I made you of breath
of shadows and sunbeams
of boundlessness
of folding out and in like wings
of fallings and risings
from the gravity of things
I am your leaves without
limbs or leaving
I am the circles and spirals
your body carves from air
your leaps toward heaven
when you most love the earth
I was before you and will be
after you, I am the center
and the circumference
I am within and without you
And I am your comforter
when the cold winds come in
I am the point on the line
I am brief and desirable
I eat oranges and watch
the Northward flight of geese
my being roars like oceans
I rock myself in the cradle
of self doubt and other emotions
I sometimes let take control
I rock the world like a baby
I kiss the air like my lover
here and here and there
I embrace you, World
I am your second Moon
that rose from the South
I am your eyes, your mouth
your star, your tree
and something else
I am sand, river, feather,
grass, moth, l am forever
yet lost and not found
and I am something else
and I always will be
something to someone else.

kiss the love into my bones,
manifest your heartbeats and
tell me i am awe-inspiring

i will drag you out your
home, coax whiskey down
your throat like tonic

promise me boundlessness and
i will wear too many rings,
and i will let street signs be

i’ve loved myself into a
new home, i call your ribs my
bed, your collarbone my beams

you promise a lifetime that
you cannot truly commit, but
i still commit mine, too

Silence, beautiful voice!
Be hard and still, for thou only troublest the mind,
And within such a joy I cannot rejoice,
a glory I shall not find.

Catch not my breath, o clamorous heart;
for thou art more horrendous than the horrendous,
and thy mourning over this heavy breath is far too hard,
but sounding alternately irresolute and pretentious.
Thou needst not be my ultimate, though doleful, present;
thou art wicked and frail as the serpent;
I shall let thy tongue be a thrall to my eye,
but vex thee greedily 'till thou benevolently saith goodbye.
I shall makest thee angry and giveth in to anger and lie
and let thee search about within my soul, and die.

Ah! Still, I shall listen to thee once more,
But move, I entreat; to the meadow and fall before
Thy feet on the meadow grass and adore
Bring my heart to thy heat but not make it sore
Not thine, which are neither courtly nor kind;
not mine, for thy youth still, makest me sweet and blind.
Oh, if only thou couldst be so sweet,
and thy smile all the worldliness I dreamt,
For it all wouldst no longer be stormy and pale,
or threatened be, to vanish amongst such winds or ghastly gales;
Ah, yon fairness wouldst be fair,
and scented as sweetly as thy hair.

Whom but thee, again, I should meet
Whenst at stormy nights sunset burneth
At the end of the head village street,
Whom I should meet behind the red ferns?
For I believest, in such boundlessness of fate
Fate that worlds cannot deny, and grudge cannot hate.
And, I believest indeed, my darling shall be there,
to touch he, shall my hand so sweet,
He bowest to me and utterest holy amends
To his future lover, but less than meekly hesitant; friend.

What if with his sunny hair
He connivest for me a snare
Who wouldst hath thought locks of gold so fair
Huddled and curved cozily by hands of care
Immersed in silver, tailored in gold
Even darker than toil, but sharper than words
Wouldst throw in my way pranks and deceit
As to his expectations I couldst not meet?
Wouldst he expect me to stand in the snow that couldst bite
and criest for and cursest him, in the middle of furious nights?

And what if with his sunny smile
Which he refineth with sweetness all the while
And with such an ostentatious remorse
That makest truthful delight even worse
He stealest my heart and makest me swear
So for any other I ought not to care
And my tears shall again be conceived in between
In the eternal mirror of revelling seasons, unseen
Knowing not what it hath done, or where it hath been
What if seas and clouds turnest just they are, so mean?

And imprisoned up and above
I shall hearest beloved Lord talk of the futility of love
And He shall oftentimes stop and mirthlessly laugh
Ruining the castles and puzzles and stories I dreamt of
If distances are not too far to walk to
I shall darest to cross my sphere and get over you
But sins hath perhaps forbidden my courteous intentions
As their meanness swayest me around with no destination-
ah, look at how their vile, grinning eyes temptest me!
They itchest my veins, they throttlest my knees;
and how uncivilly their ****** teeth hauntest me!
Indeedst, indeedst-they are far more horrendous than these living eyes canst see!

Perhaps his smile and tender tone
Were all that I imagined alone
Now that all spells hath grimly gone
Am I truly left on my own?
Ah, prone, prone is truly my soul
But I am distant here, lonely and cold
I am also strong but this solitude is too bold
I hath always been awake with truth, but this I cannot fold
And hovering dancing leaves are grotesquely thrown
About their echoing chambers opened wide
Until more rueful gravity has grown;
and hilarity fades wholly from my side

Once we came to the bench by the rouge church
And sat for hours by the wooden pillar alone
We sang along with the singing white birds
And those strangely blushing red thorns
'Till we fought everything burdened and curtly torn
As how the moon hurriedly cried 'till it found the morn
'Till suddenly, sweetly my heart beat stronger
And thicker, 'till I almost heard it no longer
But I realised, and fast mused and sighed
'No, it cannot stayest long, it cannot be pride.'

T'en we walked a mile-
Just a mile from the moors,
Circling about to find some exile
Away from noises and banging of doors.
We both pleaded, pleaded to our dear Lord
T'at genuine love our hearts couldst afford
But time grew envious and cut our walk short
As night approached and we suddenly had to resort.

And he too, he too was mad
And frowned and twitched that so made me sad
Endlessly alone he wouldst blame me and more fret
Sending myself down and brimmed with regrets
Like a parrot shuffling about its offspring's dying bed
My eyes grew warm and hurtful and red
Anger betrothed him to its indignant powers
Corrupted his cheers and drank away his laughters
I was furious, I cursed and kicked frantically at fate
How it grossly tainted and strained my tenuous date
For it was tenuous and I struggled to makest it strong;
but fate shamefully ripped it and all the triumph I'd woven, all along.

And losing him was indeedst everything,
nothing distracted me and kept my jostled self going.
I feelest lethargic even in my sleep,
I keepest falling from rocks in my dreams-ah, too leafy and steep!
I dreamest of suburbs that are rich with divine foliage,
I rejoicest in whose tranquil, though transient, merriment.
And as morn retreatest, I shall be again filled with rage,
I refusest to eat and enjoy even a slice of everyday's enjoyment.
I am now wholly conquered by worry; I was torn and lost in my own battlefield,
I hath no more guard that shall lift me upwards and grant me his shield.
Ah, I hath now been turned, to a whole nonentity;
at my wounds people shall turn away, with a foolish laugh and mock sorry.

O, love, and I am now vainly stuck in the night,
The night that refusest to leave my tired sight.
The night that keepest returning the dark
with no more hope of reflective sight,
and no more signs pertinent burning light,
and sick I'th become, of this jealous dread.
But am I really sick now? Utterly sick of this lonesome envy?
Ah, still I better refusest to know. My dreams are bad.
The shapes in there are far too inglorious and mad.
Just like those-ah! Do not let them harm me!
Where are my eyes? My very heart, my own blood,
and perhaps, my thorough sense of humanity?
One second back they were all still with me,
but they are all now ruined phantoms and shapes,
whenever I am fast asleep,
he turnest them out like obedient sheep
and handest them to the unseen to be *****.
He was neither sincere nor tactful,
and believed too heartly in his odious and ill-coloured soul.
Ah, but duly shall I even call this season harmful,
sorrows rule our hands, whilst distaste reign our men.
Disgrace ownest its peaks, within gratuitous handfuls,
men knowest not their lovers, speakest not of us as friends.
Ah, this is a bitter spring indeed, of anger and fear;
With thousands of evil tongues and evil ears,
For lovers are at war with their lovers,
and makest each others' eyes unseeing and blind.
Even God, our lovely God himself, is at war with his heavens,
for whose minds are lost, as real conscience shall never ever find.

Where is my love? Ah, perhaps staggering under the woods,
And I, who else, shall be with him,
Gathering woodland lilies,
Prosperously blooming under the trees.
Where is my heart? Ah, it is carried again within him,
as we layest about the green grass on our limbs,
with oiled lamps at our feet,
and tellest stories as our loving eyes lean closer and meet.

Ah, beauty! That is the picture in my mind,
not him, not him, that has sent me blind.
Still the image of him makes me sick,
his image that is as stony and greedy as a brick.

He has no feelings, he has no emotion,
he has no endurance and twists of natural passion.
He has all the strength and virility the world ever wanted,
but his mind remainst cold, his heart his own self once entered.
He is as unjust as a statue,
he knowest not wrong and right, nor false from true.
For whilst I tried to praise his being so comely,
he took all my remarks sedately,
he gazed at me with an arrogant face snarling,
and praised the gentleness of his own darling.

He is unthinking, savage, and unfeeling,
his face a human, his heart a brute.
He might be all the way comely and charming,
too pitiful he is inhuman and acts like a crude.
My fancy was sometimes real overbold,
for whenst I was to coo and hold, he was but to scream and scold.
Scorned, to be scorned by one that I not scorn,
whenst all this passion my shoulder had borne?
It is unfair and ignominiously hateful,
gross and unjust, horrid and spiteful.
A fool I am, to be unvexed with his pride!
And once, during repetitive daylight,
I past him, one day I was crossing his lands,
I did look at him not as a gentleman,
He was laughing at his own tediousness,
I dreaded him for that, but as I came home
later, I cried again, over his picture with madness.

Ah! How couldst I ever forget him,
whenst he is but the one I love?
No matter how strange this may seem,
he was the one I real dreamt of;
I want to love him not in a dream,
I want to touch him in his flesh.
I want to smell that scent of him,
and breathe onto his lap and his chest.
I want to sit in his oak-room,
and tellest him of stories of glad and gloom,
before the ocean-waves afar laid
next to quiet storms, amidst our private delight.
I want to have him selfishly!
Have him laugh endlessly with me,
and all the way love him madly;
with a heart so dearly but greedy.

What, if he fastened himself to this fool dame,
and bask in her infamous joy, and fame
Should I love him so well, if he
gave her heart to a thing so low?
Should I let him again smile at me
If we are bound to see each other tomorrow?
His smile, at times can be full of spite
Yet in spite of spite, he is all but comely and white;
I miss him, I miss him as just how I miss my dream,
He is, though marred, is just as sweet as I remember him,
I insist sorrow coming up to me,
To consolest and hearest here, my deepest plea
And ****** the most painful pain to he and she
And restore then, his innocent self to me.

I hearest no sound from where I am standing
But the rivulets and tiny drops of rain
Are starting to send moonlight to my whining
As I twitch and swirl and whirl about in the rain.
I watch people flock in and out the evening train;
their thoughts hidden, like all the mimicry in a quiet play.
Hearts full of glowing love, and at the same time, of disdain;
all pass by gates and bars and entrances with nothing serious to say.
Ah, perhaps I am the only one too melancholy,
for even at this busy hour think doth I, of such poetry.
Yet melancholy but real, for if I ever be dear to someone else,
then I decide that should I be, to myself, far dearer.
For I believe not tales another creature tells,
they can be lies, they can be unfairer.
Like a nutshell too hard for the very poor shell itself,
I do feel pity for him and his ignorant self.
Unlucky him, for I carest more for every puff of his breath,
no matter how eerie-and she, rejoices over
the bashful lapse, of his death.

My life hath crept so long on a broken wing
Through cells of madness, horror, and fear;
Fear that is brutal and insidious, though inviting
and lies that eyes cannot see nor ears hear;
My mood hath changed, at least at this time of year
As I'th stayed more about and dwelled mostly here
And my previous grief hath outgrown itself like a butterfly
Too I witnessed as It fluttered and flickered madly,
and at the very last moment, died silently 'midst its own fury;
All weeks long, I hath listened and learned tactfully more
Lessons that I hath never heard of, never before.

But still, hate I this severely clashing world;
too much torpor hath we all borne, and burning, virile hurt.
O down, down with laborious ambition and ******
Kiss this earth's silent layers and fold down our knees
Ah, darling, put down thy passion that makest thee Hell!
To all madness of thine thou should sayest, farewell-
Hesitate not, and leave thy curious, and agile state
Be honest and precise, be courteous and moderate.
Crush and demolish and burn all demonic hate
Thus instead cherish and welcome thy realistic fate.
Entertain thy love; with dozens and dozens of new, novelty!
Brush up thy pride, but leavest away, o, leavest away thy old vanity-
Ah, and profess thy love only to me, for it brings me delight
It returns my hope, and turns all my dissolutions to light.

And tease, tease me, and my frenetic, personal song
Though I but be a wounded thing-with a rancorous cry,
I am wretched and wretched, as thou hath hurt me all along
Sick, sick to the heart of this entire life, am I.
Many one hath preached my poor little heart down,
Neither any merriment is mine, 'mongst this serene county town.
My only friend is my oak-room bible, and its dear God
Who mockest frenetic riches rich at diamonds but poor at heart
With cries that rulest turning minds from each other apart;
and with wealth running away to selfishly savest their spoilt, cruel hearts-
o, how I am lucky-for I am destroyed, but not by my dear Lord;
I am healed and charmed by His generous frank words.

All seemest like a vague dream, but still a dear insight
For he, above all, taught me to see which one was right
I still miss him, and dearly hope that he canst somehow be my future poem
And together we shall fliest towards joy and escapest such unblessed doom;
His musical mouth is indeedst my song,
a song that I'th been singing intimately with, all along!
For this then shall I shall continue my pursuit,
with a grateful heart and so a considerate wit,
for I am sure now-that he is mine, and only mine,
and duly certain of these promising, though long, signs;
But now I feel my heart grow easier;
as it now embraces days in ways lovelier;
for I hath now awakened again, to a better mind,
so that everything is now to me just fine;
Still he bears all my love and intuitive goodwill,
yet how to waken my love, God knowest better still.

963

A nearness to Tremendousness—
An Agony procures—
Affliction ranges Boundlessness—
Vicinity to Laws

Contentment’s quiet Suburb—
Affliction cannot stay
In Acres—Its Location
Is Illocality—

it was only the first screening of ex_machina,
but the words 'deus' and 'placebo'
were uttered after a walk of thus pondering:

understanding this movie requires kant's
critique of pure reason matter of frankly,
i lost the kantian concepts of *a priori and
a posteriori using the cartesian method of understanding,
gravitating in my realm of understanding
almost unconscious why the cartesian uncoupling
of the kantian compounds is required:

invoking a purely cognitive aspect of analytical
and synthetic i took the temporal realm of
pre- and post-, which is respective of the definitions
of the above italicised -

when watching the movie... apart from the groovy
part where music has no central role as is usual
in all horror movies... the aesthetic of horror movies
has been cleaned up thanks to technology,
that knife into the chest like knife into butter
is perfect... the knife into the chest also perfect...
it's the robotic of man's daily routines done by a robot
that does the horror bit...
it's music replaced with claustrophobia,
the theory is mesmerising... generally speaking
phobias are tiny... and the horror scenario
losing focus in terms of music and instead
focusing on an expanding phobia, like claustrophobia
is a gigantic leap in the horror movie scene...
i wonder what the moving imagery of arachnophobia
would look like... without technological frankensteins...
a massive thematic move but still trendy with mary shelley's
original idea... more clean cut... no scar marks...
a beautiful frankenstein emerges...
but enough of that...

the kantian translated with cartesian methodology,
losing the a priori and a posteriori coupling
with analytical and synthetic notions -
like me when i first learned language,
21 years later i've just started the analytical procedure,
prior to these years, the cut-off point at 21
i was merely synthesising the language,
so well that i even managed to phonetically
strain my tongue to fake having a limousine
and a mansion and a horse... posh posing fake...
it happens - no geordie no scouser no cockney in me...
just mundane pure elocution to a ****,
harmless if i'm being honest -
but no, no no, i mean i had to synthesise the language
first, before i lost all possible synthesis of it
attributed to vocabulary... it's then that i started
to analyse it!

so this robo chic... i was thinking:
what's the analysis to synthesis ratio in her?
that must be balanced, right?
there are so many things to analyse in life:
all those biologists, chemists, forensic scientists...
but only one successful synthesis - almost
like free will that does not dare to conflict
with other possibilities...
there's no before / after concerning what one knows,
a symbiosis has to exist between these two things -
it's not that she's artificial, she's pure analytic,
she can't be pure synthetic:

deep blue is pure synthetic - he was given all
the possibilities of a chess mastermind,
he's purely synthetic, because the only thing
he can analyse is chess, and in only doing so,
he can only synthesise the authentic craft of
playing chess and nothing else, meaning he has
limited parameters -
but this robotic woman / frankenstein
would be lost in terms of pure synthesis, unlike
deep blue - she's pure analysis, meaning
the interaction is almost two dimensional,
meaning that if man questions his free will,
she would also have to do so...
i'm thinking analytical intelligence (a.i.)
either pondering suicide, ****** - morality
in total... and being drunk...

the same conceptualisation applies
in my own scenario, using the cartesian methodology
on kantian concepts i realised
my thought is an interchange of analysis | synthesis |
analysis | synthesis... this interplay
is staggering... first i cognitively synthesise
then i cognitively analyse, ping-pong.

i have no care for attaching a priori to
synthesis or a posteriori to analysis, or whatever
dogmatic building block is expected,
in the temporal sense i see the future
as ordained by the faculty of imagination
and the present as ordained by the faculty of memory;
in the present there's only this:
a lot of verbs, some which i can control, some which
i can't... depending on my noun bank account...
that same old fascination with flowers and
the complete and utter lack of apps. for deciphering
names of flowers...

but of course there's a moral to the film's plot -
it mentions consciousness and awareness to something...
a bit like man being conscious of his evolution,
hence the necessity of forgetting **** sapiens
and embracing deus placebo...
after all... it will please the vanity of man to
think himself a god...
and in so doing... craft the possibility of a deus sapiens...
a rational god... given that we're still monkeys
in spandex shooting bullets at innocent random targets
in the minority.

did i forget something?
four beers does the trick... i watched a great movie...
now i'm going to drink some whiskey
and paint my room blood red
donning a dracula bun of hair tickling with excitement:
but prior... if the universe is an undifferentiated substance,
say... water... i imagine the geometry of it's boundlessness
concerning the capillary effect of water...
what sort of geometric shape would allow the singularity
of the universe to provide the parabola of it
being in a tube of glass... in comparison to it...
i'm an indentation... i'm like mercury in similar circumstances...
hello big void... filled with aurora colours and magpies.

He did not go far. How could he;
you were his everything.......

You love the concept of Parallel worlds..
his is now intangible--
no skin-clad temple to hold him down  
within the misgivings
and falleness,  that entails
all things fleshbound--
his illustrious spirit,  now encased  within
the utter boundlessness  of his
newly-dedicated housing of Prismatic Light.
This is now the new temple that contains
his eternal spirit..   and it is from
that impeccably-beautiful place,
that he now offers hope  
and petition without end..  on your behalf.
Face to Face, now..  his once,
deeply-aching spirit,  now finds
the perpetual Peace..  through true Resolve,
as he finds his neverending Encouragements,
now heading your way,  on the Wings of
what is now, no less than that of Unlimited Possibility--
    Raining down on to you..
    Reigning now in the Heavenlies,  

    no longer  diluted and misdirected
    by human agenda

And here you sit, beautiful girl--  Not seeing or feeling..
because you are still subject to the same  auspices
of falleness that eventually found its Unholy fruition
within his utter demise.  No longer subject to it all,
he is asking you to rise above it, also..
the prayers of a newly-recognized Saint--  petitioning
directly in to Love's very Ache..   asking
that the horror-built walls,   embedded
into your war-torn flesh  would come down,
no longer so devastatingly-thwarting  Love's deep
desire  to finally have the chance to  find
its beautiful  way into you..
Yet your out of control self-hatred  is hurting him--
almost as much as it is truly  hurting you.
The last thing your guilt-ridden spirit wants to  do
is cause him any more pain.  Feel his loving presence..
and you will also then begin to feel his deeply-Loving petition.
It is perfect.. as are you--  

    Once  you become separated
    from your hook-embedded, flesh.
He is There..
helping you to become able to have access to it,
   here.

That is where he is at.. that is what he is doing.
The Grace that he now so deeply embraces on your behalf,  will
slowly begin to buy you the internal freedom  that is necessary
to begin to become able to feel it all.  Throughout the years,
you have learned how to begin to believe.  If not,
you would have already blocked me again by now.
He is within the Realms of Magic, now.   You love Magic.
Feel him there.. as he truly now is..  and you will  begin
to learn,  through feel-- the things  in you
(that you so adamantly hold on to),
that are still hurting him.  Forgiveness..
from his Mercy Seat towards you.. is perpetual, and without end,
because he knows that you do not as of yet,  fully understand.

One day, you will.. and it will become to him, his greatest Joy.
It is not over. It is never over.. as long as that gorgeous,
war-torn heart still has a pulse in it.
Make sure that it will,  until you can feel..
and the Morning Sun will truly rise within you..  fully anew.  
Fully. Completely. Perpetually.
You will become the very glow  
that he already right now, sees in you.
You Love me just as much as you hate me.
Love's reason is here-- right here in these words.  You know
that it is all true. His spirit was far too beautiful  for the
pain-infused fleshtemple that previously contained it..
while he was here.  He left it for a better one..
one that is completely and fully, Perfect.

You can feel him far more often than your pain-wracked
heart and spirit will allow you to currently admit.
Perspective is everything, beautiful girl.
You love me for the glorious perspective that I am  able
to bring to you.
That is the only way that I want to be loved.
You  have been through enough.  
Lets get you two back together, through your  growing
ability to become able to see him..
and feel him...  as he is--
not as your obscure.. self-contempt, scarred view,
now only shadow-sees  him.  

You have work to do, beauty.
You are his exceedingly, Worthy Beloved.
There is so much,   so unfairly-attached to you..
that keeps you feeling  as if you are forever unworthy.

     He is 24/7 helping you.

That is what he does now..
and I can very much see why <3

long before light graced
beyond my sealed lids,
a gray lady sat sewing
squares, "for foundation."

her accent was like the
magenta strips with
which she bordered:
a boy needs foundation,
boundaries to teach him
his boundlessness, dirt
in which to sink his feet.

and unlike my foundational
quilt, linked so firmly to the earth,
she faded
first to rose, and then
to silver pink before
                                   dissipating
into dusted petal wither.

i'll meet her on the next go around.

my sixteenth was bitter-themed
and my parents gave me
a mexican blanket,
colored like mother,
aqueous aquamarine
and patterned like father,
those angular and triangular
movements;
woven just like theirs,
to give me rest and
haven on the roads
of my inevitable adventures.

and when i am eighteen
the women of my family
will meet with needles
and spools, and wool
to click-clack and chit-chat
over my adulthood -

and when it is done,
i will behold azure
like the heavens
entangled with warm tones
and spun prayers
to cocoon
in the chill of
carolina's coast

Love is an unsolved mystery
Fine like scenes spilling from favored and crowded memories to stand as two who honor each other
This plays off one against the other one strong one soft one invites tenderness the other craves to give it
There is no greater fit a head laid on a shoulder an arm encircling the fulfillment a fire burns for another
Spark was the signal at great depths there it smoldered the knowing of combustible lives ignited eyes

Nothing sweeter untreatable once the heart is smitten clueless the heart leads the way two it will sway
No matter what others miss but sight is given it sees pure and true virtue its soul deep lives unite untold
The story might go here and there look closer the sewing of a single garment has begun an altar one day
Love crowns a single man and a woman the colors of their lives are fused they hang galleried in a home

From courses quiet different now form the central issue of all life whatever differences they are a family
Souls speak without words in this towers rise and create monuments the hearth’s warmth blesses each
In a world where divides and cold indifference creates lonely hurting ones come pained yet leave calmly
As one who observes intently and knows things at deep levels you reveal secrets that even you miss

A book has many pages some of the best lines ever written came out of dreams your life is one story
The swelling filling of the void takes time and effort a measureless happiness brimming full covers you
You don’t need introduction on this page you live all I have said flows out from your incomparable glory
Thank you for a story that is ageless filled with promise continues in days with love’s boundlessness

Love is an unsolved mystery
Fine like scenes spilling from favored and crowded memories to stand as two who honor each other
This plays off one against the other one strong one soft one invites tenderness the other craves to give it
There is no greater fit a head laid on a shoulder an arm encircling the fulfillment a fire burns for another
Spark was the signal at great depths there it smoldered the knowing of combustible lives ignited eyes

Nothing sweeter untreatable once the heart is smitten clueless the heart leads the way two it will sway
No matter what others miss but sight is given it sees pure and true virtue its soul deep lives unite untold
The story might go here and there look closer the sewing of a single garment has begun an altar one day
Love crowns a single man and a woman the colors of their lives are fused they hang galleried in a home

From courses quiet different now form the central issue of all life whatever differences they are a family
Souls speak without words in this towers rise and create monuments the hearth’s warmth blesses each
In a world where divides and cold indifference creates lonely hurting ones come pained yet leave calmly
As one who observes intently and knows things at deep levels you reveal secrets that even you miss

A book has many pages some of the best lines ever written came out of dreams your life is one story
The swelling filling of the void takes time and effort a measureless happiness brimming full covers you
You don’t need introduction on this page you live all I have said flows out from your incomparable glory
Thank you for a story that is ageless filled with promise continues in days with love’s boundlessness

Masquerading as a prisoner lonesome
there in the confine of Robben island
in guise lived a magician
who played tricks with
word's connotation
violated their limitation
he stretched to boundlessness
the boundary of 'hope'
further deepened the deep
depth of 'determination'
lifted 'belief' so high
to the heaven's nearby
he also boxed
the ears of 'apartheid'
he did a deed splendid
though Mandrake was not
alas, his name but
just Mandela nevertheless

            

(I'm trying to outrun the rain)
(It's so humid.)
It's like the sky is trying to hold something back
and now she's starting to cry.

(Realized how much I missed walking at night.)

She waits until half the world's asleep.
The sky?
And then confides to the earth
Because everyone is fearless in the night.

But they're gentle loving tears,
and the earth catches her.
There is no daylight to mar the distance between them with shadows.

She's not mad.
And quietly, she tells the earth her secrets--
all that she has seen when the sun was by her.
and the earth listens.
intently.
thoughtfully.

Doesn't the earth whisper back?
Doesn't it have its own secrets to share?

No.
but that was always enough.
the sky never needed an answer,
she just needed the clouds to part.
because somehow the sky always knows.
like a sister never needing words.
she cries tears not hers alone.
she mourns for the earth who can never cry.

The sky and the earth have never really been apart,
have they?
But the night is theirs
and theirs alone,
its silence unbroken
by the noise of human minds.
And the few people who walk the night let them.

no, they never were.
nor were they ever together.
what would the sky be if she was the earth?
or the earth the sky?
they were inseparable
and yet
always separate.

infinities between them.
and in each infinity
are the worlds of dreaming children
and for a moment, she stops crying.

and in the silence,
a child continues walking.

Do they have to be the same?
Can they not leave a gap between them
and still stay together?

the child is not alone,
and never was.
he is joined by many others who
walk the night
with him.
some
with open eyes,
others
breathing in rhythm.
and in the boundlessness between the earth and the sky,
they are all connected.

The child does not walk in silence.
He knows the night,
has seen all its faces
of terror
and beauty
and torment
and dreams.

dreams that each the sky has seen.

With the earth and the sky's secrets
woven into each:
a present for a friend.

the sky has ceased crying.
and in the wake,
her tears flow into the heart of the earth.
and the earth collects them,
that the sky may weep them out again.

Then the earth is not silent after all.

quiet, but not silent.

the child thirsts
and finds the tears the sky has wept.
but they are too bitter for him to drink.

They were never meant for him,
The sky carries far greater burdens
than any earthling can bear,
secrets far too powerful for his mind to comprehend.
Not yet, anyway.

silence

and in it
the earth sings to the sky.
the earth [sings] for the earth cannot speak.
and the sky wells up in the beauty of the song.

And the child sits in between them,
absorbing the music.
Selah
Let the universe pause a moment.
Let it breathe.

for a time will be reached
when the child shall share in the cup
of sky's tears.
he too,
shall have no more questions.
but until then,
the child walks.

And until then,
he is a child.

The child walks into a neighborhood of lights.
with hues too numerous
for him to name or even distinguish,
each one desperately tries to outshine his brother.
and the lights see him
and greet him--
an unwelcome visitor.

How so?

for under the lights
are other children:
blinded but seeing,
they have sight with much illumination,
but are lost without a vision.
the child walks among them
but they don't see him,
for he is not their own.
the lights captivate
and held captive
they were.
the child calls out to them
but they cannot hear.

for these are children
who listen with their eyes
and feel with their tongue.
each follows a different light--
the ones that have so rejected the child.
but it changes nothing
for the child
follows a different light,
the light the sky has shown hi,.

They are trapped
in the pretense of day,
in the false promise that everything is within their sight.
And they
somehow
believe
that all they see is theirs.
They know not how to travel in the shadows,
because they
have never befriended the night.

they have never seen
the weeping of the sky, nor
heard the singing of the earth.

It is in the night
that one learns to listen,
to eavesdrop
on the secrets
the sky and the earth
whisper
as the universe sleeps.
Though not without their notice.

they whisper loud enough for those who want to hear.

And for those who have earned their respect.
Some drag them
into the scorching gaze of sunlight,
and cast shadows
large enough
strong enough
to swallow hearts whole.

(Say hello to the night for me. I missed its embrace.)
(the night waits still)

I occasionally become lost in looking, and stagger into a daze for days
though, there’s no one who can count the amount of seconds in a gaze
I share what I cherish through frozen body language
contemplate anguish and propagate patience
to whom it may concern, and to those who swear it doesn’t make sense
my logic has been snatched into the mist of my own fragrance
aromatic boundlessness. strange synesthesia
I smell beauty in proximity
like the aura of Christmas Eve
*this is The Gift of the Ages . . .

How Long Is A Dream?

How long is a dream,
Stream of consciousness
Mirroring –unconsciousness,
And speed of thought
Reckoned
In seconds,
Pinned into entities
Clear as a bell.


The pain or the joy of
Of a day gone away,
How long is the theme
Crammed into a dream,
The bad and the good
Reflecting the childhood dance
Of experience,
Mire of desire explicit as film.

How long is a dream
Is the same as to ask about time
And the time that it’s taken
To organize, star in, produce and direct -
(You do/are all four)
Constructions so tricky and dotty and flighty
It might take one years
To write out all those fears, hopes and wishes
Compressed into minutes
From snippet to whole.

How long is a dream,
In its limits or boundlessness
Fluff as reality stuffed into seconds.
Puzzling, perplexing,
It keeps a man guessing,
The question as madd’ning
As how long is string?

How Long Is A Dream? 1.25.2017
Circling Round Reality; Nature Of & In Reality;
Arlene Corwin

Comfort in circumstance
Our role is not minut
A light’s behind our eyes
But our sight is not astute
Gratification in the typical
Of the over achieving self
Learn the profoundness of love
And let that be your wealth
Further your approach
Propel towards the sky
There’s a simple kind of existence
In the complexity of why
No more pounding in your chest
No more gambles
Did you ever ask why?
Why you have compassion? For example
That light is ours
A combined effort in infinite
That light is yours
You need only to abide by it

Venturesome tevv
vvant to make you
a 3rd time maker

S             R             T             H             D
       T              E            C             E

O             U             T

saturated && doted on;
vvith boundlessness.

This is about one of our friends it sort of came out of the shadows part at a time so I will continue it that way a pretest flight
The days of earth boundlessness and this is true love is the only thing that we will take away and will last forever
From heart to heart it streams in darkness it beams through soundless and well crafted dreams love bound together by sight
Look into the pool the stirring depths behold the rapture stir the water with your fingers riches beyond life beacons from stillness

Privileged best describes the act of seeing this knowing this dear flowing through the lives of those who are young and innocent
The projecting of love goes forth the receiver’s look of appreciation in this circle there is an unbroken power that exist
This covers all human activity to its extremist far reaching borders at times human weakness barely wins love stands nothing can dent
This force born in divine regions cascades downward tying mind heart and soul into an unbreakable relationship

Touch of hands a simple act the building blocks of lives together they will build towering walls that holds days and years within
A fortress secured at its weakest points by trust in this well waters swell overflow outward they stream life flourishes in quiet strength
Words of tenderness flow on the current the body and spirit actively navigate in these rare spheres laughter and joy the state there in
Time only ages and further reveals the deepest ties started with a simple introduction now an ocean filled with emotion

Blood ties will reach beyond earth’s time skies will be but a mark in a long ago history written in an azure blue print love still endures
Love made an unknown promise when it first did ignite its flame would reach across even deaths divide through darkness it glows
Distance doesn’t impede this fundamental human truth once began it knows no end sorrow brings more telling volumes it only assures
Two walked along life’s sacred byways for a time one may be invisible but still the beloved is as real as life itself love and truth abide

She wrote poems about sunflowers
and about the colors of each of the different flavors in her afternoon tea.

She wrote about the foot-worn path in the concrete floor of the history museum;
About a stranger’s dog who licked her hand at the park.

And to her future child,
And to the boundlessness of love she knew but could not fathom that existed in a forever-expanding space inside her,
And about that brave and resilient seed shared by all of science and art,
the interconnectedness of all things.

In radical joyful tones,
she documented the goodnesses of her Ordinary on scraps of paper and deposited them into a small chest,
her Memory Bank.

The people pointed at the lonely beergazer
The outraged wunderkind
The housebound widower
Each lost in the past or in the future.
Ah, misery.
The father of poetry.
They would shake their heads,
A shame, they would say.

Meanwhile, on the other side of town or maybe the world,
the mother of poetry, undeterred,
sat in her garden
singing to the souls of the vegetables.

One, two, three, persist.

Spin, spin, spin, retain;

Under our spotlight of Exception,

A standstill of colors occurred-

So vivid, it was almost blinding.



Amidst the hollowness

Seeped a shadow,

Reaching out to every

Memory locked away.



Familiar Stranger.



Tracing lines of comfort,

Running down heaven,

Dropping weight on unknown territory;

An interminable candle is lit.



A leap of faith.



A thread connected two points-

One side smiled, the other feared;

Two paths were walked on-

Only to become the beauty they call Sunset,

Or  the terror they call Tremor.



Collision, destruction.



Fear enveloping, merging into darkness;

Silent night screaming, absorbing the emptiness;

Finding tranquility in expression

And freedom in escapade.



The thread is broken.



Search for ignition,

The stars have only just begun to shine;

Search for boundlessness

Sedating every boiling point,

Aggravating every sparkle,

Immortalizing intervals.



Transience is defeated.

Part One: Wolves and Chokes

Children are such wolves.
A day is a fledgling lamb
That can be crowded, cloistered
And clawed.
I used to speak to you and
Run with you.
You in your red coat

And I with my white throat.
Suspect nothing.
No tooth was fear to me
For a pack does not stack
Its white edges against itself.
Yet still I must have itched
A miracle of irritation
That cannot be ignored.
In the night, my mouth
Is drawn wide.
Like a fetus, I am transparent
And cringing in black situ.
Then a bite, and then a bite.
Then you see what is inside.

A one I love the best of all
Is loath to see me live.
The bitter taste of childhood vow
Comprises all I give.

I’ve broken you, you say.
With a box of fools I never sought,
Always galumphing back to me.

You broke me first, I think.
What posturing, straighten that halo
That chokes me rightfully.

Of course there is no way
To seek out your paradise.
Not if sinners cannot speak.

Part Two: Sebastien

Your hysteria is a fine rope.
My tree stands ready at the dawn,
A line of men and my
Brick wall that chips and splits
When bodies fall.

Even the sun is watching.
No one swats the stinging gaze
Away and no one dares offend.
But I stand.
I shall try to be as salt.

Salt stands even as dust.
Salt sneers at wounds.
Salt loves only the earth.
And the earth will love me soon,
Championing me as her lover
Which is an irony too ghastly to feel.

Rain in the still air, in the sun.
Silence that grinds a heel onto wrists
That steals from me.
A second, then a heartstring.
Thousand and thousands.
Eyes and minutes.

A billion is still only a tenth.
Release.
It is the boundlessness of the sky
And a chorus stabs their shovels,
Stabs the vein with silver mirth.

god touches me.
I am touched by gods.
I am born
And slain by daylight’s pink
Hands.

Every iron finger
Every one a steely tongue
Every cut a golden affair
And the spurns too hot to hold.
I fall and fold and dim.

My hour is burnt
And still your eyes, your teeth
Go with me
To forge both of my decades with
A gilt life of ecstasy I never
Touched but saw.

I saw it in the face of god.
And heard it as a note
That echoed through the days I lived,
And every word I wrote.

Because of 11
I am not afraid of death
I know exactly what will happen when I "die"
I was there
It's just an absence of existence
Yet a universal, eternal, all-being awareness
And you don't even know you are "yourself"
There's no such thing as... Humans
I loved life before hand, but it wasn't until after 11 and 13 that I realized it
Felt it
Smelled it
Consumed it
My mind became the most interesting place in the world to be
So intriguing that I've become increasingly content in the idea of witnessing my own mind working for the rest of my consciousness
Call it narcissism
I'm just amusing to myself
I love being with myself every moment of everyday
Art became mentally stimulating to me because of how quickly I come up with scenarios and reasons why a piece looks the way it looks
That action is art within itself
And when my exterior conscience was rebirthed to everyday reality
I felt a deep longing to go back
Like this wasn't where I really belong
11 took my soul to another medium
An entire separate existence
And set my mind free from any barriers
There are no obstacles in my awareness
Eternal boundlessness

13 has made me embrace, cultivate, and actively live in my peaceful divinity within me
There is no way to accurately describe this
But trying my best
Even when I am mad, I'm not
Even when I am sad, I'm not
13 set apart the difference between submerged eyes and feelings, and objectiveness in my most deepest struggles
It mentally expanded everything
Absolutely everything
From human interaction to food
From morals to appearance
These things have made me become the greatest person I know
I have more love to give than ever and it only increases as time goes on
I reflect my insides out but only to those who are able to see it
Continue

Even now, my precious Lord,
I’m fully aware of the spiritual bleed
emanating from the wounds of my heart;
despite the ongoing pain, I’ve experienced
that genuine explosion of Your holy seed…

which was planted within the frailty
of this tear-filled, human existence.
Your timeless waves of abundance continue
to inundate the morning cries of sorrow
and to overwhelm my life’s resistance.

The fabric of my heart has been ripped;
from this unseen rupture comes a new flow
of unexpected compassion for Your people.
Draw me ever closer to You, merciful Lord;
position me within Your Kingdom’s plateau.

Allow me to enjoy the boundlessness…
of Your unabated surge of loyal love,
that seeks to unquestioningly consume me,
since I’m free me of sin’s punishment
and covered by Jehovah’s promises from above.
.
.
.
Author Notes:

Loosely based on:
Joel 2:12-13

Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://www.squidoo.com/book-isbn-1419650513/

By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2012, All rights reserved.

Celebrate Love

This is about one of our friends it sort of came out of the shadows part at a time so I will continue it that way a pretest flight
The days of earth boundlessness and this is true love is the only thing that we will take away and will last forever
From heart to heart it streams in darkness it beams through soundless and well crafted dreams love bound together by sight
Look into the pool the stirring depths behold the rapture stir the water with your fingers riches beyond life beacons from stillness

Privileged best describes the act of seeing this knowing this dear flowing through the lives of those who are young and innocent
The projecting of love goes forth the receiver’s look of appreciation in this circle there is an unbroken power that exist
This covers all human activity to its extremist far reaching borders at times human weakness barely wins love stands nothing can dent
This force born in divine regions cascades downward tying mind heart and soul into an unbreakable relationship

Touch of hands a simple act the building blocks of lives together they will build towering walls that holds days and years within
A fortress secured at its weakest points by trust in this well waters swell overflow outward they stream life flourishes in quiet strength
Words of tenderness flow on the current the body and spirit actively navigate in these rare spheres laughter and joy the state there in
Time only ages and further reveals the deepest ties started with a simple introduction now an ocean filled with emotion

Blood ties will reach beyond earth’s time skies will be but a mark in a long ago history written in an azure blue print love still endures
Love made an unknown promise when it first did ignite its flame would reach across even deaths divide through darkness it glows
Distance doesn’t impede this fundamental human truth once began it knows no end sorrow brings more telling volumes it only assures
Two walked along life’s sacred byways for a time one may be invisible but still the beloved is as real as life itself love and truth abide

Lunacy is freedom.

Solo, burnt, boundlessness.

Run crazy, run

far away and don’t look back

or their claws will sink right through

and capture you.


Cry crazy, cry

louder and harder

so that you pierce their ears

with the sound of your soul.


And laugh crazy, ******* laugh

at their frozen, populated boundaries.


Run lunatic,

Cry lunatic,

Laugh lunatic,

Run, Cry, and Laugh crazy,

because where you’re free they’re not.

Your name will be forever on my lips,
careful and yet ceaseless, even grand.
I will dance to your compassion, kiss
the world’s forehead and hold its hand.

Grace will be the text my life produces,
your own handwritten transformation.
Your life and light will caress the bruises
of experiences, complete illumination,

enlightenment, from darkness to light.
My foolish self will plumb the depths of
power, take love’s lantern to the night,
to blindness.  I, restless one, will find rest

in the boundlessness of unearned favor,
his mighty wind filling my sails, a savior.

What desirous riches we crave
to return our destinies
for paradise sights and nights
filled with glittering starry portals

And to feel the air of day and night
abound with blissfulness and sleep

Ooooh how we dream not that dreaded dream
but dreams of peace at rest

Aaah to return if only within a second and relearn
what nature has to give and only what we are allowed
to take
And listen to the shakers of the earth
growl their pristine craves
And to feel that solemn
rest once
the return to freshness softened
earth
around our barefoot toes
And to regain freedom spatial boundlessness
lost,
but only regained at last
in dreams reposed

Glass-cased and gleaming,
the surface ruptures.
Sleeping, waiting, dormant,
once a safe haven; no longer.

Exposed to the world,
an open wound that festers.
Like a sailor lost at sea,
without a dock to call home.

Arrows pointed upward,
dense with forestation.
Enclosed for eternity,
boundlessness encapture.

c.c.

You are the Sun.
The Sun doesn't move.
This is what it does.

You are the Earth.
The Earth is here for a start...
And the Earth moves around the Sun.

And now...
We'll have an explanation that simple folks like us
can also understand about immortality.

All I ask is that you step with me
into the boundlessness
where constancy, quietude and peace,
infinite emptiness reign.

And just imagine that
in this infinite sonorous silence
everywhere is an impenetrable darkness.

Ego is a social construct

Stories are told about us
We tell ourselves these stories to reinforce
Who we think we are

I am going my own way
I am not something I can see as an object

The self includes everyone you meet
That is the true way

Comparisons abound
Better or Worse

Everybody has a different map of the universe

We are brought into being dependent on causes
We totally lack essence or inherent existence

With each encounter we take on a part of each other

We have trouble accepting the idea of no self
It does not mean we don't exist

Am I form or am I boundlessness??
All five streams of body and mind our boundless
Our form, our feelings and perceptions
Are free of boundaries

You cannot identify me by nailing down some part of my being
We are intimately related with all causes and conditions

We are continually creating each other

Die to our old self
And rise to our new self
There is no permanent seperate self

Dimensions of a self include
Social security, drivers license, etc
So people can be held accountable

If the buddha said the self did exist
He would have been teaching permanence
If he said the self did not exist
He would have been teaching nihilism

I am you
You are me
We are part of each other

Boddhi Dharma
When asked who he was
Did not know who he was

Don't rely on a fixed idea (not knowing)

The teacher suggests on
Give up on any Idea on finding out Who You are
Practice loving kindness (bodhichitta)
Drop the walls of your own particular club

Pray to be relieved of the burden of ego
Or Narcissism
Remember All the people who have helped you
These people are a part of you

Thus shall you think of this fleeting world
A phantom, a dream

Self and no-self
Two sides of the same thing
Accepting them as concepts
Give up
The tight clasp of who you think you are

If I made it through the night
Believing you weren't my own
Would your blood be effervescent
With oddities?
Would they raise ideas,
Possibilities of possibilities?
Would boundlessness ensue?
Would you be barefoot of
Illogical unrarities?
I would fall in line
But I have to have insanely absolute certainty.

You sit on that ***** bus seat,
all seraphic and glowing-
hovering above the filth.
The beauty your body possesses
makes my heart flutter
and my eyes avert-
unable to bear the spotless, striking
quality of your shining form.

But beneath That is what?
Under this gleaming exterior what is there:
If we were to peel back the skin of
your perfectly symmetrical face;
dislodge those glittering green eyes
to look within-

into your true essence;
that thing that,
although invisible,
exists inside your faultlessly proportioned
mass of tissue and bone.

Who are you?
Your name doesn't matter.
Jane, Justine, Charlotte;
**** all that.

what are you other than beauty-
other than a twitter handle,
or your favourite food;
Other than your preference of hot beverage.

I want to know you,
YOU

When you breathe,
what do you feel?

When you sit on this bus, gliding through streets
and past buildings,
are you over-whelmed by the magnitude of it all?

When you step from your little man-made cave in the morning
and above you,
instead of a closed off ceiling,
is the seeming boundlessness of space,
Do you wonder how the **** we can all just keep going on
and not loose our minds at the slightest
glimpse of this stark, partial reality?

Tell me all this,
tell me.

You can't.

You're just a ******* a bus,
and I'm just the guy who falls in love with possibilities.