To the girl who sits behind me
On the city bus everyday:
I know they probably say
With your cat-eye and your beehive
That you look like you belong
Way back in the day
But I think you look beautiful,
Even more so yesterday,
When you walked onto the bus
with your hair down wearing tear-stains.
I think you looked best today,
With a messy bun and no makeup
Listening to a song
And laughing
While I tried not to smile

To the guy who wrote the poem for me yesterday:
I know you must work hard,
You come here at six in the morning everyday,
And I don’t know why
But when I look your way I feel safe.
I know you probably hear
That you should take a break
But I know what it’s like
To work hard
Because there’s not another way.
And I know they probably say
With your tattoos and your gages
You don’t look your age
And you shouldn’t have gotten the job,
But I think you look best
At five in the morning
When you’ve just woken up
And you’re sipping coffee
While we wait for the bus
And your hair’s all messy
And your tattoos catch my eye
And I try to read them,
But I don’t want to pry

To the girl who replied to my poem yesterday:
You can read my tattoos
Any time you like
And I think you look best
At six in the morning
When your eyes shine bright
And you sip your coffee
And don’t hide your delight
I like the way
You bite your lip
When you read a book
Or you’re thinking
Or bored,
It drives me crazy
How come we never talk?
Maybe one day,
Instead of poems at bus stops
We could go for a walk.
Well, I have to get off.
Your stop’s in a minute,
Try not to forget it.

To the guy who writes me poems at bus stops:
I feel like I know you better everyday,
But it’s really weird,
Because I don’t know your name
And you don’t know mine,
Which I think is fine,
Because if this turned
Into anything other
Than poems
At bus stops,
I’d probably scare you away
Like everybody else.
Maybe we should stop,
Before we both get hurt.
Signed tearfully,
The girl in the seat behind you

To the girl who told me to go away:
You wouldn’t scare me away,
Not yesterday,
Not today,
Not ever.
Please don’t make me leave
Like everybody else.
Signed hopefully,
The guy who writes poems at bus stops

To the guy who writes poems at bus stops:
My name’s Haley
And sometimes I close my eyes
And wonder what they call you.
I take pictures everyday
And that’s why I’m here at five
Or maybe six
Every morning
To capture the perfect sunrise.
Here’s the picture I got
Yesterday, just in case
You wanted to see.

To Haley,
Who gets up early
To capture sunrises:
My name’s Ryan and
I spend all day crunching numbers,
Praying they don’t crunch back.
The picture was beautiful
And I though that maybe
One day
We could meet for coffee
And turn this into something
More than poems
At bus stops.

To Ryan, the number-cruncher
Who stole my heart:
I’d love to go for coffee
And we can laugh while we talk,
Maybe I can even show you
My favorite place
In Central Park
And we can go for a walk.

Dearest Haley,
Who captures sunrises
And stole my heart:
I can’t believe it’s been
A year since we began
With poems at bus stops
And coffee while we
Watched rain drops and talked about us.
I know this may be too soon,
I pray you don’t think me a fool,
To believe a number-cruncher
And sunrise-capturer
Could have a happily ever after.
But what do you say
We give it a shot
And spend the rest of our lives
Telling our kids
About how a number-cruncher
And a sunrise-capturer
Had a fairytale wedding
And are living their
Happily ever after.

Huit millisecondes
Huit infimes millisecondes
Voici tout ce que Muse
M'a laissé entrevoir
De sa vulve.
Etait-ce par inadvertance
Par bravade ou en toute innocence
Qu'elle m'a autorisé ce jour-là
A me rincer l 'oeil
A travers le trou de la serrure
De mon portable
Alors qu'elle finissait son bain
Et allait se sécher?
Huit millisecondes
De peep show
Qui ont effacé tous les nu non niet
Nee nein não no
Huit millisecondes
Que depuis j'essaie de visualiser à nouveau au ralenti.

En vain.
Rien n'y fait
Muse est de marbre de Carrare.
Inflexible. Intransigeante.
Décidément Muse n 'est pas exhibitionniste.

J 'ai pourtant tout fait pour l 'amadouer.
Je lui dis je veux j 'exige
je la supplie, je lui joue de ma cornemuse
je me mets à genoux, je boude
je lui promets l'enfer et le paradis
Je fais ma grosse voix
je suis saint Thomas
je ne crois que ce que je vois
J 'ai tout fait pour la convaincre.
C'est une chatte comme toutes les chattes, me dit-elle
et moi je lui réponds : non c'est une sainte chatte diablesse
Elle me parle de foi et me jure qu'on ne voit bien qu'avec le coeur.
et pas avec la queue.
Fort bien. J 'ai donc décidé
De regarder la chatte de Muse avec le coeur
Aveugle et scientifique
Au ralenti de mon télescope électronique .
Et savez-vous ce que j 'ai découvert ?
Je vous le donne en mille.
La vulve de ma muse est un vrai diaporama !
La vulve de ma muse est écomorphe !
En un mot pour faire court
La vulve de ma muse a 88 nuances de vulve !
Du mons ***** aux ***** minora
Des ***** majora au *******
des glandes de Bartholin à l 'introïtus
Ma muse c'est quatre-vingt-huit vulves en une !
Toutes de la même espèce rare de vulvae anolis
Mais aux niches, couleurs, mucus et formes fort différents
En fonction de leur environnement et de leurs prédateurs.

Quand je fais l 'iguane
et que je m'approche trop d'elle
La vulve de Muse se perche
Dans les hautes sphères de la canopée
elle est verte alors et se confond avec le feuillage
Tel un zandoli vert
bien malin qui pourrait la voir.

Lors des grosses canicules elle devient marron
elle a soif , se faufile dans le tronc des arbres
A la recherche de la fraîcheur
et s'alimente de la maigre pitance
Du latex des sapotilliers

Et quand elle fait sa sieste
Elle est blanche et noire à la fois
fantomatique et phosphorescente
et elle se pend aux branches
Et est si vulnérable
offerte à tous vents
qu'on peut la capturer
l 'identifier
la mesurer la peser la baguer
et la photographier sous toutes les coutures
avant de la relâcher dans le flot de ses rêves.

Huit millisecondes
C 'est peu pour satisfaire
Même avec les yeux du coeur
Le désir du ******
Mais c'est assez pour alimenter
Les constellations de l 'écriture
Et n 'est-ce pas cela en fait la raison d'être des Muses :
Alimenter , nourrir, susciter l 'envie...d'avoir envie ?

<p><p>Les environs magnifiques de Squaw Valley .les détails classiques avec une touche rustique par Summit Soiree.jeunes mariés tiré à quatre épingles et Virgile Bunao faire ce qu'il fait le mieux ;prendre un beau cliché après l'autre .Ce mariage va tirer droit vers le haut de votre liste de favoris .je vous le garantis .Voir beaucoup plus ici .\u003cp\u003ePartager cette superbe galerie ColorsSeasonsSummerSettingsOudoorStylesAl Fresque <p>C'était un régal pour capturer Sarah et la session d'engagement de Daniel pendant Thanksgiving 2012 à Charleston .Le temps était maintenant en train de refroidir et de s'installer de l'apogée de la chaleur fou nous avons tendance à obtenir ici .mais qui ne les empêche pas de regarder si frais et si dans l'amour .Je comptais les jours avant leur mariage  <a href="http://www.modedomicile.com/robe-demoiselle-dhonneur-c-60"><b>robe de demoiselle d'honneur</b></a>  .à photographiez des scènes qui ont eu lieu .Je ne savais pas comment époustouflé je serais au milieu de ces montagnes .Lake Tahoe est un endroit magnifique et la joie de leurs familles et l'excitation Sarah et Daniel présentait à chaque fois mon appareil photo et j'ai regardé les faits Squaw Valley incroyablement picturesque.Being si élevé .chaque centimètre de cet endroit avait une lueur intense .Tout brillait .Sarah brillait .Daniel brillait .La verdure brillait .Lors de la cérémonie .la petite niche dans les bois .nous étions à eu un peu de lumière magnifique .À ce moment .il était clair que je devais laisser à Sarah .Daniel .leurs invités .et le soleil de faire toute cette journée mémorable .Ils ont fait Photographie <p>: Virgil Bunao | planification de l'événement: . Sommet Soiree | Robe <b>robe de demoiselle d honneur pas cher</b>  de mariage: Monique Lhuillier | Cérémonie Lieu: Plump Jack Inn | Réception Lieu: Plump Jack Inn | Restauration : Plump Jack InnMonique Lhuillier est un membre de notre Look Book .Pour plus d'informations sur la façon dont les membres sont choisis .cliquez ici .Virgile Bunao photographie est  <a href="http://www.modedomicile.com/robe-demoiselle-dhonneur-pas-cher-c-20"><b>robe de demoiselle d honneur pas cher</b></a>  un membre de notre Little Black Book .Découvrez comment les membres sont choisis  <p><a href="http://modedomicile.com/goods.php?id=2423" target="blank"><img width="240" height="320" src="http://188.138.88.219/imagesld/td//t35/productthumb/1/4187435353535396606.jpg"></a></p>  en visitant notre page de FAQ .Virgile Bunao Photographie voir le</p>

Ça a été une semaine de l'absurde jolis traits .mais puis-je vous laisser sur un petit secret ?Nous aurions enregistré un des meilleurs pour la fin.Judy Pak .Loli événements et Matthew Ree sont que quelques-uns des grands noms derrière ce printemps swoonfest .et vous pouvez visiter la galerie complète pour beaucoup.beaucoup plus .Vendredi heureux .mes enfants !xoxo\u003cp\u003ePartager cette superbe galerie ColorsSeasonsSpringSettingsGardenStylesRomantic de Lauren de Loli événements .Bien que brève .printemps à New York est toujours rajeunissant et passionnant .Tout semble plus lumineux .plus heureux et tout plein de vie .Ce tournage a capturé exactement cela avec une parfaite dose de glamour et de fantaisie .Les beaux motifs des jardins d'Old Westbury était une évidence comme toile de fond .Tout y est luxuriante .réfléchi et tout simplement magnifique .Notre objectif en tant que fournisseurs de mariage de luxe était de capturer une certaine beauté grave tout en s'amusant et profiter du moment .Il est si facile de se laisser prendre et d'oublier de faire une pause et de prendre dans votre environnement .Cette séance est consacrée à créer un peu d' esprit d'aventure et un besoin de juste prendre une profonde respiration lente .

Photographie : Judy Pak | Photographie : Matthew Ree | Floral Design : Tashi et Bobo | Robe : Jenny Packham | gâteau : Ana Parzych | Coiffeur : Seonghee Park | Bridal Boutique : Gabriella New York | Location de robe : petite robe empruntée |postiches : Emily Riggs | Maquillage : Seunghyn robes demoiselles d honneur Seo de KAKABOKA | Props / table : Caverne de coquelicots et Posies | Styling / Set de table design: Loli Evénements | mariage Lieu: Old Westbury Gardens

cadeaux COURS

Dernière chance pour entrer mariage Styles Modcloth Fonds ContestHoneymoon de Registre annuel rêve SweepstakesA collier pavé de diamants disque JoyWilliams - Sonoma de voyageurs " Les jeux de Clay PotTWO de détente à DEUX SMPers chanceux de Duffield Lanea ensemble de flashcards de Apprendre à parler de mariage

Ne manquez pas les remises de cette semaine .

PostableSquarespaceAbbey Malcolm typographique + DesignZola

Pour nos épouses Australie .Ne pas oublier de s'inscrire pour gagner une séance d'engagement à la plage sud de Curl Curl de Poli Mariages

Pour nos épouses Californie .Réductions de Jonathan jeunes Mariages et Dr Diaz .

Pour nos Brides.Discounts Canada de Blush \u0026Gray.Renata De Thomasis et Christine Arnold Photographie

Pour nos épouses Midwest .Réduction du restylage Locations de cru et La Belle Fleur événements

Pour nos Nouvelle-Angleterre Brides .Un rabais de Aster B. Fleurs

Pour notre Sud-Ouest Brides.Make sûr de confirmer Royal Occasion Chateau Cocomar nuptiale Open House ( Ce week-end ! )

Pour notre Tri-State brides.Don 't oublier de s'inscrire pour gagner Photographie + vidéographie Collection de NST Photos et réductions du New Museum .Femina photo + design.NY Sourire spécialistes et HowAboutWe pour les couples PLUS ne manquez pas Gabriella Newhiver échantillon Vente York !

Et bien sûr .heureux gagnant

http://modedomicile.com

de cette semaine .
Félicitations Alexis qui a gagné 100 Day Challenge paquet d'or de mariée corpsEmily Riggs est un membre de notre Look Book .Pour plus d'informations sur la façon dont robe de mariée 2014 les membres sont choisis .cliquez ici .Gabriella New York Bridal Salon .Loli événements et Judy Pak Photographie sont membres de notre Little Black Book .Découvrez comment les membres sont choisis en visitant notre page de FAQ .Gabriella New York Salo nuptiale ... Afficher les événements PORTEFEUILLE loli voir le portfolio Judy Pak Photographie voir le

Our frequent  encounters
day after day after day
I and you would pretend
happen by mere chance.

But love lives in the sixth sense, we realize
it keeps our antennae up, even when apart
we act as if we are oblivious of that one fact.
it's this guile, that makes our love so special

A mysterious connect with
the movements of each other
like never missing the poetry of
lascivious flourish of your body
intended for me as an aphrodisiac,
yet again letting  my tender heart
to get hit by your eager beetle eyes
that'd follow me everywhere I turn
decided not to miss anyone of my desires.
I too am agile, an avid capturer
of motions of your body, mind and
effusive spirit that attach with mine
in every which way it could; I keep it alive.

Maybe someday,
When nostalgia won’t be my only friend,
When my life won’t be solitary confinement,
My mind my cell,
My body my capturer.

Maybe that day,
When i will again feel
something other than a palette of sadness,
I will tell you i am happy.

And maybe on that day
or the first time in forever,
It won’t be a lie.
But that day is not today (i’m sorry).

I am
A breaker of hearts,
An annihilator of love
A wordsmith in his own mind,
Someone who thinks they’re always right.

I am
Desirable in theory,
Not recognized in society
Quiet in the ways of my life
Someone who you’ll forget in two days time.

I am
A man of music, or was for one life
An artist of some unknown kind.
A capturer of light and moments within
A sealed vault of poetic emotion

I am
The person looking at the stars
The person counting the clouds
The person you walk right by.
The person who’s ready now.

What a miracle spins off the eyes,
Of a master capturer of colours!
For his harlot is the dancing lights-
Of a happy day's golden hours.
What with these attributing sounds-
Of a furiously futile attempt at beauty?
For what a line of poetry gets to stir-
Is foolish beside the language of images.
Words are arch enemies of colours,
Shining vibrantly on a lazy afternoon-
And of the beauty that lies in the sight-
Of the night sky with a cloudless moon.
No poem can ever stake a claim-
Of ever making hearts skip a beat
Or goosebumps riling on the necks,
As portraits of women with rosy cheeks.
If the poet sees what the sun cannot
And the best words need inspiration,
Let this be a reminder to all your faculties
That a picture is worth a thousand words.

Je suis la Muse, Ta Muse
Ta pudique, Ta sage cornemuse
Sisypha, l 'allumeuse, tisseuse de tes envies,
Je t'enflamme,
Je te seconde,
Je te féconde,
Je suis l 'idée, le mot, le rêve, l'espoir
L'image !
Je craque un mot sur le grattoir
Et la flamme jaillit, tu enfantes un monde
Le feu de ton imagination te rend fébrile

Et je savoure, je me délecte et je me décapsule
Quand sous l 'emprise de cette terrible envie de moi
Religieusement tu bandes, tu gonfles, tu te dilates
Tu brûles d'aller boire au plus profond de moi
Tu aspires à m'aspirer en toi.
J 'appuie à distance sur le détonateur
Tu exploses !

Et moi au **** je danse, je cours, je vole, je souris et je dégouline de poèmes !
Tu sais tout, tu es mon ombre
Tu m'as entendue
Tu m'as vue dans le miroir chanter le vin clairet
Tu as aperçu mes lambeaux de poèmes lubriques
Tu me cherches dans chaque enlacement passionné
Je te cherche aussi
On s'est croisé au pied du Vésuve
Je marchais insouciante
Et tu m'as appelée Gradiva.
Tu vois ?
Même si on ne se voit jamais
On se sera déjà vus !

Je suis ta Muse
Notre amour est ainsi fait
Amour-sourire de Muse et Artiste
Nous nous imbriquons l'un dans l'autre
Toi l 'artiste prodige
et moi la sublime Muse
Jamais je ne me suis doutée que j'avais les pieds aussi beaux !
C'est toi qui les as façonnés ainsi ?

Alea jacta est
C'est le destin qui m'a mis dans ta bouche
Ne te mords pas les lèvres
Accomplis tes quatre-vingt-huit travaux d'Hercule

Je suis la résille de soie grège
Que tu tisses lentement de tes doigts agiles
En mailles losanges ou carrées
Cette résille est digne des Pléiades..
Tu dévides ta navette et au fur à mesure que tu crochètes
Le filet de soie prend forme
Et se fait crespine
Je m'inquiète :

Vas-tu vouloir avec ce filet capturer
Sisypha qui palpite au creux de ma nuque
Pour la garder prisonnière de la cage
De l 'oiseau qui me picore ?

Ou vas-tu
En ceindre mes cheveux
Et les emprisonner
Dans ta tour de soie ?

Ou veux -tu que je le porte
Sous ma bombe de cavalière
chaque fois que je te chevauche
Et que je tente de dresser ta monture
Aux sabots gravés de mon monogramme ?

Ou peut-être fétichiste
Concoctes-tu derrière ces mailles
Une surprise pour Sisypha :
Un petit body décolleté en résille jaune
Et un débardeur en résille noire ?

unbothered, I cause ripples through the tide.
you, dressed in black; me, left mesmerized
our skin, different shades of the same colour
bruised and battered, though invisible to the naked eye
her skin, tight as leopard tongues for prey
leaving me without ability to forget
how you and i
lived a lifetime in a night, a second, a split

between the two, one thousand lies, one million truths
steps ahead, turned into miles behind, where we laid our fruits
and the field in which we grew
with olive garments and pleated seams
unbelievable, unbearable, incomparable love
only known from me to you, and you to me

running through my mind
the lover of my life
the capturer of my heart, held captive over time
the way my soul has grown to yearn for her
has thrown my thoughts of stubbornness,
selfishness, and sadness
clean out of mind

through love and fight
sight and touch we rushed
into one another
night, morning, until dusk
and through all fortune and misfortune
i never stopped the blush
to ask you
if i was ever enough

because there you were
new, and fresh
yet sad from beyond control
wings broken down, soul to the floor
body beautiful as ever
my mistakes stretching you to your core
no matter how far and long i loved
you'd not love me anymore.

and here i sit
miles away, days apart, frown to face
wanting to build a home, a place for (us)
somewhere safe
whoever knew that'd never be

because how safe could you ever be
if you're afraid of
loving me

and here you are
listening to me cry out every night
to you my dear, i scream and tell you how our love can be
though, there is no way that you can love me now the way we need

so i sit, all of the day
while you earn your keep
stressing myself daily, whether or not you've lied to me
whether or not, you keep on telling me that it won't work
and only say it differently, and nicer
to keep me close, for what you want me for

and that is not your lover
that is not your soulmate at all
what you want is simply, friendship
something i can't grab ahold
'for when i look into your eyes
whether here, or on the screen
i see the future we both knew and wanted
once upon a time, in between

and it is almost over.
i feel i am almost in control
i cry myself to sleep
thinking i have grown strong enough to leave you alone
and every time i type the words, that will send us our separate ways
i just can't believe that you don't want me to be yours, even when you have nothing to bring

because love is not a choice
what we want is not either, at all
if i could choose a sentence
it'd be the one that'd bring you along

though much has been said by you
and by my own tongue
all i care for now,
is to be the only one

and all of this love i show
what does it mean to you?
you are still able to post, like, follow, laugh, and love
as if you are not missing a part of you

so maybe all along
it was over before it grew
and when you said those words to me
to believe you,
made me the fool.

listen... i started writing to you personally... but then... i conjured up a lightning flash of ideas... i'm going to make it public... i can't help myself... you're still intact as a private entity... but i just itch when i hit a lightning storm of ideas... esp. associate with phonetic puzzles... and the Hebrew deity... i'm also too prone to being aggrevated by Easter...

well: i am truly grateful that you can share with me your innermost details: your modus operandi... i have two thoughts about water... rain... hmm... rain is my crux... the sound of a flowing river... that's tier two... but... living in London... hmm... the Thames is a strange river... you can't actually hear it flow... because it doesn't... one of... all the rivers i've come across that has a high tide and a low tide... looking at it... it sort of: sits there... like a lake... a ***** ******* lake: but a lake nonetheless... it's a lazy river... it doesn't have any tenacity about it... it seems to have not vitality of a metaphor used by Heraclitus... it has a sea similarity: it is governed by a tide... it's beautiful when the tide comes in and the river bulges to the brink of the Embankment... it's such an eerie river... but unlike most rivers... it's silent... the water ripples... but there seems to be hardly any current... how can there be... if there's a high tide and a low tide? sea... i try my best... to appreciate it... my mother is hugely appreciative of the sea... me? i prefer the vast unknown of a forest... i'm more appreciative of wind (air) than water... esp. if i enter a forest at night on a windy night... i like the music of dried branches... i like the howling of the wind being almost directionless... peering through cracks in the foliage... roughing it up like... if you can an imagine what people get into with ASMR (autonomous sensory meridian response)... where you to concentrate water, having a sleepless night... with the tap dripping... funny that... i'd feel a "disgust" toward the audio... or rather: merely an itch... when the expression of water is man-made... i recoil... i can't delve into it giving me any comfort... air... on the other hand... give me the wind in the forest... sudden gusts of force... air... and then give me singing... i'm recently a convert to the Hans Zimmer Dune soundtrack... but don't get me wrong... Brian Eno's original take... esp. the prophecy theme is still dear to my heart... the reinvention is just darker... and if we were to throw fire into this whole affair... the sound of crackling branches in a fire... that's almost comforting... i'm thinking: what if i could only replace the television set with a fireplace... or if not a fireplace... an aquarium... but... ugh... sometimes you just have to be up to speed with other people's creative output... to live in a said time... but the alternative is more than tempting: it's calling me...you lived in San Francisco? that must have been fun: back when San Francisco wasn't that independent commentators describe it as: a hell hole... or most of California... i wish i could live as simply as what you described... on some tropical island like Samoa in the Pacific... i suspect life can be coupled with a sort of nonchalance when approaching certain realities that otherwise force us to... perform ulterior motives... when in the cold... you need to huddle... blah blah... but to reiterate... i'm more of an air person than a water person... esp. during the English storm-month... when the islands get battered to the point that even Essex feels the magnitudes... the woodland pigeons fly so fast you'd think the winds would be able to break their wings apart...  the trees don't have any leaves... so... they... clank... clank... like a pirate with a wooden leg walking on a deck of a wooden ship... and if you time it just right... the aura of the night can also take over... see... i never understood that in English you shorten people's names... in ******... there's actual diminutive tools in place... KACZKA: duck... can become: KACZUSZKA (small duck): it's an endearing fabric of the language... but... certain "things" remain intact... names of people... in English you will have a Peter... and the "diminutive" of Peter is: Pete... Michael becomes Mike... Matthew becomes Matt... Samantha becomes Sam... it's... lazy... it's ugly... but it's the fabric of the language... do not becomes don't... how my mother tongue works when it comes to the names of people? just using my example... from the "elaborate" Mateusz: my name becomes translated into either Finnish or Italian to not stress the SH (SZ, same ****, different cover) at the end... so either Matti or Mateo... why would i refer to you aas Edie? that's almost: Edward... since... short for Edward in short-hand English is: Eddy... and if you were to break that down to the raw phonetics: E-die... you have a name... it's elevated for the purpose of referring to you by: the... theta... if i were to write it in Greek... εδιη (maybe i'm not getting my eta contra epsilon bearings right, we'll see)... εδθ... see... i could simply write... what the Roman text allows me... but... you're missing a letter... in my mother tongue that's an: IGREK... Y... which is upsilon... but no... i can't just write an iota in between the delta and the theta... but i also can't write the upsilon... since... it's not an IGREK... i need graffiti-phonetics... E-DEEF... not deaf... exactly: like dear isn't deer... E-DEEF... like DEAD is not DEED... i know what i need... a diphthong (φθ): but these didn't exist in Greek... εδθ: the letter that's missing is a hollowed out U... it's a parabola with a leg to stand on... it's not even close to: E-D... oh such... Edyph... **** me... sorted... i had to replace the theta for the phi... and... like a magic pinball machine... the "why" or Y... approved... strange letter... don't you think? it could never be trusted as a vowel... not in my language... not in the English language, even though...

a   e                 o  u
   Y                     H              
   i                    ą   ę

        which is the right arm... now coming to the left arm...

ś  ł  ź
   W                      i'm going to ignore the acute O
ć    ż
                      it's just a ploy for an orthographic aesthetic...
to distinguish spelling mantras from an upsilon...
the second H in the tetragrammaton is...
either a laughter generator or a sigh capturer...
all diphthong manner of dealings...
the Latin æ, i.e.:
                                         æ   e
                                            H
                                          a   æ....

like i already mentioned... we're not going to
be going into the orthographic aesthetic of
the acute omicron...
the left of the tetragrammaton:
is a vowel catcher... one that either instigates
laugher... or catches sighs...

magically the iota and the upsilon merged:
into a "gamma"... of Y...
the splinter tongue of the serpent...
      i call to witness...
           the merger of the Hebrew though
from: the Latin...
   that this deity might testify... its phonetic
credentials... i: for one: will not serve
no "Allah"...
         day upon day... year upon year:
i have become entrenched in...
fulfilling the motives of the one, true...
deity...
                      
the English language has no concept of orthography!
it's... prone to... metaphysics...
to... para-reality...
to... trans-"prefixations" of the glories
of some, supposed, democracy...
but... without... diacritical stressors...
it lacks... orthography... that's its downfall:
toward... disrepair...

εδȗθ...
                      suppose i used a comma...
addition... on the upsilon...
to give it a more Roman accent?!

exactly... i can't exactly get rid or either iota
or epsilon / eta... when trying to wriggle
a quasi-upsilon-omega: dip!

that's the battle... ie and uo...
      certain examples have to be ushered in...
you don't say: die-ꟻ-F-ONG...
you say... dyphthong... because the iota
morphes... you dip... into... hollowing out
an upsilon: which is already hollowed
out to make the trinity of

                       υ  ω
                         Y
                         o

even if the supposed son: only son?! died upon the cross...
illiterate little ******...
here's me... picking up the literacy pieces...
making... associations...
oh sure: sure... this could fit... here... there...
i was never going to like being asked being
someone else's *******: choir, boy!

there are certain things in life... more important
than the territorial foregoings
of all that's ever supposedly to be mortal...
ask any man: what he might wish to envision...
a celestial... takeover... a lineage born
not more genes... but... the fury of ideas...
men ought to pride themselves not
on mere acquisition of wealth...
but... inexhaustible expenditure...
                        
                  i ought to be allowed to govern with
as much little... as: too much doesn't allow me to
govern...
because: i simply don't want as much...
i want the bare minimum...
               the little as possible leaves
me with the contention...
i want the least harm to grieved by
the greatest of many...
          to live: via dying trying...
                what an adventure....
                 one life... one hope...
                tomorrow's just another cope...
       hello Mars.