yelling and the crying
Scrunched shoulders, tiptoeing off the porch
They never noticed we weren’t there
Such a dusty neighborhood
No lines on the roads
Tar-filled cracks hot and sticky to the touch
Protruding grass a cooling reprieve
We’d push each other and kick at our feet
Toss pebbles at stop signs
And walk on that broken wooden gate
Outstretched arms to keep balance
We had a ritual before bugging Grandma
Through her side yard, to the levy
Climbing the hill in our green-black stained sneakers
Rolling down in an itchy flurry
And at the end of our dizzying tumble
Stood that venerable well
Its stony visage stoic against the unkempt field
The surrounding shoe-imprinted mud
Reaching into our pockets, we’d pull out our coins
The change from our school lunches
The money we should “save,” we were told
But, instead, we threw it into that well
The well was dark, but I could hear the PLOP
I’d imagine its decent; swaying through lingering blue
Twirling and flipping, creating small whirlpools
Then smacking the bottom with a resounding THUD
Of course, we’d make our wish
Never spoken, or else it wouldn’t come true
You’d knowingly smile at me
Your eyes filled with tears
I went back to that old well…
I followed our old path, down that cracked road
Through Grandma’s abandoned side yard
Up and over the levy; it was such a quick trip
And there in the field was our old well
Mud dried, the weather-beaten stones crumbling
Tattered rope choked a bucket-less handle
Insects oozed through rotting wood
What had happened to our change?
I peeked inside that dark, empty well
And, there, at the bottom, rested our coins
No blues, no twirling, no whirlpools
Just our lunch money entombed with dirt
Jan 24, 2020
Jan 24, 2020 at 1:10 PM UTC
I
I celebrate my pants, and sing my pants,
And what I wear you shall wear,
For every thread belonging to me as good belongs to you.
II
I saw the best pants of my generation destroyed by madness, bleaching faded skinny,
dragging themselves through the crowded malls at noon looking for the perfect selfie,
man-bunned hipsters burning for the contemporary digital connection to the social dynamo in the machinery of online relevance
III
Let us go Pants, you and I,
With evening wash spread out against the sky
Like a ghost dancing upon the breeze;
Let us go, through certain half-full baskets,
The smelly caskets
Of unwashed trousers from one-week neglected hampers.
IV
Something there is that doesn't love my pants,
That sends the frayed-torn-cuffs under it,
And spills my muffin top in the sun;
And makes love handles even two can hold to love.
V
I have stolen
the pants
that were in
the dressing room
and which
you were probably
wearing
for a party
Forgive me
they were comfy
so soft
and so stylish
VI
Because I could not fit my Pants –
I kindly split the Seam –
The Problem is quite obvious –
I need some stronger Jeans.
VII
The patterns on your pants
Could make a designer cry;
But I hung on to your stance:
Plaid boldly with tie-dye.
VIII
Call the maker of big pants,
The fabulous one, and bid him zip
In seamstress studs sumptuous sewing.
IX
What happens to lost pants?
Do they stiffen up
like paper as it dries?
Or do they balloon up —
and into the sky rise?
X
I bought some tremendous pants
and held them beside the cart
half off the hanger, with the hook
fast in the belt loop around the waist.
There was no fight.
No one had fought at all.
They hung a defeated weight,
overlooked and spurned.
Jan 13, 2020
Jan 13, 2020 at 4:51 PM UTC
Today we mourn the death of a clown. We adorn our fanciest makeup and brightest wigs.
Our bowties spin and our rubber noses squeak, and the horns’ honks are very loud.
From our tiny cars, we tumble and slip and dance and fall over our floppy shoes.
We glide on banana peels and crash into whip-laden coconut cream pies.
We wrestle to our seats. Pushing, shoving, eye-poking, seltzer spraying.
Loud farts echo as whoopee cushions compress beneath our butts.
The priest takes the alter, but a bull charges and chases him away.
Replaced with a mime, the service finally begins.
Pulling and pulling and pulling and pulling
Handkerchiefs from our sleeves
We wipe each other’s tears
And flip over the casket
So we can say
Goodbye.
Jan 10, 2020
Jan 10, 2020 at 4:02 PM UTC
My wife holds my hand tightly as we enter the tiny church
The harsh odor of wet wool, cotton and dust fills the foyer
The pews are full. The signature book thick with names
Sifting through, we find a seat as the dirge comes to a close
The preacher is loud and sweaty and a distant cousin, I’m told
His mud-brown suit and tie clash against the stage’s ornate bouquets
He assures us there’s a heaven and that my grandfather was a good man
His thick southern draw a slow assault; the eulogy, a battleground
Stories are shared, and they are sweet. He paints a righteous man
Hands are raised, amens shouted. A relative grips me hard and weeps
In Jesus name, hallelujah, the lord giveth; the lord taketh away
Bow your head in prayer, he says. Let us remember our brother
And I remember. Images enter my head, and I clench my teeth
The drunken fights with grandma, the hammer used to defend herself
The scar on his palm, the knife mom drove through his calloused hand
The dark coat closet, the sound of the lock his children heard, the cries
The line to his casket is long. The sobs overpowering the morose hymn
His children are lined next to him. My grandmother is holding his hand
I lean in to see him one last time. His red nose has vanished
He smells of embalming fluid, and his shirt is wet with tears
Jan 8, 2020
Jan 8, 2020 at 4:46 PM UTC
Here you are, reading some book
When you should be out there
Playing football and eating *****
We got work to do
You gotta move those shingles
I gotta hammer those nails
Don’t carry so much up the ladder at once
You’ll wreck your back and slow me down
I don’t want to be stuck here with you all day
There you are, writing again
You look so different with a pen in your hand
Without packs of shingles on your shoulders
I don’t understand why you do that
You’re supposed to be a baseball star
You’re supposed to win, make me proud
You’re supposed to hate the *******
Crack jokes and laugh at the queers
I just want to be proud of you
Anyway, the last teardown left a huge mess
Put down that pen, grab that pick, and get in my truck
These shingles ain’t moving themselves
Jan 5, 2020
Jan 5, 2020 at 2:27 PM UTC
Laying among the brown and green and red
its glassy eyes, faint and unfocused
against heavy breathing
Great job, my father’s knife unsheathes
he pats me on the back, hard and so loud
I must lean on my crossbow
We carry it back to his truck
a heavy mess, and it stinks
we work together
He tells me about his friends
the people he spends all his time with
how they all play Euchre
I ask how to play. What is trump?
He laughs. The weight shifts
I’ve asked this so many times before
With a wet thud, we throw it in his truck bed
it hides beneath a tattered light blue tarp
fastened with frayed bungee cords
Driving, he talks about his softball team again
and in his cracked rearview mirror
the tarp lifts slightly, and I see its fat tongue
My head turns. The tears are too warm
I fall into my hands, cheeks swollen
my father focuses on the road, hands gripping the wheel
Jan 3, 2020
Jan 3, 2020 at 2:16 PM UTC
As the warm breeze brushes the palms.
I feel my spirit rise. Time away reminds me of simplicity.
Rejoicing in the moments we spend together fills my heart with peace and hope for the future times together.
SP&DP
Jul 29, 2019
Jul 29, 2019 at 2:39 PM UTC
Ease yourself in up to your waist
And grit your teeth against the cold.
Take a slow step deeper with searching toes;
Learn to wade again against the tide.
I have always preferred the land;
To stand where I can see a horizon's
Distance and not risk being
Enveloped by it.
My risk was his wish underlined
By a body of work. He's away now from a life
Made up of **** ups, and break ups,
And love, and changing lives.
Oct 21, 2018
Oct 21, 2018 at 10:39 AM UTC
so brave
so thirsty
so scott gimple
as you boldly go
declining the standard advice
instead you can drink too much
at the christmas party
so brave
so thirsty
so about to bring up bill cosby
to your co-worker's fat and loudly still racist husband
as you sit near the nice black lady who works
at the front desk, smiles at you every morning
and orders all the good stuff for the breakroom
Dec 12, 2017
Dec 12, 2017 at 3:22 AM UTC
There was a man with massive plans - he was going to change the world. He laid it all out, started his route, then remember he never began. His great great grandfather was shot and became martyr to the racism that's still alive.
I watched a show with a ninja who killed for gold and i didn't care. I watched a show where a movie theater was shot and i got real scared. But just like the ninja i didn't believe - that could never happen to me.
I whent to walmart to pick up some milk and saw a man with a gun to a head. They gave him the cash and whatever he wanted in hopes to not end up dead. I've lived in this town for nearly 18 years - born, raised, and lived.
This is Belmont, the town i grew up.
I could be on cnn.
Sep 23, 2016
Sep 23, 2016 at 7:54 AM UTC
Recently, I've come to think I have ADD
Definitely, it's in the open, plain to see
As a child I found life hell,
The gears kept twisting, spouting some scandalous lies
My mind just raced no matter what,
Its true what they say, kids are mean, nasty, and cruel,
If I could go back, I'd say "know your heart is true",
I remember the Moose I saw, up in old Maine,
We were all in a cabin, I loved the soft rain,
Four generations, all as one,
Lived simply together, I remember our song,
We sung once when a fox poked up,
Out of the brush, we hushed and cooed out of sight,
And it stared with green eyes, and in there flared fiery fight,
I can remember the beach my favorite time,
I put my toes in cool sand, a feel that is sublime
The sand was so white,
It was just right for fireworks that starry night,
I can't imagine,
what would be better than warm water, Old Silver
is a beach where I would stay for meditation
Remembering the smell of the gross chemicals,
I sprayed at an abandoned night club, stomach full,
Of ***** I once stole,
from the cupboard where I wasn't supposed to go,
I could feel my soul,
When I climbed onto the roof, I could feel the weight,
When I sat on the edge, in front lay a beautiful city,
'
Recently, I've come to think I have ADD
Definitely, it's in the open, plain to see
And to this day I find life hell,
The gears kept twisting, spouting some scandalous lies
My mind still races no matter what,
Its true what they say, life is mean, nasty, and cruel,
If I could go back, I'd say "know your heart is true",
Dec 21, 2015
Dec 21, 2015 at 1:24 AM UTC
"Once again I can visit you old friend.
What may I ask today, no more waiting, no delay.
My hands tremble as I hold this book.
Waiting for you, I need to look.
My destiny is a sham in the eye's of reality.
Now talk, before I bring myself to tragedy"
"What is it you need to know?
Time is not on my side, and like winds and birds I'll glide.
Be wary, a question to me is a dangerous game
The things I could say would drive you insane
Be careful, don't break stride, it will break if you tell lies,
And I will be gone, now that's a shanty strategy"
"You have the information I want, we both know
As you've been here before, I'm not daft
Now when I ask I need you to speak nice and slow
For I am young, still novice in craft
There's a billion ways I could ask this sort of thing
All I want to know is what the future will bring."
"There is no way to say this easy to someone as dear as you.
If you cannot change your ways much of your life is through
There are thrills in the years to come, and obstacles you must overcome
New faces to meet and new things that won't be undone
But the one thing you need to understand about life
All your days, from flowers to knife, you must not live in strife"
'That tells me nothing, my woes are stirred
my anger flashing, my memories a blur
I will fight you in years to come
and we will see what can't be undone
Like a bird I will fly far on
and then I'll smile when you're gone"
"Oh child you know nothing of life,
I have seen it all that you may live,
You're a fly, and I take this light,
you bide my time, my journey is long,
Now goodbye, a glimpse of the past,
You've taught me life goes too fast"
Oct 20, 2015
Oct 20, 2015 at 11:29 AM UTC
Break free from it's rain
death to life, only life to gain,
but both are the same
Oct 8, 2015
Oct 8, 2015 at 4:41 PM UTC
I hear echos but I can't see,
I reach out and nothing is before me,
Not friend, Nor nary a person
Not a tree, nor wildlife is is here to meet,
No stars, No sky, No hello's and no goodbye's,
Oh dear god I think I can see,
But in a non-existent silence I feel
Nothing is there, the end of the deal,
Nothing is aware, Then nothing can be real,
Nothing makes space and time, reality.
And you and I can question why,
but minds together cannot even weather
The rocks buried in our minds,
It won't align but I can tug on the tether,
Now I only have everything to find.
Oct 1, 2015
Oct 1, 2015 at 2:20 PM UTC
You will read a trillion words in your life time, so why say that you'll never love another book?
F. Scott Fitzgerald once said you'll never know the same love twice, or something to that effect.
Mar 17, 2015
Mar 17, 2015 at 9:47 PM UTC
She starred with Bogart, Douglas, and Victor Mature.
The Smokey voiced blonde whose motives weren’t all pure,
Lisabeth Scott was the last of her line;
Femme Fatales of film Noir, you know her kind.
In the forties and fifties she was in her prime.
She was the subject of scandal of a ****** nature
When the tabloids discovered that no man would date her.
Like Garbo and Stanwyck, stars in their own stead
Lisabeth preferred a brunette in her bed.
For her men had their uses, Men had their places
But she found herself drawn to soft feminine faces.
Feb 8, 2015
Feb 8, 2015 at 7:12 PM UTC
the remains
of a hope so deep inside
reveal a lifetime of lies
that was fed slowly
and grown with an
impossible precision
by those silly mouth noises
by lust-laced lies
by bold faced betrayals
of hearts and minds
discover cathedrals astride
genuine greed displaced by
***** deeds, any price is cheap
when love like that is led
over and over again
to dead ends.
Jul 23, 2014
Jul 23, 2014 at 11:02 PM UTC
Any instance my eyes turn away from you
don't conceive I've lost my affection
I'm solely focused on things to come
as we stare in the same direction
Anytime I don't say how my love is
don't allow your heartbeat to skip
Some things are too grand to reveal
as profound words escape my lips
Nothing voices louder than our silence
vacant phrases, yet souls defined
Nothing could inspire my heart to quake more
than your eyes looking up into mine
Every time we're burdened with distance
I embrace my pain of your presence missing
Affirmation I've finally found the one
no reluctance for our hearts giving
I want every tomorrow holding you
don't ask what tomorrow may hold
We can grey and our bodies wither
but "we" forever will never get old
Scott Mitchell
Jul 9, 2014
Jul 9, 2014 at 9:09 AM UTC