Life
          Happens so quickly
                                         You must divide it
Into                         sections
         Almost like a
                         Different fragrance in the air
              Another perfume or
         Like re seeing
everything you saw before
                               Through technicolor eyes
Only                   there's a new color
             A      fresh shade
                              of spatial light fragments
        Consuming your being
And                   warping you into
                     A new stage
                                   Hitting you with
        Intensities
                              Of our so called journey
            Turning
                       the dial on your radio
                     So
          the frequencies align
                    In a continuity of waves
                               Colliding
            amongst pink matter
              The insensitive intensities
               Present to me
                               A mystery
                    Or so it seems
                    A new light
                A dawn to the dusk
               Of my fragile fifth stage
                         But I lost count
                   And forgot the feeling
      
                          You'll know when it happens
                     It'll flow through you
          And you'll realize
                    You've felt it before too

Think of an imagined orchestra. But there is no resonance hereabouts, so the imagination gives next to nothing for your efforts, and even in surround-sound there’s so little to reflect the dimensions of the space your walking inhabits. Sea hardly counts, having its constant companionship with wind, and sand hills absorb the footfall. A shout dies here before the breath has left the lungs.

Listen, there is a vague twittering of wading birds flocked far out on the sand. The sea rolls and breaks a rhythmic swell into surf. There’s a little wind to rustle the ammophila and only the slight undefined noise of our bodies moving in this strip between land and sea. Nowhere here can sound be enclosed except within the self. There’s a kind of breathing going on, and much like our own, it has to be listened for with a keen attention.

There is such a confusion of shapes making detail difficult to gather in, even to focus upon, and to attempt an imagined orchestration – impossible. We’ll have to wait for the camera’s catch, its cargo to be brought to the back-lit screen. Once there it seems hardly a glimmer of what we thought we saw, what we ‘snapped’ in an instant. It’s too detached, too flat. So thankfully you sketch, and I feel the pen draw shapes into your fingers and their moving, willing hand. On your sketchbook’s page the image breathes and lives.

You can’t sketch music this way because the mark made buries itself in a network that seems to defy with its complexity any image set before you. Time’s like that. You end up with a long low pitch, pulsating; a grumbling sound rich in sliding harmonics. You see, landscape does not beget melody or even structure and form, only tiny, pebbled pockets of random sound. Here, there is no belonging of music. Only the built space can adequately house music’s home. We might ****** a few seconds of the sea’s turn and wash, a bird’s cry, the rub and clatter of boot on stone, and later bring it back to a timeline of digital audio and be ‘musical’ with it, or not.

Where we hold music to landscape is something we are told just happens to be so; it is the interpretation’s (and the interpreter’s) will and whim. It is an illusion. The Lark Ascends in a Norfolk field. We hear, but rarely see, this almost stationary bird high in the morning air. We can only imagine the lark’s eye view, but we know the story, the poem, the context, so our imagination learns to supply the rest.

What is taken then to be taken back? On this November beach, on this mild, windless afternoon,. Am I collecting, preparing, and easing the mind, un-complicating mental space, or unravelling past thoughts and former plans? I can then imagine sitting at a table, a table before a window, a window before a garden, and beyond the garden (through the window) there’s a distant vista of the sea where the sun glistens (it is early morning), and there too in the bright sky remains a vestige of a night’s drama of clouds. But today we shall not put music to picture from a camera’s contents, from any flat and lifeless image.

Instead there seem to be present thoughts alive in this ancient coastline, abandoned here the necessary industry of living, the once ceaseless business of daily life. Instead of the hand to mouth existence governed by the herring, the course strip farming below the castle, the herds of dark cattle, the possible pigs, some wandering sheep, seabirds and their eggs for the ***, the gathering of seaweed, the foraging for fuel: there is a closing down for winter because the visitors are few. We need the rest they say, to regroup, paint the ceilings, freshen up the shop, strengthen the fences, have time away from the relentlessness of accommodating and being accommodating. Only the smell of smoking the herring remains from the distant past – but now such kippering is for Fortnums.

We step out across and down and up the coastal strip: an afternoon and its following morning;  a few miles walking, nothing serious, but moving here and there, taking it in, as much as we can. We fill ourselves to the brim with what’s here and now. The past is never far away: in just living memory there was a subsistence life of the herring fishers and the itinerant fisher folk who followed the herring from Aberdeen to Plymouth. Now there are empty holiday lets, retirement properties and most who live here service the visitors. Prime cattle graze, birds are reserved, caravans park next to a floodlit hotel and its gourmet restaurant. There’s even a poet here somewhere - sitting on a rock like a siren with a lovely smile.

Colours: dull greens now, wind-washed-out browns, out and above the sea confusions of grey and black stone, floating skeins of orange sands and the haunting, restless skies. Far distant into the west hills are sculpted by low-flying clouds resting in the mild air. Wind turbines step out across the middle distance, but today their sails are stationary. As the bay curves a settlement of wooden huts, painted chalets then the grey steep roofed houses of stone, grey and hard against the sea.

Does music come out of all this? What appears? What sounds? What is sounding in me? There is nothing stationary here to hang on to because even on this mild day there is constant change. Look up, around, adjust the viewpoint. There’s another highlight from the sky’s palette reflecting in the estuary water, always too various and complex to remember.

Music comes out of nothing but what you build it upon. It holds the potential for going beyond arrangements of notes. Pieces become buildings, layers in thought. My only landscape music to date begins with a formal processional, a march, and a gradually broadening out of tonality the close-knit chromatic to the open-eared pentatonic. There’s a steady stream of pitches that do not repeat or recur or return on themselves, as so much music needs to do to appease our memory.

In this landscape there seem only sharp points of dissonance. I hear lonely, disembodied pitches, uncomfortable sounds that are pinned to the past. The land, its topography as a score grasping the exterior, lies in multi-dimensional space, sound in being, a joining of points where there is no correlation. There’s a map and directions and a flow of time: it starts here and ends there, and so little remains for the memory.

Yet, this location remains. We walked it and saw it fortunately for a brief time in an uninhabited state. We were alone with it. We looked at this land as it meets the sea, and I saw it as a map on which to place complexes of sound, intensities even,. But how to meet the musical utterance that claims connection? It is a layering of complexes between silences, between the steady step, the stop and view. There is perhaps a hierarchy of landscape objects: the curve of the bay, the sandhills’ sweep, the layerings of sand, and in the pools and channels of this slight river that divides this beach flocks of birds.

Music is such an intense structure, so bound together, invested with proportions so exact and yet weighed down by tone, the sounding, vibrating string, the column of air broken by the valve and key, the attack and release of the hammered string. But there is also the voice, and voices are able to sound and carry their own resonance . . .

. . . and he realised that was where these long drawn out thoughts, this short diary of reflection, had been leading. He would sit quietly in contemplation of it all and work towards a web of words. He would let their rhythms and sounds come together in a map, as a map of their precious, shared time moving between the land and the sea, the sea and the land.

Life is a puzzle.
Just like you and me.
Each day a note,
Together they make a melody.

Our life a puzzle,
A melody.
Each and everyone,
Another life, another story.

Black, white, crimson, burgundy,
Different shades of colors,
Lights of different intensities,
Life's of different meanings.

Some live for others,
Others for themselves;
Some have no clue,
Some just wish all was true.

Days pass like flipping pages,
A book opened and soon to be closed.
But after the story,
Still no one knows.

No one ever truly knows,
Never one found out the answer;
The real meanings,
Behind these beautiful melodies.

Many lives, satin ribbons,
fluttering Freely in the wind.

So much the same, similar traits,
yet all we see is Difference.

In the wondrous story book of night,
               I fully absorb and contemplate,
You were the one omnipresent,
               in light years far and flames near.

                                   As orbs of light, in many intensities and hues
                                                     the ray of infinite grace that envelops,
                                      That feels like the caressing of lotus petals,
                                                    was you my eternal beloved.

Soft, frothing moon light has been
         at times of pain my true consolation,
The moving comet my source of wonder,
          that takes me to you in imagination.

                                             A reader, I was keenly searching.
                                                      ­for meanings of things in light and dark
                                               Being another character formed
                                                        of­ dust sedimented from many stars.

You are enshrined in the diamond
               temple of my mind's still center
making you my lover was
               in honor of my yen for sublime.

                                               The story book of night has pages
                                                         on spirited mornings, noons and dusk
                                                  your benign presence in each step,
                                                           ­ moves galaxies and milky ways.

I see your moving eye brows
   in the tumult of dark rain clouds,
Your intense eyes flash love to me
    when in pain,if  I feel some doubt,
                                                          ­  

                                                     In waves one after another of ocean,
                                                          ­   your hands embrace me to assure,
                                                       mountain wind from far distance
                                                        ­     brings your songs nightingales sing.

I am a living monument that's breathed
         from the elements , to keep on loving you
not ever a  jealous lover,I am like  a millioner
       ready to sacrifice all just for your presence.
                                                       ­   

                                                Is there any other lover with such care
                                                  who brings  boundless grace, like you?
                                                   you've the very same eyes of my mother
                                                          ­ that reach me the moment I fall.

In days I am moving within a dream
       for which, you are the creator, moving spirit,
I turn the pages of storybook of night
   whenever I want to be closer to your warmth.
                                    

                                                    A mirror you are reflecting my candor,
,                                                        ­ more than anything I ever yearned for,
                                                     You are the river that flows along  me,
                                                      ­   to the ocean, eternally seething in wait.

Is there a natural virility to the fertilities of the inductions of space time’s continuums?  Is this a microcosmic phenomenon or more dependent on the depths of pervasion of its macrocosmic relativities.  Perhaps there is a unifying field theory we are not yet aware of which explains how it paradoxically is a little bit of both.  Regardless, given the fact that there probably was no beginning to the universe then quite literally an eternity has already passed.  So why then, given our understanding of the physics of physical interaction, is not all in a state of complete entropy?  
     This afore mentioned fecundity must exist.  Further in it’s quite likely the cause of physical existence as we know it.  I have a theory: This creationism occurs at such an imperceptible rate that positive eons of quadrillions of ages must pass in order for the cosmos to replenish its stockpile of physical matter (possibly matter without atomic structure as we know it) so that a new cycle of infinite big bangs in infinite space can occur.  Ushering in a new 500 billion to trillion year cycle of physical existence as we know it.  Further again, perhaps the implosion’s contraction’s revisions are the cause of the atomic structure of matter we experience during this new physical cycle.
      The thought of such quantum leaps to me for the intensities of physical matters existence and catalytic capabilities.  
     Granted your not going to find these speculations touted as fact in a Wikipedia excerpt.  The answers are in fact unknown.  I’m merely being hypothetically thoughtful with what I’ve learned of possibilities prospectus.   Given these truths allow me to hypothesize further.  
     It seems to me that the evolution of the organic morphologies of biological ontogeny were created by a conceptually reflective derivative (or perhaps antiderivative on the interpolations of integration) of functional physical mechanics.  That perhaps the creative force behind their inception (similar to the afore mentioned natural inductions of space time’s continuums) was the physical realism of and or the residual harmonic vibrations of kinetic supremacy.  
     Consider, the planet we’re on is revolving at approximately 60,000 miles per hour relative to the sun, the solar system we inhabit is revolving at approximately 500,000 miles per hour around the center of our galaxy.  Our galaxy is traveling at approximately 1,332,000 miles per hour through space with our local group of galaxies and revolving at approximately 216,000 miles per hour around the center of mass of this group of galaxies.  All this to give you some conception of the kinetic actualities of our planet’s trajectory’s extant as a projectile.  We have an almost incredible amount of potential or kinetic energy that is generated by our physical velocity through space.  Although we don’t seem to be aware of the impending preponderances of this realism as tellurian denizens it is nonetheless fact to our intellectual relativities.  
     Once again perhaps the actuality of and or the residual harmonic vibrations of the actuality of this phenomenon are the impetus behind the evolution of the organic morphologies of biological ontogeny.  We don’t know for certain how the first amino acids were formed.  Much less how these acids in the primordial soup made the quantum leap to living existence as biological organisms.  Once again I hypothesize it was a conceptually reflective derivative (or antiderivative) of the creationism behind functional physical mechanics.  e.g. the natural inductions of space time continuum and the quantum leaps created by the implosion’s contraction’s revisions of our big bang.
     By now you may be wondering why I have extrapolated these hypothetical scenarios about the physical creationism of our universe and the perceived similarly analogous state of organic and biological origins, so I’ll tell you.  I hoped it might make the dissertation I’m about to make on the fecundities of the corporeally preternatural and perhaps metaphysical inclinations of our sentient race easier to comprehend.
     With the advent of biological organisms the diversity of physical existence has apparently exceeded its physical complexity.  Understanding has evolved.  Relatively extraneous interpolations of adhesively practical extremity succeed in a hierarchy of functionally integral forms.  Being a firm believer in evolution this phenomenon makes me wonder: Is the impetus behind the genetic anomalies that influence the seemingly positive nature of natural selection’s progression a pervasion from the social contiguities of a species? Perhaps a random occurrence with no discernable precedent?  Or, more likely even, the equivocal nature of the superior essence of the ontological state of the beings involved?
     Though many believe that it is truly a random occurrence I have a tendency to want to believe otherwise.  That just as there is a natural fecundity to the induction of space time’s continuum there is a positively oriented inclination integral to evolutional progression.  A sort of élan vital on the orthogenesis overtures.  Granted it is somewhat dependant on the phenological nature of environment but improvements occur which have little to do with the ability to cope with the weather.    
      So is there such a thing as élan vital as it relates to ethology’s entelechy?  Is there any benefit for humanoid demagoguery in pursuing zoomorphic zoolotry as a social contiguity?  Can we actually make accession to transcendentally existential ascension?
     The obvious answer would appear to be yes, at least in partiality.  Maybe we’re incapable (at present) of assimilating incorporeity ideology’s non-corporeal states and existing as godlike disembodied spirits (who perhaps have not lost their proclivity for corporeally preternatural being) but social relativities are an evolving state.  Truly the better we treat each other the better off all will be.  Now I’m not talking about being a bunch of fawning sycophants or schmaltzy schlep-it-ness schmucks, more like the swanky saunter obsequious diligence could indentured servant sail lend to all.  Not given because it’s mandated but because it’s the essence of social contiguity’s evolution.  Granted the individual must remain sacrosanct.  Our metaphysical prowess is at best hypothetical.  Actual magic is not a tool in our kit-bag though I aspire to such everyday as I attempt to be teleportation real with my telepathy to the demons I appear to be confronted with.  I site clairaudience clairvoyance on the vicinity victuals of vigilante villain, the propinquity habitations of harbinger’s harangued, the proximity parameters of perimeter’s peripherals, why I’ll even throw in the objectified manifest’s diminutive minutia iotas of self inductive interstitial extrapolation, and if that doesn't get it I'll talk about the embark embargo extraditions and the extraversion embezzling euthanasia extortions.  The thought of such spatiotemporal telemetry tactician.  Protractive analyses of dimensional delineation on the terrestrial equestrian.  Tellurian terrene!!
     The obvious realisms of all of this are that we are indeed capable of making these quantum leaps armed practical magic.  I say lets fecundity get down to it.  Exserted protuberances of erotica erectile errantry, the vibrant volition of verve.  I’ve had enough of vapid flatulence and insidiously sinister archaic.  Mankind’s inability to supersede his developing anachronism may well be the cause of his demise!!!  We’ll become theosophy’s theophany incarnate, the ecstatic euphorias of corporeally preternatural’s enigma entity on the identity crisis!!!!

No Judgements [37]

Judgements,
judged upon men,
judgements,
cast upon him,
assumptions,
cast a wide net,
haven't we realized yet,
that if he without sin,
shall cast the first stone,
then obviously,
no stones shall ever be thrown.

We've all sinned so who are you to judge the actions of another mortal man?

Judgements,
judged upon men,
what is sin,
where is that line,
& how does one know,
they’ve crossed it once they've crossed it?

What's the difference between ingenuity & insanity,
between those that have it together & those that have lost it?

Only difference between a Genius & a Mad Man,
is one is more successful than the other in society,
one made a way to express their insanity in the form of productive creativity,
while the other finds communicating effectively to be an impossibility.

Possibly there is no such thing as sanity,
possibly there's no such thing as individual things,
possibly there's only one & we're all part of The Mandala,
possibly there is nothing at all except everything.

I mean,

What is Good?

What is Evil?

What are Blessings?

What are Curses?

Where do we define these fine lines,
& if we do define these lines where are these lines defined & who can say,
& how can we have divisions within the different religions,
when all of everything & everyone is just One with The Divine anyways?

Anyways,
until we make up our minds I'll just continue to write these lines upon lines,
writing lines on lines,
to try & define the Divine of this present point in time,

I write lines between lines,
so when you read between the lines,
of the lines written with lines you’ll eventually find,
that in order to find your Self you must first lose your Mind,

listen in order to feed your Soul you must first starve your Ego,
you are not who you think you are so just let your idea of your Self go,

let no line no matter how fine or well refined,
come between you your design & your connection with The Divine.

I’m,
attempting to explain the unexplainable line by line,
please have some patience because translating something ancient takes time,
& yes enlightenment is elusive but it is attainable if you just take your time,

it just takes exercising your virtues,
it just takes holding onto your morals,
it just takes letting go of your sins,
it just takes letting go of your judgements,

no need to pinch your penchants,
or itch your itching,
let go of your wants let go of your desires,
let go of your hopes & all of your selfish wishings,

there’s an abundance of loveness,
& you’ll get it all if you just start giving,
there's love yes & Love, yes, to be one with the Oneness,
you must confess then forgive your sinning & forget all your misgivings,

along with forgiving all the rest of our Collective's wicked shortcomings,

give up on giving in to their terror of errors,
& instead give love & hugs & start living as a radiant personal public prayer,

one word at a time word for word verse by verse layer after layer,
attempting to explain in measured frames the pain & the pleasure,
the spirals in this ****** cycle of survival commonly known as Samsara,
this alliance of violence & gestures from aggressors that'll continue forever,
until we alleviate the pressure from the oppressors by correcting our karma,
with the power of positive energy which when measured together,
will overcome all oppressors with gestures of open-ended pleasure,
as we become Treasures of Unmeasured Tremors in Splendor,
Senders of Centers of Lovers not tempered by the spectrum of gender,
The Bearers of Stellar Nectar straight from The Creator,
the entire Light Spectrum that comes from us Interstellar Specters,
plus every other thing & soul that’s breathing in this entire epic adventure,

as we embark,
on this endeavor together from then till now till forever,

but just when I start,
to think it’s all going to get better,
& I start to repent & give thanks to The Inventor,
I find myself sink back into the lair of Sin & Terror,
that place where we are hastily judged biasly by our errors,
& all our accomplishments are overlooked,
just because of a few miscalculated risks that we mistakingly took,
& all of our merits seem to be in vain & we feel shook like moral crooks,

because it seems we messed up once more are deemed ******,
instantly judged discriminately & forced to repeat the whole cycle again!

Judgements,
judged upon men,
judgements,
cast upon him,
assumptions,
cast a wide net,
haven't we realized yet,
that if he without sin,
shall cast the first stone,
then obviously,
no stones shall ever be thrown.

We've all sinned so who are you to judge the actions of another mortal man?

Judgements,
judged upon men,
what is sin,
where is that line,
& how does one know,
they’ve crossed it once they've crossed it?

Judgements,
judged upon men,
what is sin,
where is that line,
& how does one know,
they’ve crossed it once they've crossed it?

What's the difference between ingenuity & insanity,
between those that have it together & those that have lost it?

See,
just when I think I’ve lost it,
I find judgement,
in the form of the Self imagined Sins of this Prophet,

sure,
I am not pure,
none of us are,
never will be nor were,

but we’re,
human beings,
being human,
just as we are & were,

so,
naturally we make some mistakes along the way,
&,
naturally we take each phase case by case stage by stage,

see we are all our own worst critics,
we are all our own harshest judge jury & executioner,
citizen’s self arrested mid-sentence while in progressive development,
which in turn then threatens to take all of our merits in forfeiture,
as the fat lady sings the gavel is hit,
we're sentenced but still we don't seem to be any closer to closure,

for us or for them or for him or for her,
because the jury’s still hung,
even when everyone’s gone home,
& the cage bird as well as the fat lady has already sung,

some,
times I’m,
wishing I could escape,
out of these self projected personal persecutions,

some,
times I’m,
wishing I could escape the spiritual surgery that these perjurious clergies, attempt to perform on me by inserting their ideals into me by way of intrusion,

some,
times I'm,
wishing I could be an explosion of pure Light,
infinitely expanding into the infinity of The Divine inclusions,

instantly a Super Nova,
riding the high seas like Noah,
instantly I see how beautiful & innocent you are in your confusion,

instantly I see how beautiful & innocent I am as well,
how beautiful & innocent we all are,
& how even just to be living in this miracle called Life,
is honestly a proper privilege, a true pleasure, & real honor,

it's an honor to be here & make your acquaintance,
so why waste time with biased judgements that're made with impatience?

See usually,
assumptions aren’t worth the bother,
see we’ve all had trials & tribulations in this hard life,
so we all deserve to treat & be treated a little bit softer & with more honor.

So let me be the first to say I honor you,
& I honor your magnificent existence in every way.

I Love You,
there is no higher truth,
please there is no need to judge me,
for I promise I will never ever judge you.

I love you,
so much,
& when you love someone this much,
there is no time or room to judge.

I love you,
so much,
always have, always will, it's always love,
I'll never stab, never ****, & will never judge,

I love your every atom,
ethereal I wonder if you are even real,
either way you're real enough to me,
to still have feelings & to still feel,

love.

Love?

Some,
times we must,
trust enough to break our own rules,
to,
realize that,
actually there are no rules,

we are all free,
we are all gifted,
we are all cursed,
we are all art we are all artist,
we are all dead last & alive first,
we are all everything that’s never been,
we are all everything that ever was & ever were as you were,
& of course we are all of everything in every sense of the word,
we are every story ever told we are every song ever sung or heard,
we're every word in every book ever read we're every line in every verse,
& we often leave last & arrive first arriving in a Benz & leaving in a hearse,
& we will be love non stop & always help heal each other even when it hurts,

& that is why,
I write all of this for you,
because when the world feels like a lie,
I need you to know you can always reach for these words & feel the truth,

prove,
nothing,
just move,
something,

& do anything,

& do it for the love,
just please don’t hate,
& please don’t judge,
because this is true love,

as it be below so it be above.

So let’s move with the movements & love the moments of love,
let’s let the judgements pass & let whatever lays in the past be what it was,
left to lay in the grass that way once everything’s been said & done,
we’ll still have this emotional epitaph to remind us like a photograph of us,

& I will always have your back,
even when our bodies are gone & we have no backs to have because,
when it's all said & done & we've righted all our wrongs,
all that will be left is us,

when it’s all over all you’ll be left with is you,
& me & all of our virtues because death doesn't separate us from our virtues,
& everyone & everything we loved will exist eternally except our enemies,
& in the end my friend you’ll I'm standing in the Light of Truth with you,

so,
no judgements,
no enemies,
only unconditional love,
& all of it’s intensities,

no,
judgements,
for once you remove the obstruction of the illusion of judgements,
only then will you find where the love went,

here,

waiting,
patiently for you to return,
so remember we reap what we sow,
& we get what we earn,

so no no worries & no hurries,
no stress all bless for sure,
& don't worry Love no rush because I will be here,
always have always will waiting patiently for your glorious return…

∆ Aaron LaLux ∆

from The Holy Trilogy Vol. 2: Mandalas
https://www.amazon.com/dp/1721134158

Is there a natural virility to the fertilities of the inductions of space time’s continuums?  Is this a microcosmic phenomenon or more dependent on the depths of pervasion of its macrocosmic relativities.  Perhaps there is a unifying field theory we are not yet aware of which explains how it paradoxically is a little bit of both.  Regardless, given the fact that there probably was no beginning to the universe then quite literally an eternity has already passed.  So why then, given our understanding of the physics of physical interaction, is not all in a state of complete entropy?  
     This afore mentioned fecundity must exist.  Further in it’s quite likely the cause of physical existence as we know it.  I have a theory: This creationism occurs at such an imperceptible rate that positive eons of quadrillions of ages must pass in order for the cosmos to replenish its stockpile of physical matter (possibly matter without atomic structure as we know it) so that a new cycle of infinite big bangs in infinite space can occur.  Ushering in a new 500 billion to trillion year cycle of physical existence as we know it.  Further again, perhaps the implosion’s contraction’s revisions are the cause of the atomic structure of matter we experience during this new physical cycle.
      The thought of such quantum leaps to me for the intensities of physical matters existence and catalytic capabilities.  
     Granted your not going to find these speculations touted as fact in a Wikipedia excerpt.  The answers are in fact unknown.  I’m merely being hypothetically thoughtful with what I’ve learned of possibilities prospectus.   Given these truths allow me to hypothesize further.  
     It seems to me that the evolution of the organic morphologies of biological ontogeny were created by a conceptually reflective derivative (or perhaps antiderivative on the interpolations of integration) of functional physical mechanics.  That perhaps the creative force behind their inception (similar to the afore mentioned natural inductions of space time’s continuums) was the physical realism of and or the residual harmonic vibrations of kinetic supremacy.  
     Consider, the planet we’re on is revolving at approximately 60,000 miles per hour relative to the sun, the solar system we inhabit is revolving at approximately 500,000 miles per hour around the center of our galaxy.  Our galaxy is traveling at approximately 1,332,000 miles per hour through space with our local group of galaxies and revolving at approximately 216,000 miles per hour around the center of mass of this group of galaxies.  All this to give you some conception of the kinetic actualities of our planet’s trajectory’s extant as a projectile.  We have an almost incredible amount of potential or kinetic energy that is generated by our physical velocity through space.  Although we don’t seem to be aware of the impending preponderances of this realism as tellurian denizens it is nonetheless fact to our intellectual relativities.  
     Once again perhaps the actuality of and or the residual harmonic vibrations of the actuality of this phenomenon are the impetus behind the evolution of the organic morphologies of biological ontogeny.  We don’t know for certain how the first amino acids were formed.  Much less how these acids in the primordial soup made the quantum leap to living existence as biological organisms.  Once again I hypothesize it was a conceptually reflective derivative (or antiderivative) of the creationism behind functional physical mechanics.  e.g. the natural inductions of space time's continuum and the quantum leaps created by the implosion’s contraction’s revisions of our big bang.
     By now you may be wondering why I have extrapolated these hypothetical scenarios about the physical creationism of our universe and the perceived similarly analogous state of organic and biological origins, so I’ll tell you.  I hoped it might make the dissertation I’m about to make on the fecundities of the corporeally preternatural and perhaps metaphysical inclinations of our sentient race easier to comprehend.
     With the advent of biological organisms the diversity of physical existence has apparently exceeded its physical complexity.  Understanding has evolved.  Relatively extraneous interpolations of adhesively practical extremity succeed in a hierarchy of functionally integral forms.  Being a firm believer in evolution this phenomenon makes me wonder: Is the impetus behind the genetic anomalies that influence the seemingly positive nature of natural selection’s progression a pervasion from the social contiguities of a species? Perhaps a random occurrence with no discernable precedent?  Or, more likely even, the equivocal nature of the superior essence of the ontological state of the beings involved?
     Though many believe that it is truly a random occurrence I have a tendency to want to believe otherwise.  That just as there is a natural fecundity to the induction of space time’s continuum there is a positively oriented inclination integral to evolutional progression.  A sort of élan vital on the orthogenesis overtures.  Granted it is somewhat dependant on the phenological nature of environment but improvements occur which have little to do with the ability to cope with the weather.    
      So is there such a thing as élan vital as it relates to ethology’s entelechy?  Is there any benefit for humanoid demagoguery in pursuing zoomorphic zoolatry as a social contiguity?  Can we actually make accession to transcendentally existential ascension?
     The obvious answer would appear to be yes, at least in partiality.  Maybe we’re incapable (at present) of assimilating incorporeity ideology’s non-corporeal states and existing as godlike disembodied spirits (who perhaps have not lost their proclivity for corporeally preternatural being) but social relativities are an evolving state.  Truly the better we treat each other the better off all will be.  Now I’m not talking about being a bunch of fawning sycophants or schmaltzy schlep-it-ness schmucks, more like the swanky saunter obsequious diligence could indentured servant sail lend to all.  Not given because it’s mandated but because it’s the essence of social contiguity’s evolution.  Granted the individual must remain sacrosanct.  Our metaphysical prowess is at best hypothetical.  Actual magic is not a tool in our kit-bag though I aspire to such everyday as I attempt to be teleportation real with my telepathy to the demons I appear to be confronted with.  I site clairaudience clairvoyance on the vicinity victuals of vigilante villain, the propinquity habitations of harbinger’s harangued, the proximity parameters of perimeter’s peripherals, why I’ll even throw in the objectified manifest’s diminutive minutia iotas of self inductive interstitial extrapolation, and if that doesn't get it I'll talk about the embark embargo extraditions and the extraversion embezzling euthanasia extortions.  The thought of such spatiotemporal telemetry tactician.  Protractive analyses of dimensional delineation on the terrestrial equestrian.  Tellurian terrene!!
     The obvious realisms of all of this are that we are indeed capable of making these quantum leaps armed practical magic.  I say lets fecundity get down to it.  Exserted protuberances of erotica erectile errantry, the vibrant volition of verve.  I’ve had enough of vapid flatulence and insidiously sinister archaic.  Mankind’s inability to supersede his developing anachronism may well be the cause of his demise!!!  We’ll become ethology's entelechy, zoomorphic zoolatry's  incarnate, the ecstatic euphorias of corporeally preternatural’s enigma's entity on the identity crisis!!!!

I'm just attempting to manage my emotions,
I'm doing the best I can,
Mostly I think I'm doing very ******* well,
Or maybe I just want all these "professionals" to be wrong.

Occasionally I stop and remember:
"Of course they're right Chloe,
How can you possibly say you don't have deep psychological issues right now?"
But since these dissociative symptoms have started:
I've felt amazing mentally.

I must admit that before that,
I felt pretty bad - bad enough to actually admit and ask for help,
But doesn't that show how I'm "dealing with it",
I don't like people telling me my body's dealing with my psychological feelings physically,
I express myself all the **** time,
And they don't know anything!

I'm sick of the psychoanalysis,
And then them claiming they don't psychoanalyse
On that website they keep telling me to revisit.
They seem to think if you talk about your problems -
They just disappear!
And if you educate yourself on conversion disorders -
The symptoms will finally go away!
I could go through that website,
A thousand times and I will still
Remain to have spasms, tremors
And weakness.

I am managing my thoughts and feelings at the moment,
But that doesn't help me manage my physical symptoms:
They are literally debilitating and unmanageable,
Only they tell me I need to "accept it",
This whole poem is showcasing me doing exactly that.
As many times as I deny thinking that this is a functional illness,
I match referring to it as just that.

It's funny that I write so much,
And almost worship the skill
Yet I haven't felt the need to write about what's been happening for months now.
The reason I finally am in this moment,
Was actually because
I think I'm starting to feel things again,
And now I'm wondering if I've been pushing all of it back,
Which is exactly what they want to hear,
So they can say "your body's expressing it because your mind can't manage it, you need to express and deal with this."
You know what?
I really do wonder what the hell they think that "coping" is!

Maybe they would just say,
I'm avoiding my feelings and memories right now,
By coming to my notes section to seek some peace,
As what they would like to think of as a facade,
All comes crumbling down.

The waves of intensity belong to me,
And as much as I don't always enjoy them,
You can leave them all alone because they're mine,
And you can't tell me how or if I'm handling them properly.
Sometimes I just feel like this is who I am,
This is what I'm prone to,
And if you want me to just get over it then fine,
I didn't seek you out in the first place
So if you want to think that I'm over it,
Then that's okay with me.

A good friend with a basset-hound face is on his feet
The rest of us are weak
as newborn puppies,
from the late hour, the numbing glory in our lungs
But, mostly from laughter.

This young man is a connoisseur of altered states, an apprentice butcher, and one of the chosen few who breath music in and out effortlessly
And he's preaching
Prosthelytizing

Three minutes before,
he had been happily day dreaming
Three feet from the floor
with the ****-tube beaming
happy
simple
moving colors

The man on the set shows us how to stir-fry chicken
Our mouths water, but we're content to sit.

But with the fire coming up that glass pipe
and setting his boiler to churn along feverish
He caught an insight
or it snared him, like a spiderweb across a peaceful hiking path

On his feet
He was beginning to see connections
And had to share them with someone
Now

I'm a limp doll at this point, fully immersed in the body-high
Thoughts are glacial, movement glacial

Oh, my friend.
You're talking to the wrong audience
We can't hope to see it as you do.

But he keeps on keeping on.
And tells us a thing or two.

Cooking
He says
Is like ***.

As our laughter dies down to a dull roar, he continues

The speeds and heats and intensities can all vary
to give you countless subtle differences.
But the true constant is care
Loving attention to the finest detail.

His brows furrow, his toes test the fibers of the rug
and he glances back up, and I imagine a podium in front of him.

Or maybe it's like Jazz. He says.
We learn, or glean out, how things are supposed to happen
But in the moment, the twanging instant
Beautiful things will themselves to exist
and they defy all well-laid plans.

You remind me of blues
Wading through infinite navy depths of your soul
Your bright laughter brings cyan to mind
The perfect azure of your comfort

You remind me of greys
The almost lilac of your tenderness
Your steely perseverance slicing my indifference
Silverware sparkling like your smile

You remind me of blues and greys
Constantly shifting tones and intensities
That colour me helpless and awash in your love

Inside the network of humanity,
There is a swell increasing,
Bubbling to the surface,
Clawing through sand and gravel,
and mud,
They are the sacred and pummeled hands,
riffling through the cosmos,
By and by making their thirst increase,
For dominance,
For sheer arrogance,
For all things wholesome,
For the coming of reason,
Dipped down by the ever restless,
Drawbacks that pinch their sides.

Then a time will emerge,
The face of the clock,
Shrouded in smoke, fog, and
mirror.
A specter of radiance,
draped in neither human
costume,
or of drawbacks; pinned wings,
Suckling a Dionysian Principle,
relishing the illicit,
and honoring the
perfect existential
burden,
Thus making assured this gift, this
upheaval,
Obsolete, dangerous,
misunderstood,
To the grand choir and,
velvet dungeons,
Slime pouring from an,
everlasting faucet,
His fate is surely carved into the
hieroglyphic walls,
in madness and panic,
swelled a deep tranquility,
The etchings formed poetry,
formed testament,
formed testimonial,
formed remedy in martyrdom,
Others were closed to strange intensities,
Others sat and smoked on their patios,
Watching the worlds collide,
Rattling the great fabric gong,
seizing with pleasure,
omniflourescent fireworks,
of absolute brilliance,
The twinkling dust falling,
flickering as
they fall,
Becoming imagined demons,
sacred omens,
reassurance that things,
derive from all things,

What had been said and done in the past, now is the wall keeping them from taking a look at the real veiled horizon that captivates the ethereal mystery of the child's wonder.

There was a young man who sat by the Sea
Without fail, everyone knew, he would go every morning
The youth sat there to think and it made him feel free
Free to dream or not dream. When in bliss, when in mourning

He loved the Sea for its surface
Wind-kissed waves distorting starlight
He loved the Sea for it's depths
Churning into thick ink when absorbing the night

A love that began in small boyhood
Burying tiny toes within her cool sand
Though with the strong passion of man
The first time her wet silkiness tickled his hand

Oh, how he adored her! Through torrents and sun
Her whispers and shouts only separate intensities
But he would not go into her, for he feared just as much
She had told him, one by one, of her darkest propensities

So a sailor in heart, but in soul a wise lover
The boy, now a man paid respect to her glory
He and she, now and then, liked to play with each other
But she kept him from harm where she showed others fury

This went on, sunrise, sunset,  and day after day
Until all the young man's friends were stooping and gray
Still the lull of the sea seemed to pull him away
From reality and back into it, he'd gone mad, some will say

And the time had come finally to confess all his desires
To do what he had refrained from for so long
On a particular eve that seemed wilder than any
The hour to usher in his destiny, and feel her sea-song

The storm caused curling foam,
Both entrancing and detestable
But to him, it looked like home
Like a restful sleep, quite testable

He thought, could this tumult be wrath of the Father?
Or is this a sign--the return of the Son?
Perhaps, 'tis a warning from the Holiest Ghost
He was wrong, but just right. 'Twas all this, but in one

And nearby sirens sang
For the bravery of their hero as he was swept from the shore
And far-off sirens rang
For the fate of the old man, the sailor, who watched the sea no more

All the things I am scared to say
pile in my brain;  begging to flood over
they don’t know their own names, but
crave to be heard.

your voice. its vibrato, true velvet
floating across every atom of my being
a truth spoken that only comes from your lips
a masterpiece no mere humans could create

my darling, do you sift through the clouds
scanning my eyes as I worship the light you bring?
do you hear me call your name as my dreams
project themselves toward where you are.

your eyes. their stare, a protective state
I have never known; dancing across my
every move. laughter finds itself within the
outlying colors of your world. Don’t you see…

don’t you see, our eyes match intensities to
create another creation. a world colliding
but not in a collision. A big bang, but in serenity.
a secret kept; only for us.

please, don’t allow me to write about the hands
that write me everyday. defining a path in the dark
a leader, led by truth and goodness
sought by many; found by me.

I fall into an eternity, wrapped into you —
you rise and fall; I reciprocate. We are
patterns; carefully placed alongside
juxtaposing backgrounds, only to become one.

I surrender, fully. I understand now. For you
my heart would fall from my chest, fulfilled
it leaps.
I will not chase it, it has found its freedom.

Freedom in the throwing up of hands.
A white flag positioned

In the wondrous story book of night
                 I eagerly absorb and fall in to contemplation,
You were the one omnipresent,
                  across light years and flickering flames near.

As orbs of light in many intensities and hues,
                 the rays of infinite grace that envelop me,
what feel like the caresses of lotus petals
                 was your love,my eternal beloved.

Soft,frothing moon beams has been
               my true consolation at times of deep pain,
the swishing comet, my constant wonder
               takes me to you in my imagination.

I was an enquirer,eagerly searching
               for the meaning of my existence.
transforming from one to another
               formed by dust gifted by unknown stars.

Enshrined you are in the diamond
                 temple of my still mind,
making you my lover eternal,
                 I honored my yen for the sublime.

The story book of night tells,
                about spirited mornings,noon and dusk
your benign presence was in each step,
                 of the motions of galaxies.

I see your quick moving eye brows
                  in the tumult of the black rain clouds.
your intense eyes flash love in lightening
                when I feel starved of your love

In waves one after the other, your hands
               embrace me,I am reassured once more,
mountain wind from afar bring
                your songs, a  lonely nightingale sing.

I am a living monument, that breathes
           your love from elements to live on,
like millionaire,that's ready to sacrifice
             everything for the ecstasy of your presence.

There isn't any other lover who cares,
             like you who brings such grace to a beloved.
you've the very same eyes of my mother
             that wouldn't miss me wherever I am.

like her whenever I fall your hands
               seek me pulling up my mind
you are a presence constant
                  I haven't missed you ever anywhere.

In days I move within a dream
             having created it,you know where I am,
as I turn the pages of the story book of night,
             whenever I want to feel closer, you are there.

You've been the mirror reflecting my candor,
              you are more than anything I've ever yearned,
the river that carries me, that I am one with,
             a flow we are to the ocean of consciousness.

i think of his smile
and all his intensities
his anger, his love
he gets the best of me

his complexity is beautiful
his intelligence is ****
his flow of passion and ideas
caress me
and so does he

he treats me like a butterfly
something so rare
delicate
and marvelous

together we form some sort of metamorphosis
our balance so dependent on each other
we bring out the beauty
and disaster
found in the truth of us

♪♫♪♫♪♫♪♫♫♪♪♪♫

I:  Lyric Line of Flight

Cavern Club / black leather / German rockers /  proto-youth culture groped its way from Liverpool / TV slowly sped up / modernity invented / flown in planes / swallowed in pills / I watch the second Kennedy funeral on the screen in shades of gray rain / warming to mid-60’s hues / into the stratosphere / a lysergic surge / retinal after-images / intensities of nostalgic color / that British courtesy in understatement / Paul’s voice a bassline / George a guru of six-armed confusion / tasteful: now a meaningless word / it was Apollonian-Dionysiac /  my childhood’s soundtrack

II:  Poem

They grooved—as our world became another

up from caverns to psychedelic flight.

They look so young in melancholic light

harmonizing black and white to color.

So distant—yet within our life’s short span

they grow apart as the hair grows longer

(The West’s resolve to expire grew stronger.)

Quadruplex visage:  young god sold to man.

I crack up beholding the mid-Sixties

lost in late-night YouTubes, I start to break.

time past: removed from the complexities

Recalling every song, the beat, the shake…

They sang the primrose path to confusion

nostalgia replacing resolution.

Thick silence invades ears that ache for fulfillment as
I unwrap your skin draped with
unspoken words ran thin.
My fingertips tremble with expressionless angst while
Identical intensities unravel astrological blue ribbons
Cooing sweet dividends, divine in a simple letter
Two chambers apiece for each,
For my heart has unwillingly become a fetter

you are a stampede in the hollow parts of my bones,
a chance to open the chambers of my heart. quite literally.
my plans for this body are to be wrapped around the intensities of yours.
keep you still.
I look into a velvet mix and hope someone’s there.
instead I hear God yell, who made me?
the bruises you left on my shoulders tell
the story of an orange tree stuck in the wrong garden
but still persisting it is at home.
you are the exothermic reactions happening in my veins.
hardly do you notice them shimmer.
I smoke the left over cigarettes
found between my nails.
they exhale your name when the air is cold
and frost becomes my sole companion.
you walked away when I gave you my hand
and all you felt were tears drip from my pores.
a sponge used to dry my eyes.
is this what it’s like to be in love?
hardly do you notice them shimmer.

If I colored three pages
From a coloring book
You'd see the difference
In the intensity
The distribution of the color
It's just like that
In the way I love each of you
Different colors
Different intensities
But never think
They can be compared
Would however pick out
My favorite
And if it was good to me
Hold it close forever
As the one and only
But if I no longer matter
Then eventually
Neither will you

The worker bee hurries,

As the queen worries.

Like the underlings rush,

As the politicians hush.

The intensities of the world,

Seemingly more and more bold.

The everyday man,

With his everyday plan,

Has no idea what’s in store.

After the end, he’ll want no more,

Of this crazy little thing,

We like to call the War Machine.

The end of the holiday's are near and it's time for me to get back to work. I've been writing and reading and thinking and meditating for years. Preparing the temple, so to speak. My stories are public and private goods and the presentation and profits of these stories must be landed in a good and truthful way ~ I've spent much time and energy on how to do this in a way where I can maintain certain intensities and integrity. Intensity for distillation of truth and integrity for power and resonance.

Stories are just stories but it is the ***** when someone else co-opts your creation and paves over the nuances and complexities of that which you had overtly placed your personal power, thought, and energy into.

You might be reading this and all you are seeing is: *******, *******, *******, *******.  All ******* for as far as the eye can see. Fair enough, I've been thinking the same for years but just when I thought I was out, the ******* keeps pulling me back in. As far as I can see though, **** is the distillation of truth and I hope that I can spin this yarn into a web that you will see the ******* structure that holds up the ******* truth and maybe we can try and digest that and compost it and churn through it then grow a mushroom on top of it and then eat the mushroom so we can attempt to find the spiritual truth of what our ******* structure lies upon. This particular idea is not just some floaty meandering abstraction, it is a truth I saw on the land: Longview, Alberta. And this truth was emodied in the ghost I slept in, nearby in Indian Graves Campground that night.

The land speaks if we let it; if we have prepared our temples, maybe the land speaks truth.

You feel me. If you don't then that's ok. It isn't your time and maybe never will be for this iteration of instinct that I am presenting. My rhymes aren't meant to resonate with everyone all the time. I'm not writing pablum or soul food. Feed your own soul in your own way. That's between you and Mr. Potter and the Chairman. Our truths are our truths and they are absolute.

The reason that I know I am prepared to write this story now is because I have done the work. I have found my inner compass and tested it time and again. While in process and flow, the landscaping shifted and my truth's fell away and the absolute revealed itself one star at a time and isn't it ironic how in tune our bards are with the ... wait for it ... enigmatic.

So where am I going to land this access point to the White Buffalo medication? I am not. The medicine already flows and always has, I just woke up and took what was prescribed because a dude in shorts once told me: abide!

She had many faces,
but she was not two-faced,
but rather described as a storm,
With opulent intensities,
Transfigured by the elements of life’s
Quiet mellifluous lilt by
Which it languidly swayed all souls,
She did not sway though,
Rather she was uncompromising in
Her emotional wave length,
She could drizzle gently,
Or cascade exuberantly with her susceptibility,
She had no riveted temperament,
She was a storm in all rhapsodic unpredictability
And inexorable power of the ineffable unknown,
She was the incorporeal roar of thunder and
The incandescent luminescence of lightning,
She had embodied the storm she had
Fought desultory for a decade,
They were coalesce until it had formed
A chrysalis amorphous of raw beauty,
She had many faces,
But no she was not two-faced,
She was the storm that had shaped her.

There's a dance in my brain
a vibration in my soul
an explosion in my conciousness
and a zig zag in my walk

there's intention behind my smirking,
at the same time not at all
I created it
but i let it free, and i let it be

I swivel between intensities
it gives me such a high
art exists in every dimension of my reality
welcome to the conscience of a creative mind

I visualize
but barely look out of my eyes
I'm trapped in my mind
I'm trapped and that's fine
I'm trapped in the freedom of a creative mind

Compelled! So compelled!
to create (to create)
anything... anything at all
For you to see
whats inside me
and for me
to set these things free

Is there a natural virility to the fertilities of the inductions of space time’s continuums?  Is this a microcosmic phenomenon or more dependent on the depths of pervasion of its macrocosmic relativities.  Perhaps there is a unifying field theory we are not yet aware of which explains how it paradoxically is a little bit of both.  Regardless, given the fact that there probably was no beginning to the universe then quite literally an eternity has already passed.  So why then, given our understanding of the physics of physical interaction, is not all in a state of complete entropy?  
     This afore mentioned fecundity must exist.  Further in it’s quite likely the cause of physical existence as we know it.  I have a theory: This creationism occurs at such an imperceptible rate that positive eons of quadrillions of ages must pass in order for the cosmos to replenish its stockpile of physical matter (possibly matter without atomic structure as we know it) so that a new cycle of infinite big bangs in infinite space can occur.  Ushering in a new 500 billion to trillion year cycle of physical existence as we know it.  Further again, perhaps the implosion’s contraction’s revisions are the cause of the atomic structure of matter we experience during this new physical cycle.
      The thought of such quantum leaps to me for the intensities of physical matters existence and catalytic capabilities.  
     Granted your not going to find these speculations touted as fact in a Wikipedia excerpt.  The answers are in fact unknown.  I’m merely being hypothetically thoughtful with what I’ve learned of possibilities prospectus.   Given these truths allow me to hypothesize further.  
     It seems to me that the evolution of the organic morphologies of biological ontogeny were created by a conceptually reflective derivative (or perhaps antiderivative on the interpolations of integration) of functional physical mechanics.  That perhaps the creative force behind their inception (similar to the afore mentioned natural inductions of space time’s continuums) was the physical realism of and or the residual harmonic vibrations of kinetic supremacy.  
     Consider, the planet we’re on is revolving at approximately 60,000 miles per hour relative to the sun, the solar system we inhabit is revolving at approximately 500,000 miles per hour around the center of our galaxy.  Our galaxy is traveling at approximately 1,332,000 miles per hour through space with our local group of galaxies and revolving at approximately 216,000 miles per hour around the center of mass of this group of galaxies.  All this to give you some conception of the kinetic actualities of our planet’s trajectory’s extant as a projectile.  We have an almost incredible amount of potential or kinetic energy that is generated by our physical velocity through space.  Although we don’t seem to be aware of the impending preponderances of this realism as tellurian denizens it is nonetheless fact to our intellectual relativities.  
     Once again perhaps the actuality of and or the residual harmonic vibrations of the actuality of this phenomenon are the impetus behind the evolution of the organic morphologies of biological ontogeny.  We don’t know for certain how the first amino acids were formed.  Much less how these acids in the primordial soup made the quantum leap to living existence as biological organisms.  Once again I hypothesize it was a conceptually reflective derivative (or antiderivative) of the creationism behind functional physical mechanics.  e.g. the natural inductions of space time's continuum and the quantum leaps created by the implosion’s contraction’s revisions of our big bang.
     By now you may be wondering why I have extrapolated these hypothetical scenarios about the physical creationism of our universe and the perceived similarly analogous state of organic and biological origins, so I’ll tell you.  I hoped it might make the dissertation I’m about to make on the fecundities of the corporeally preternatural and perhaps metaphysical inclinations of our sentient race easier to comprehend.
     With the advent of biological organisms the diversity of physical existence has apparently exceeded its physical complexity.  Understanding has evolved.  Relatively extraneous interpolations of adhesively practical extremity succeed in a hierarchy of functionally integral forms.  Being a firm believer in evolution this phenomenon makes me wonder: Is the impetus behind the genetic anomalies that influence the seemingly positive nature of natural selection’s progression a pervasion from the social contiguities of a species? Perhaps a random occurrence with no discernable precedent?  Or, more likely even, the equivocal nature of the superior essence of the ontological state of the beings involved?
     Though many believe that it is truly a random occurrence I have a tendency to want to believe otherwise.  That just as there is a natural fecundity to the induction of space time’s continuum there is a positively oriented inclination integral to evolutional progression.  A sort of élan vital on the orthogenesis overtures.  Granted it is somewhat dependant on the phenological nature of environment but improvements occur which have little to do with the ability to cope with the weather.    
      So is there such a thing as élan vital as it relates to ethology’s entelechy?  Is there any benefit for humanoid demagoguery in pursuing zoomorphic zoolatry as a social contiguity?  Can we actually make accession to transcendentally existential ascension?
     The obvious answer would appear to be yes, at least in partiality.  Maybe we’re incapable (at present) of assimilating incorporeity ideology’s non-corporeal states and existing as godlike disembodied spirits (who perhaps have not lost their proclivity for corporeally preternatural being) but social relativities are an evolving state.  Truly the better we treat each other the better off all will be.  Now I’m not talking about being a bunch of fawning sycophants or schmaltzy schlep-it-ness schmucks, more like the swanky saunter obsequious diligence could indentured servant sail lend to all.  Not given because it’s mandated but because it’s the essence of social contiguity’s evolution.  Granted the individual must remain sacrosanct.  Our metaphysical prowess is at best hypothetical.  Actual magic is not a tool in our kit-bag though I aspire to such everyday as I attempt to be teleportation real with my telepathy to the demons I appear to be confronted with.  I site clairaudience clairvoyance on the vicinity victuals of vigilante villain, the propinquity habitations of harbinger’s harangued, the proximity parameters of perimeter’s peripherals, why I’ll even throw in the objectified manifest’s diminutive minutia iotas of self inductive interstitial extrapolation, and if that doesn't get it I'll talk about the embark embargo extraditions and the extraversion embezzling euthanasia extortions.  The thought of such spatiotemporal telemetry tactician.  Protractive analyses of dimensional delineation on the terrestrial equestrian.  Tellurian terrene!!
     The obvious realisms of all of this are that we are indeed capable of making these quantum leaps armed practical magic.  I say lets fecundity get down to it.  Exserted protuberances of erotica erectile errantry, the vibrant volition of verve.  I’ve had enough of vapid flatulence and insidiously sinister archaic.  Mankind’s inability to supersede his developing anachronism may well be the cause of his demise!!!  We’ll become ethology's entelechy, zoomorphic zoolatry's  incarnate, the ecstatic euphorias of corporeally preternatural’s enigma's entity on the identity crisis!!!!

I sense you,
Sensations awaken…
You inspire.

Nearing
Are the embers.
Neutralities
Sparks a fire.
You are,
The aura…
To this phoenix.
And, it is you
You that will bring the flame.
You give me abilities to fly,

Beyond the sea and eternal sands
It is you, I feel
Your touch…
Without a single hand.

You’ve conquered my fright
These feelings of endless night.
It is you…
who makes me glow.

I feel
Such a resurrective ember.
I yearn so be free
To surrender
And it is you
You’ve done this to me
You make me
Burst
Into flame.

Such a force it is
you give to me
filled with overwhelming intensity...
You’ve done this to me
fill me
With intensities… and I am…,

I am,… a Phoenix song.

Forever for me
because of this
You see

You are
And always
Will be
My beloved...

My, Mark Anthony.

Thick silence invades ears that ache for fulfillment as
I unwrap your skin draped with
unspoken words ran thin.
My fingertips tremble with expressionless angst while
Identical intensities unravel astrological blue ribbons
Cooing sweet dividends, divine in a simple letter
Two chambers apiece for each,
For my heart has unwillingly become a fetter

You are the primary colors in their purest form. The following argument explains why:

Red
People tend to associate red with danger,
but you are not a warning sign.
You represent the russet in a robin's
breast feathers, the imaginative crimson passion
only humans can produce. Constantly moving,
thriving, your brain is multiple shades
of garnet gems - I can feel it in your skin
when I finally get to massage your heated veins.
Your flaming vermilion soul is
the only one to match my own.

Blue
You are the calmest turquoise ocean, yet
you pulsate with every breath.
There are so many varieties of blue
found in nature, and I can hear all of them
when your fingers tap an instrument.
Your music turns broken energy into
waves and waves and a soft, steady breeze.
I will take a dip into your teal silk arms and
stay for eternity. Sapphire isn't a way to the blues;
it's a realistic path to tranquility and the deepest skylines.

Yellow
You are golden beyond all other beings.
The warmth of your smile, your
soft eyes are a glowing reminder
of your effervescence. There's a child-like
wanderer in your heart that's seeking ecstasy
and the opportunity to bring us absolute bliss.
This is the part of you that makes you part of everything.
You are daises and sunshine. You are in
my favorite yarn and the amber streak
on an otherwise empty canvas.

Overall
You are a prism of idealistic intensities,
saturation and pigments
that are lost on the unexceptional.
Your arc of varied hues gleam beyond what a
human should be capable of mastering.

You are incredible illumination at its finest.