If one had a desire to define the word god where would he begin?  Why would he assign the traits he did to the word?  Would he want to assimilate traits that he perceived to be godlike?   Would he obtain a clearer vision in a realization of the futility of aspiration, or would pragmatism and adamant tenaciousness afford him a better route?  Perhaps we all could benefit by a reassessment of our affinity with god.
  
The metaphysical extremities of human nature provide man with a multifaceted image of the possible psychic states of God. Objectivity has led man away from the true nature of his need many times at this point.  Any retrospective analysis of man’s personifications of deity most often leaves one lost in the quandaries of the psychic quagmire.  The weaknesses created by man’s lack of a universally acceptable id conclusion have elevated many philosophical or theocratic hypotheses to the level of demagoguery.

One method which has been used by theologians in attempting to induct a sumerial derivation from the vast warehouse of human religious extrapolation is the concept that perhaps basic truths can be affirmed through the theory of sufficient constancy of conjunction. Which is to say that reasonably analogous conjectures can be found in the depths of religious pervasion.  But this is not strictly true.
  
The ancient Babylonians, like the Indians, were polytheistic. They worshiped gods of nature, tribal union, fertility.  Deifications created from allusion to natural analogies, yet often imbued with a euphemistic optimism.  Where as the pantheon of Grecian deities often seems an almost banal personification of psychological metaphors from the darker side of life.  Zeus a fallibly omnipotent being who pompously subverts all beneath him to his will.  Who along with Apollo and others roam the countryside ****** and adulterating the women of their choice.  And Ares the formidable God of war who’s natural lust for violence leads him and his cohorts to vicarious involvement with mankind’s altercations.

Egyptian theology seems to have been an amendable and progressive state that began with sun worship and gods of nature, and moved on to attempted assimilation of godlike traits through a natural alignment with the perceived nature of God.  There were in depth studies of the nature of time, and life, and notions of existential transcendentalism.  The momentum of this progression led them to the ultimate grandiose delusion in which the Pharaoh was worshiped as the universal supreme being, omniscient and omnipotent ruler of the ultimate utopian society. 
 
The Jews worshiped a God who was at once both a part of them  and an exogenous force believed to have created them in its own image. A God that deliberately instilled an understanding of it’s intended wisdom by instructing them of the laws they were to live by.  These divine revelations were often considered as the unadulterated word of God.  This God was jealous and demanded the adoration due him as the supreme essence.  His worship became the underlying force in their social conjecture as they attempted to inspire his continued grace and benevolence.  A seemingly irrational solution to the quandary of idealism.  An allegiance who’s impetus was unquestionable.  It seems by me to be improperly rooted on a personal level in that it overemphasizes the need or expectation of divine inspiration.

The ancient Chinese social wisdom was by me commendably rational.  Unlike the Jews they do not seem to have overemphasized the expectation of divine inspiration.  Instead they, like the Egyptians emphasized an alignment with the perceived nature of God on a personal level as the way to strength.  They of course had a conception of the possible natures of deity, but considered wisdom to be an honorably truthful self orientation.

Another realm of intellectual extrapolation from which one might hope to surmise a depthfully pervasive generality would be man’s philosophical treatises on the possible natures of God. Unfortunately due to the myriad nature of possibility this again appears paradoxically difficult.  To me this seems to be a product of the nonempirical nature of these conjectures.  Humans experience a reality which does not necessarily  have any relative effect on the transcendence of their conception of the possible nature of God. Although many have attempted to empiricise their conjectures through rational logic they are most often refuted by the possibility of ultimate transcendence or quandrified by the actuality of paradoxical argument.
  
Some good examples of these points are perhaps the arguments of Lucretius who attempted to empiricise that God can not revoke mathematical truths.  But what is the relative reality of those truths to the transcended essence of ultimate beingness.  They are refuted by irrelevance.  Another example might be the statement that God has aseity.  That is if he exists his existence is not caused.  This statement seems easy to refute for the supreme being could be all of the things possible for him except this and have evolved out of eons of cosmic continuum into natural omniscience and or through assimilation of the forces innate to the cosmos have achieved relative omnipotence.
  
One generally accepted statement that is refuted by these arguments is “the cosmos does not have infinite existence and is therefore not the supreme being.”  For if this supreme being has not yet evolved if it’s transcendental form could be said to have become out of cosmic continuum then the cosmos will indeed have achieved infiniteness.  But this already seems intuitively necessary to the ultimate cosmic essence regardless of a lack of self consciousness or even a physical form.  Perhaps what is possible and eons of void are the root of all force and matter, and perhaps this as yet unfulfilled sequence cycles on to nirvana.  Then again perhaps the supreme being does in fact preempt all as a self conscious entity.  This also would seem to be intuitively necessary to the essence of totality which of course has always existed and is in fact the supreme being in at that at that although not necessarily the true form of it’s transcendental being.
  
On this lofty note I would like to reiterate my thesis.  Perhaps we all could benefit from a reassessment of our affinity with God.

A man can accomplish many things with his concept of God. What is extraneous?  Perhaps the question would better be put what is expedient, but that becomes subjective.   You have to define your goals.  Where in lies wisdom?  Can man truly aspire to godhead or is this personally nonproductive?  Man seems to perceive a sort of manifest destiny for himself.  An intrinsic affinity with infiniteness that just must be dealt with.   Perhaps our beliefs in life after death are a grandiose delusion in which we hedonistically waste our time pampering our egos. Which brings me to my third and final argument.

Perhaps conscious regimentation and an affiliation with earth bound logic would bring us closer to our affinity with God.
One of the ideas presented by my philosophical references was that many of mankind’s inspirations to define his affinity with God grew inadvertently out of social realism and the powers assumed. Although often the subjective truths of these understandings went unmentioned out of a desire for objectivity.  For example what God must be if God is to be God.  Perhaps one would do better to relate personally to his affinity with God.

I think this is true.  Although we seem to lack omnipotence we are all individually speaking a preternatural corporeal state.  Perhaps we all should assert our godliness instead of hiding our talents in the sand.  Perhaps then we could construct a contractual reality.  An aspiration to the perfection of the human social mechanic.  I salute this concept.  In fact I firmly believe that by conscribing unalienable rights to our beings we have already performed the rights of the human social mechanic.  Our aspiration to godhead is complete in it’s conjecture.  All that is left is to obtain expedience and accuracy in our amendment toward continued obtainment of the majority goal.

Paris has traditionally been the city where inter­national designers – from Australia and England to Beirut and Japan – opt to unveil their collections. However, Karen Ruimy, who is behind the Kalmar label, chose the runways of Milan Fashion Week for her debut showcase in September.

The Morocco-born, London- based designer hosted an intimate al fresco event in a private palazzo to launch her holiday line of fine cotton and silk jumpsuits, breezy kaftans, long skirts, playsuits and off-the-shoulder tops in tropical prints.

Ruimy had a career in finance before moving into the arts – she owns a museum of photography in Marrakech – and has become increasingly involved in fashion and beauty, thanks to her personal interest in holistic therapies.

These are clothes, she explains, that marry luxury and wellness, and are the things she would wear when she wants quality time by herself. The fact that they are made in Italy, convinced her that Milan was the right place for her debut – where she showed alongside the likes of Gucci, Prada, Verscae and Marni.

On fashion calendars, Milan has conventionally been the place where the runways confirm the trends and themes hinted at ­earlier, in New York and London. However, this season, the Italian designers did not speak with one voice, making Milan Fashion Week all the more refreshing for it.

Often, there might be an era or style of design that dominates the runways during a particular season, but for spring/summer 2017 in Milan, there was a standout showing of techno sportswear and techno fabrics employed in updated classics such as coats and box-pleat skirts, or with references to north African and Native American themes.

The Italian designers sent looks that would appeal to everyone, from the haute bohemian and athletic woman, to the cool sophisticate and the art crowd, as well as – as in the case of Moschino – to the iPhone generation.

Only three seasons ago, Gucci’s creative director Alessandro Michele was lauded for his complicated maximalist styling. Yet in Milan, Gucci channelled a dreamlike vibe with Victoriana, denim, athletic apparel and oversized accessories, thrown together in delightful chaos, making it difficult to predict the direction Michele is taking Gucci in.

Currently he seems to be in a holding pattern, hovering at once over 1940s Hollywood glamour, 1970s flared pantsuits, and ruffled party dresses from the 1980s, in a cacophony of ­colours and fabrics.

The feeling of joyous madness continued at Dolce & Gabbana, where street dancers emerged from the audience to start the party in the designers’ tropical-themed show. The clothes used some of their familiar tropes, such as military jackets, corseted black-lace dresses miniskirts. New, however, were the baggy tapering trousers redolent of jodhpurs, and the lavish and detailed embellishment the designers used to sell their story.

Wanderlust dominated the moodboards at Roberto Cavalli – rich patterns, embroidery and patchworks inspired by Native Americans – and Etro with its ­tribal themes on kaftans, duster coats and Berber-style capes.

Giorgio Armani, Agnona Tod’s, Bottega Veneta and Salvatore Ferragamo – with its stylish twisted leather dresses and crisp athletic sportswear designed by newcomer Fulvio Rigoni – all answered the call of women who want stylish but undemanding clothes.

Marni would appeal to the art world for its graceful, pioneering ideas. The label’s finely pleated dresses displayed a life of their own, and its micro-printed dresses were gathered, folded and distorted to walk the line between stylish and quirky.

In contrast, the sportswear at MaxMara and Donatella Versace targeted the dynamic generation of athletic women, with sleek leggings, belted jackets, power suits and anoraks. Versace has made it clear that she thinks this is the only way forward. She may be right, but there’s always room for the myriad styles displayed at Milan Fashion Week in all our wardrobes.

It was feathers with everything at Prada. Silk pyjamas, boldly coloured and mixed checks, cardigans and wrap skirts with Velcro fasteners show Miuccia Prada reinventing the classics. Most glamorous was the series of evening dresses and pyjamas with jewelled embroidery and feathers, worn with kitten heels that married sporty straps with heaps of crystals. Prada’s must-have bag of the season is a bold clutch with a long strap fastener, that comes in a multitude of geometric and daisy patterns.

Versace

Over the past three seasons, Donatella Versace has been carving out a new image for her brand – a shift from the luxe glam of red carpets and superyachts, although the inhabitants of that world will be sure to buy into the new Versace vibe. Donatella’s girls are both glamorous and empowered. The sporty look is tough, urban and energetic, judging by the billowing ultra-thin high-tech nylon parkas and blousons, stirrup trousers and dresses (the shapes of which are manipulated by drawstrings). Dresses, skirts and tops are spliced at angles and studded together. Swishy pleated dresses and silky slit skirts gave energy when in movement, and were as soft as the look got.

Bottega Veneta

Model Gigi Hadid and veteran actress Lauren Hutton walked arm in arm down the Bottega Veneta runway, illustrating the breadth of the Italian maison in Tomas Maier’s hands. This was a double celebration of the Bottega’s 50th ­anniversary and Maier’s 15th as its creative director. Menswear and womenswear were combined, and the focus was on easy, elegant clothes in luxurious materials, such as ostrich, crocodile and lamb skin for coats; easy knits and cotton dresses worn with antique-style silver jewellery; and wedge heels. Fifteen handbag styles debuted along with 15 from the archive.

Fendi

Silvia Venturini’s new Kan handbag was a star turn at Milan. The stud-lock bag dotted with candy-coloured studs, rosette embroidery and floral ribbons couldn’t help but charm every woman in the audience. It was the perfect joyful accessory for Karl Lagerfeld’s feminine vintage romp through the wardrobe of Marie Antoinette, with sugary colours, bows, big apron skirts and crisp white embroidery juxtaposed with sporty footballer-stripe tops – effectively updating a historical look.Read more at:http://www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses | www.marieaustralia.com/red-carpet-celebrity-dresses

This heart of ice is multifaceted.
This stone cold ice is dense but weeps.
There is a shallow trigger that radiates
Shy a wade from me; volcanoes are deep.

I am a gem
A raw glowing crystal of the earth
With a multitude of sides and angles

I am a spectrum on a continuum
This continuous continuum called life
Forever going, with no thought of me
Existence has no thought of anyone, in fact
And no concept of reality, neither can it perceive the toll it's negative experience allotments has on the individual's life
But existence cannot be blamed, for the hurt it causes us is purely unintentional,
You have to give existence credit for it's intentions--
There are no intentions beheld by the unconscious, therefore if existence were to be personified it would be a neutral force,
though it's impact on our fragile lives from the moment we are conceived and officially a zygote is life-shattering at times,
yet weaved ever so magically through our sadness is joy and the satisfaction of conquering the elements that possess the potential to defeat us.
After every conquest we do become an increment stronger,
though at times we obsess over the bruises we have acquired through our personal wars
Yet, without your struggle, who would you be?

I'm never good enough
You're never good enough
We're all never good enough
We're all not "just right"
These ideas of lack keep us up all night
But if you just let go to those false and self-defeating perspectives
Your true genius would shine, and who could ever put an end to the pure beauty of a soul that emanates the oneness of the source?
We must do away with Capitalism, for it is the source of our discontent and feeling of never ending lack
In the end, we all regress back to a state of being out of touch with the world and being in awe of it simultaneously
When our brains slowly fade back into nonexistence, just like we were before our parents were impregnated with us
Sometimes, you just have to stop and ponder over the cycle
And you start to think about who established the cycle
Which leads to an array of contemplation
One inquiry flowing smoothly but swiftly to the next
My head fills up so quickly with the substance of inquiry
That I can become rather depressed
And it's not the type of depression that's easily cured with rest
It comes to a point where I become obsessed
With finding and deciphering all the answers
That my outward life begins to lose zest
Yet my internal life is growing so rich and so diversely composite that if I were asked to describe my ideas and opinions they would be completely ineffable
I read voraciously, but my mind has a unique system of filtering the articles of myriad genres that I read into this sui generis amalgamation
I have to be careful when I open my mouth to speak
Since my opinions deviate astronomically from the norm
I choose my words wisely to avoid being called insane and treated with scorn.
Since I have to keep most of me a secret, specifically in this provincial vicinity
My heart whispers love to me throughout the day
So I keep the love for my true identity ignited.

I can't deny that subjectively, at times, I view my disposition as a condition that is a contributor of my plight
But objectively I have chosen to wield my sword of might and trudge through this fight
Because I know, just like at the end of every fairy tale is a happy ending
That through the thorny bushes I walk through and all the villains I meet on the way that try to take my life
Their is a sunlit horizon somewhere awaiting me
Awaiting my unique and magical company
Somewhere where I will truly be able to fulfill all of my heart's desires.
Truly, your location is not prejudiced to your desires, but some of the places that you will live will require more courage to fulfill them.

I have many sides, many traits and many distinct ways
About me
But if you want to get to know me quickly and know all of me in one simple image
I will tell you of who I became when the nutcracker played at the end of this children's movie I watched as a toddler
I would intensely imagine the scene that song evoked for me
Coming into character so authentically and indistinguishably from who I was
Out of all of my traits, this one was the one I can recall from the beginning and the one I never lost
My imagination and my strong ability to think visually
Attribute this to genetics, possibly an inherited slight increase of glial cells in my brain (do a google search of glial cells and creativity...
Sometimes, I have to remind myself that Google is not an all-knowing god, even though I ask it just about everything)
So this is who I am
I know myself very well,
but I'm still trying to figure the whole world out.

If one had a desire to define the word god where would he begin?  Why would he assign the traits he did to the word?  Would he want to assimilate traits that he perceived to be godlike?   Would he obtain a clearer vision in a realization of the futility of aspiration, or would pragmatism and adamant tenaciousness afford him a better route?  Perhaps we all could benefit by a reassessment of our affinity with god.
  
The metaphysical extremities of human nature provide man with a multifaceted image of the possible psychic states of God. Objectivity has led man away from the true nature of his need many times at this point.  Any retrospective analysis of man’s personifications of deity most often leaves one lost in the quandaries of the psychic quagmire.  The weaknesses created by man’s lack of a universally acceptable id conclusion have elevated many philosophical or theocratic hypotheses to the level of demagoguery.

One method which has been used by theologians in attempting to induct a summerial derivation from the vast warehouse of human religious extrapolation is the concept that perhaps basic truths can be affirmed through the theory of sufficient constancy of conjunction. Which is to say that reasonably analogous conjectures can be found in the depths of religious pervasion.  But this is not strictly true.
  
The ancient Babylonians, like the Indians, were polytheistic. They worshiped gods of nature, tribal union, fertility.  Deifications created from allusion to natural analogies, yet often imbued with a euphemistic optimism.  Where as the pantheon of Grecian deities often seems an almost banal personification of psychological metaphors from the darker side of life.  Zeus a fallibly omnipotent being who pompously subverts all beneath him to his will.  Who along with Apollo and others roam the countryside ****** and adulterating the women of their choice.  And Ares the formidable God of war who’s natural lust for violence leads him and his cohorts to vicarious involvement with mankind’s altercations.

Egyptian theology seems to have been an amendable and progressive state that began with sun worship and gods of nature, and moved on to attempted assimilation of godlike traits through a natural alignment with the perceived nature of God.  There were in depth studies of the nature of time, and life, and notions of existential transcendentalism.  The momentum of this progression led them to the ultimate grandiose delusion in which the Pharaoh was worshiped as the universal supreme being, omniscient and omnipotent ruler of the ultimate utopian society.

The Jews worshiped a God who was at once both a part of them  and an exogenous force believed to have created them in its own image. A God that deliberately instilled an understanding of it’s intended wisdom by instructing them of the laws they were to live by.  These divine revelations were often considered as the unadulterated word of God.  This God was jealous and demanded the adoration due him as the supreme essence.  His worship became the underlying force in their social conjecture as they attempted to inspire his continued grace and benevolence.  A seemingly irrational solution to the quandary of idealism.  An allegiance who’s impetus was unquestionable.  It seems by me to be improperly rooted on a personal level in that it overemphasizes the need or expectation of divine inspiration.

The ancient Chinese social wisdom was by me commendably rational.  Unlike the Jews they do not seem to have overemphasized the expectation of divine inspiration.  Instead they, like the Egyptians emphasized an alignment with the perceived nature of God on a personal level as the way to strength.  They of course had a conception of the possible natures of deity, but considered wisdom to be an honorably truthful self orientation.

Another realm of intellectual extrapolation from which one might hope to surmise a depthfully pervasive generality would be man’s philosophical treatises on the possible natures of God. Unfortunately due to the myriad nature of possibility this again appears paradoxically difficult.  To me this seems to be a product of the nonempirical nature of these conjectures.  Humans experience a reality which does not necessarily  have any relative effect on the transcendence of their conception of the possible nature of God. Although many have attempted to empiricise their conjectures through rational logic they are most often refuted by the possibility of ultimate transcendence or quandrified by the actuality of paradoxical argument.
  
Some good examples of these points are perhaps the arguments of Lucretius who attempted to empiricise that God can not revoke mathematical truths.  But what is the relative reality of those truths to the transcended essence of ultimate beingness.  They are refuted by irrelevance.  Another example might be the statement that God has aseity.  That is if he exists his existence is not caused.  This statement seems easy to refute for the supreme being could be all of the things possible for him except this and have evolved out of eons of cosmic continuum into natural omniscience and or through assimilation of the forces innate to the cosmos have achieved relative omnipotence.
  
One generally accepted statement that is refuted by these arguments is “the cosmos does not have infinite existence and is therefore not the supreme being.”  For if this supreme being has not yet evolved if it’s transcendental form could be said to have become out of cosmic continuum then the cosmos will indeed have achieved infiniteness.  But this already seems intuitively necessary to the ultimate cosmic essence regardless of a lack of self consciousness or even a physical form.  Perhaps what is possible and eons of void are the root of all force and matter, and perhaps this as yet unfulfilled sequence cycles on to nirvana.  Then again perhaps the supreme being does in fact preempt all as a self conscious entity.  This also would seem to be intuitively necessary to the essence of totality which of course has always existed and is in fact the supreme being in at that at that although not necessarily the true form of it’s transcendental being.
  
On this lofty note I would like to reiterate my thesis.  Perhaps we all could benefit from a reassessment of our affinity with God.

A man can accomplish many things with his concept of God. What is extraneous?  Perhaps the question would better be put what is expedient, but that becomes subjective.   You have to define your goals.  Where in lies wisdom?  Can man truly aspire to godhead or is this personally nonproductive?  Man seems to perceive a sort of manifest destiny for himself.  An intrinsic affinity with infiniteness that just must be dealt with.   Perhaps our beliefs in life after death are a grandiose delusion in which we hedonistically waste our time pampering our egos. Which brings me to my third and final argument.

Perhaps conscious regimentation and an affiliation with earth bound logic would bring us closer to our affinity with God.
One of the ideas presented by my philosophical references was that many of mankind’s inspirations to define his affinity with God grew inadvertently out of social realism and the powers assumed. Although often the subjective truths of these understandings went unmentioned out of a desire for objectivity.  For example what God must be if God is to be God.  Perhaps one would do better to relate personally to his affinity with God.

I think this is true.  Although we seem to lack omnipotence we are all individually speaking a preternatural corporeal state.  Perhaps we all should assert our godliness instead of hiding our talents in the sand.  Perhaps then we could construct a contractual reality.  An aspiration to the perfection of the human social mechanic.  I salute this concept.  In fact I firmly believe that by conscribing unalienable rights to our beings we have already performed the rights of the human social mechanic.  Our aspiration to godhead is complete in it’s conjecture.  All that is left is to obtain expedience and accuracy in our amendment toward continued obtainment of the majority goal.

The concept of a whole person is an enigma that evolves within a culture . Often it is not a transitive concept and can only be conjuncted within it's social setting . In fact the realities of social fragmentation make most all concepts of a whole person universally inapplicable .

Literature is often a good tool for developing an understanding of a culture and it's inclinations . In a cultures folk tales , plays , and fictions you find authors making a deliberate attempt to portray the basic dramas of their society .

Greek myths are a vivid example of this ; they are literally frought with characterizations . In their development these multitudes of characters weave into an elaborate tapestry that depicts the developing Greek moral ethic . The intricasies of the analogous content are brought across in a multitude of forms . Names were very important and a major force in clarifying the concepts being presented . The multitudes of characters portray a multifaceted understanding of the human psyche . The chauvinistic banality of their culture and it's gods is graphically depicted against the backdrop of their developing ethics .

It is difficult for a modern man to construct a vision of a whole person from a strictly ancient Greek point of view . The obvious anachronisms envolved make such an attempt partially ludicrous . Contrarily the bulk of their characterization paints a vivid picture of their primative social state .

Of course while the Greeks were muddling through the multicolored quagmire of human frailty many societies where learning to master the powers they had developed through centuries of strict adherence to religious and social mores . The development of their socially biased realities make many Greek nuances seem decadent anachronism . Rather than deitizing their baser natures as the Greeks had thay had learned to master them and turned to new paths to clarity . Spiritual pragmatism and lack of comunication nullified the social attributes of many of these extrapolations on positive orientation .

Jung preaches that man has an innate need to assimilate all external sensory perceptions . I find this untrue . In fact I find it self abortive . Human beings have a complexity factor that is individual and must be protected from overload ; man's moral ethic is a tender and deludable feeling directed by empathy . In the hectic world of modern mass media this tender individuality can become dwarfed by the percieved need to obtain social acceptance . Whole civilizations have become deluded by the flow of their complexities into an outright denial of their moral ethics .

I find this partially estranged condition prominent throughout social history . Children are brought up to respond to a vast realm of presupposed social ideologies and are not allowed to venerate themselves until much of their conscious matrix has been established . This of course makes self evasion an easily attainable goal . Sometimes politically speaking the actual goal . The mind satiated by it's social framwork is the ideal tool for a socialistic or tyrannical government .

To me the value of social history lies not in it's application as much as it's illumination . All the fragmented pockets of human coalescence should instill an understanding of man's posibility factors . Man's inability to supersede his developing anachronism may well be the cause of his annihilation .

Modern man has learned how to use tact in instilling the acceptable social mores . Solviet psychiatrists have spent years on perfecting these social sublimations ; children learn how to make their personalities conform to the accepted mean . I think that the true nature of a well rounded being lies in an ability to reject the fragmental nature of these instilled mores and develop a more universally acceptable social orientation . Does the son of a ku klux **** member have to hate blacks ? The obvious answer is no ; contrarily socially acceptable orientation is a product of environment . This is the pitfall of man's evolution as a race ; his inability to rise above the quandary of his immediate surroundings with all of their overwhelming complexities and demands to become a cognizant and empathetic being . There in lie the keys to his future .

This does not necessarily define the well rounded person . A well rounded person must be able to cope with his immediate surroundings withoutan abject denial of his empathetic being .

I believe well roundedness lies in thoughtful orientation and a well centered understanding of self . One need not be socially active as long as they are thoughtfully cognizant . Obey the golden rule ; you can not allow your objective orientation to supersede your subjective empathy . You can't allow yourself to be thwarted or overcome by your peers into being something they might want to make you because temptation may overwhelm them and you will become a transient tool in their succession .

A father's love...
whether throughout times of sorrow,
or times of glory, is all but shallow.

A father's love is a thunderstorm,
rumbling through a once peaceful sleep,
finding my awakened soul as company.
On the back porch, we seek credence,
as we share stories, and simple silence.

A father's love is a music tune,
carried from good intentions,
deep in the lungs.
Becoming bellowing blues
from a harmonica.

A father's love is rolling mountains,
as endless as eyes can see,
resonating with nature's peace.
Where he finds sacred hollows,
and gains perspective on his woes.

A father's love is a blissful brew,
aromatic, donning a frothy cover,
incredibly complex underneath.
It is a multifaceted flavor,
sweet, bitter, delicate, of earth.

A father's love is in the now.
It is there when the water is muddy;
it is there when the mud has settled,
and the water is clear.
It has nothing but patience.

A father's love...
whether throughout times of sorrow,
or times of glory, is all but shallow.

(what the hell is an incel)

the media portrays one loser outcast
as every man, as if man is one
big-*** monolithic hivemind
spewing their loser germs everywhere

think we got too much time on our hands
at the checkpoint, selfies on various
landmark celebrating the evil dead
as the hero for the living, graffiti

I look good in leather, also I look
lovely in the blood of my enemies
the hate a multifaceted gem
in the cavern of my  predatory eyes

Would love you to join me in the unit
the machine’s got to roll until Friday
and then we can hatch our evil scheme
man I think I have too much time
on my hands

One broke her,
Into thin fibers of glass disarranging a once whole vase
A beautiful vase, multifaceted and covered in ornate beauty
Intricate, delicate, carefully carved
A whole vase, filled to the brim with life and love
But what does love look like? She knows not anymore.

Two found the vase in ruins,
picked up her pieces, mended her and held on to her afraid she would break once more
Carefully, protectively she now lived.
Given everything, someone who had mended her.
Yet she still felt a sense of a missing piece
A gap, a hole, a missing fragile piece, unfilled but by One who had broken her

Why does she love One who hurt her, who broke her who left her unfilled?
Two many times has he mended her back together
Yet One is still the missing piece, the gap, the hole, the Vase

Unanswered uncertainties limber up
Unwanted confrontations cumulate
Passion deliquescing over unexplored reason
Unacknowledged, ignored, overwritten and dismissed
Without consideration for his fragile heart
The answers flow broiling him, wearing him down

Scorn rejection,
When trust is misplaced,
And she exfoliates to true skin
Hatred smothers over her love act
Bogs him down by the shoulders
All seems empty, all is empty

Toyed with, lied to and used up
He is a clock rigged for self destruction
With no actions that lead to consequences
The reason seems bleak and obvious
His respect for her dies, His respect for her other doesn't exist
She is not the one he loved, she is not the one that he knew

A younger him he sees in her other
Making the same mistake he did, mislaid trust
The multifaceted chameleon that she is
The other doesn't see
Pouring his heart out and defending her wrongs
The other starts to undermine and ignore him

Move on they say,
Only his heart is too heavy
Forget her they say,
Only she was a perennial settlement in my memory, he thought
Hate her they say,
Only he hates himself more for trying

No one understands him
Everyone tries, but no one understands
He loved, he was back stabbed
He suffered and suffocated under the blanket of secrets
Lighten your heart brother,  the mascot of a good soul
You will be alright.

Empire caused "Meek" and "Warden"
to become lost for the people divided.

The ancient etymological root intent and
definition of Meek: A person who is trained
and experienced in wielding the sword
who attempts to keep the sword sheathed for
as much as logically possible.

State and Church are cut from
the same cloth, designed to divide,
denature, and disarm on many levels.

State, Corporation, and Church (snot to be mistaken with sacred Vedas and source
codes. King David's and King Solomon's
writing is lush and powerful, and following
the lessons of Isa KRST can cause a more
peaceful, sustainable world),
close your inner eye.

Empire wants the peasants to believe
in "Meek" in a specific way for obvious reasons.
"Warden" is meant to be defined as not ever technically owning anything on Earth, including our children, and that it's our duty to natural Earth laws and Mother womb to stand against perpetrators who goose-step through the gardens and creeks.

"Warden" became inverted, turned on its
head to empty people's heads and pockets.

There are those who need to be dark for the
others. There are good dark fallen petals that
have their own light to survive the darkness.
The dark fallen petals lean towards the
divine feminine to bring balance and
harmony to the universal laws when toxic
male Jinn fire energy grows and spreads
into unbalance and unsustainability.

There are those of us who carry fangs
For Earth Womb, are willing supplicant cubs For Mother Huntress—sacred arrows
Notched in watery bow-spring.

Never Surrender to that which offers worse than death.

Surrender only to that which offers the water of life.

The Greatest Deception within the
Grand Illusion is to make people believe
that fire resembles false water:
Multifaceted, modified bait and switch.

The dark fallen petals fill their bowls
with water, then place the flame upon the water.

Filling your bowl first with fire, burns your mind and spirit into a husk. Attempting to extinguish a burning bowl with water, causes a polluted, murky brain and mind.

Always fill your pond with water,
let the water lilies and lotus grow
into wide open bloom. Always fill your chalice with water, then add the flame
upon the water. Mind as water, fluid,
able to flow alongside universal change
while adhering to universal constants.

State and Church are parasitic templates.
I'm snot suggesting that most people are bad and corrupted. You know the proverbial cliché: The road to hell is paved in good intentions. Prolonged saturation of negative entrenchment causes most every product to be negatively toxic regardless of initial intent going in.

Church and State are designed to close the inner eye and burn down the bowl permanently, leaving the hollow host with a jughead to fill with remote control leash and halter.

Church and State are designed to offer fire gift-wrapped in false water: The deceptive light that's obsessed with lighting candles in
an attempt to compensate for a burned down inner bowl that bathes the host in artificial light.

The nexus point between Church and State is the most insidious force that I've ever faced.

People who haven't already learned to do so, need to learn how to shield their minds from here on in. The next 15 years or so are gonna include some extraordinarily weird and intense moments and happenings across the world.

Learning to place the flame upon the water saved my body, mind, and spirit; It's the cleanest process and advice that I can offer.
It isn't an ultimate universal cure-all, as that is a wolf in sheep's clothing; It's a process that people can use to find their answers.

Empire always offers the ultimate answers, the psychopath that opportunistically builds traps as supposed solutions that lead to freedom and safety. Offered via State or Church, the answers are fire god traps disguised as water.

Nevermind conspiracy theory too, perceive it from various angles and scopes of objective perspective: please consider: trillions upon trillions of particles and particulates that range between organic and xenobiotic, natural and artificial, genetic and non-genetic: variables within trillions of natural and artificial rays, waves, pulses, beams, X, strings, that are emitted from trillions of organic and inorganic sources, such as uranium belts, stars, billions of wires, antennae, coils, tubes, on and on, BLASTED
into our bodies 24/7, awake, while asleep. While we dream.

Tinfoil (lol) can refract X negatively onto other reflective and refractive surfaces, cause amplification of ocular reception. Also, a wave/beam that might've passed through the skull and brain only once, can be bounced around the skull due to a tinfoil hat placed upon the crown.

Our bodies get hit within inevitability. The mix includes multifaceted physiological and psychological levels. And, images—trillions of images expressed in various states and forms.

Fire disguised as water causes hyper-inner conflict, shame, guilt, and fear that, when prolonged, eventually breaks the mind. A mind can break only however many times that it takes to bring specific minds to unfixable state.

Empire attempts to trick you into placing fire into your chalice first, it's that clean, base, simple, and primary.

Water religions/psychology/projections
produce more peaceful, accepting societies
that range in every possible mix of melanin and spice. Whenever a society retrogrades back to fire god worship and Sun sacrifice psychology and belief systems, the people and land become poisoned and dry, divided, cleaved under the weight of the cloven hoof

after having built another Tower of Babel.

Water cools the tempered sword
Glowing freshly from the forge.

Blossoming open in one way
Protects in many ways
That can't happen without acceptance.

When the dove sparks, stirs, drinks
From your chalice, and unfolds her wings into golden light inside your brain,
Empire's messaging no longer
Makes sense in a good way.

Though my existence is very minute compared to others,
my mind is unrestrained and limitless.
My thoughts are inspired
by even the smallest speck of dust
to the largest of the universes.
It is able to imprison the deepest of secrets,
but able to reminisce the most distant memory.
No one else has the capability to see what I see,
to remember what I remember;
to the most minuscule detail.
From the day I am born till the day I leave this earth.

This may sound serene;
however there is a constant crusade with my other half.
To indicate what is correct and what is erroneous.
Occasionally, neither can respond to the problem at hand.
Then the ground is neutral
till something changes in the outside world.

But this inner world is permanently in control.
No other power of government or enemy
can break in and create a new dictatorship.
No soul can relive what I relive in my mind
each and every day.
Nothing has the force to eliminate
what I've seen or done.
No power can absorb my multifaceted emotions.
As long as I live,
my mind is secure,
and will always be protected.

In the intricate tapestry of love,
the adage "once a cheater, always a cheater"
weaves a cautionary thread.


It is a phrase laden with the weight of experience,
a mantra that whispers of broken trust and shattered vows.


When someone treads the path of betrayal,
leaving the fragments of a once-whole heart in their wake,
the scars run deep.


The echoes of deceit reverberate
in the corridors of love,
leaving those who have been wounded hesitant to trust again.


The notion, "once a cheater, always a cheater," emerges as a defense mechanism,
a shield against the vulnerability of being deceived once more.


Yet, in the realm of love,
the narrative isn't always so black and white.
People evolve, learn from their mistakes, and yearn for redemption.


It's crucial to acknowledge the capacity for change
within each individual.
While the wounds of betrayal may linger,
they need not dictate the course of someone's entire romantic journey.


The human experience is multifaceted, and relationships are complex landscapes.


People stumble, fall, and sometimes, they rise anew, reshaped by the crucible of their own errors.


Love, at its essence, encompasses forgiveness, growth, and the possibility of second chances.


So, while the cautionary phrase carries the weight of wisdom,
it is equally important to recognize the potential for transformation.


People can break free from the chains of their past misdeeds,
learn to value trust, and construct relationships founded on honesty and integrity.


Love, after all, is as much about healing as it is about the initial spark.


In the end the tale of "once a cheater, always a cheater"
is not a universal truth
but rather a reminder that love demands conscientious navigation.


It prompts us to approach relationships with discernment,
to treasure the fragility of trust,
and to foster an environment where growth and change are not only possible but celebrated.

The great Green Mountains,
up where the tallest evergreens grow,
stretching,
upward an outward,
toward the heavens,
a perimeter of boundaries,
where white iridescent angels,
can drift,

Touching the clouds,
in winds of change coming,
gathered together sheltering storms,
alongside barren maples
and birches,
with shriveled others aging,
gracefully,
bowing down to winter's bone,
and ready for Spring's solstice.

When,
in surging solar winds,
upward of,
a million miles an hour,
40 hours after leaving their sun,
raining in an big bright ariel shower,
emphasizing their greatness,
in an eerie tranquility,
behind a diffused hazy luster,
a distant soft moon light,
in a beautiful Glory Shining.

Silvery satin ribbons,
and celadon green bends,
as colors wait pensive to create
in messages it then sends,
a heavenly landscape,
for their part in the prism ballet,
these arial acrobats,
yearn to touch tips on sturdy cutouts,
of tall old aging trees,

Dancing into ever-changing,
multifaceted soft,
an inspiring hues,
an shifting in the breeze
they move above,
in a mystical rhythm,
a dark and mysterious,
black smoke rises
in between rays,
in the opaque darkest hour,
for the creation of,
a spiritual backdrop,
mysterious feeling power
in the magnificent,
Magnetic Midnight.

The darker the sky,
the brighter the light,
for an otherworldly setting,
as colors merge and ignite
while they mix the palate again,
I am lost in silent reverie,
for the forces that dance there in that blackness,

Awe-inspiring,
breathtakingly beautiful,
alien,
frightening,
imparting comforting wisdom,
it is everything an so exciting,
and healing to your soul,
like a hauntingly familiar sound,
of
music to your ears.

moving like in an immensely,
active native conga,
while flitting eiree,
ghosts of glaciers perform,
when fueled folklore beckon,
swirling magic colors
in a perfect moving storm
these beauties from frozen skies,
spraying snow & tossing sparks,
as their created stars,
saturate the deep,
as their tears are shed,
in big butterfly kisses,

playfully floating,
in lovely little fine wisps,
of cirrus smudges of pure refractions,
bending in rarified veils of light,
into a seamless,
shimmering skyscape.

A hiding crystal clear,
deep Alice blue sky,
now fading,
as colors are now blending,
from azure into darkest denim,
then turning periwinkle,
stretching out,
into auroral archways,
dusted in a tangerine glow
in transitioning brushstrokes,
gently cover impressionistic sketches,
evolving into luminism,
on an endless open canvas.

As I paint the words,
where I sit there quietly,
respectfully awaiting answers,
as clouds and moonlight smear,
into watercolor scenery,
using up each angel tear
an intimate engagement occurs,
the passion of nature,
is sublime,
just perfectly,
these synchronized sky swimmers ,
becoming one

As a stormy sun is forcing,
red light dancers,
holding torches,
colliding and becoming excited,
edging themselves,
these powerful ominous portents,
becoming the framework.

Around a fantastic fluorescent show,
the cast wearing blushing pink,
and wild viola purples,
tinged in chartreuse green,
basking in beauty,
where hope lies,
in these colors I've never ever seen, since,
transcending skies of tomorrow,
into an age old masterpiece,
waiting patiently for this,
spiritual journey,
to begin,
with an eager & beautiful,
dawn coming.

Where the North winds,
send a brilliant light show,
of atomic wonders,
in watery pirouettes,
of shaped effects,
& teardrops sacrificed,
swirl in spirits of harmony,
completely memorizing,
I am transfixed,
an astonishing feat,
of brilliant pigments,
smudged into,
the mysterious lightness,
my drifters heart wanders,
melded into atmospheric colors,
we can only wish to see in this lifetime.

Where life seeds now
glide,
on the giving winds,
and Eagles and hawks can,
applaud this much beauty way up there.

This place,
a heavenly firmament,
where all the sacred souls come to die,
  where all the very, very, wise end up,
where they all spend their eternal lives,
young and old alike,
eventually they all retire here,
bringing us hope or warnings,
a chance at redemption,
striking hot iron in a glow,
metallic bits,
stars form,
restless,

Sighing, awaiting,
  a gifted chance to share with us,
along with all the parished,
souls and spirits,
playfully transforming,
from native garb,
mocassin covered feet,
change into favorite animals,
stomping on the colorful floor,
a great bear,
a wolf,
a beluga whale,
a soaring raptor,
not wanting for anything,
walking in Native American circles,
to the sounds of long silent drums,
morphing & shape shifting,

Again,
and again,
and again,
where rain shadows dance,
in ancient skies,
celestial bodies are illuminated,
reflecting the fire circles,
from where distant oceans shore,
take me there...ancestors
take me there once more,

As night slowly declines,
as daylight seeps through cracks,
bleeding into tomorrow,
to fly again to share what they must,
they pray and worship their God,
and they trust..

And Aurora Borealis is her name.

Cherie Nolan © 2016

"..well,
I suppose that all depends on who
if, indeed, anyone,
One should ask."

She's a pattern and yet so complex--
An entity of incompleteness bound by the voices that tell her "she is nothing"--
A frame unstructured and yet paved by the scars life left on her--
Not an epitome of daintiness but the reflection of a clay that's been molded then chipped to bring forth all at once rugged, sharp, smooth and rough edges--
Multifaceted for she smiles in the light, laughs in the crowds, cries in the night and cringes at the slightest mention of the word "love"--
Self-conscious, never once hearing of a King who thought the world of her--
The irony of dodging people who care only to fall into the traps of the ones who would never care to figure her out--
Similar to a pressed rose--
Pressed into the lives of others, leaving behind residue to the point of self dehydration--
If tears are as perfume, heaven is filled with bottles marked with her name; Daisy--
Born delicate, pure, & soft to the touch--
But over time the petals have been dried , shriveled up into brown nothings that fall fearfully as another heart dares to come near--

Unmovable Unchangeable

A worthiness a standard is deposited in your inner being all other elements in life will ebb and flow but
Your essence will be darkened by sorrow but from this tragedy and sorrow riches will tower a streaming
Blessedness will flow it will instantly engage another who has just suffered loss seen unseen words and
Actions will with the deftest touch a kindness soaked in mellowness will be communicated in silence to
The heart who has just suffered the bitter harvest of sorrow the gripping real a special irreplaceable
Someone has departed to walk on a different plane for them purest light your circumstance darkest
sorrow cold as Everest you are left ripped not only of all outward cover but inward has there ever been
Such savage destruction the healthy norm now ravaged the spiritual heart ripped apart it was complete
It was formed by love alone no other sculptor is more honered to work with such substance he makes
Their face those eyes the transfiguring part of human connection truly souls merge together here in this
Special stream vision multifaceted feelings weighted the heavier the deeper the depths where
Emotional ties are created from pleasures these springs of the heart you come in emptiness you leave
With these volumes ballooned ever stirring thoughts the very impulses that make them the person you
Know this feed of expressions do they not cause an unending joy that spills at different times sometimes
Just a slow pleasant entailing then at other times a roar of engulfing and at times it happens when your
Tide is low they instinctively trigger this from their register of mercy a unity that is boundless truly you
Have small oceans within I see it in the workaday world but like the song behind closed doors magic
Fire you reach heavenly heights explorers rewarded in human feeling that can’t be bought and are never
Sold truly kings and queen of a great domain in the hidden soul you have truly roped the wind and
Touched stars as you hovered under them holding hands who can doubt God when you exhibit his very
Essence through the love you found and it causes unfathomable assurances holding hands is the same
As a great dam holding water but yours is holding never ending love

i always favoured Händel (see the hidden γραφεμη variation of the a diaeresis - some simply sprech Hendel, also not the aesthetic mimic symbiosis with sigma - aesthetically it is written Σσς, so too it should be written Εεη - with the variations of epsilon - η - written conclusively, as with the variation of sigma - ς - the remnant, a last resort - the greeks don't believe the tetragrammaton twins of the symbol H anyway, they already laid new pavements for the road ahead, ridiculing the old testament with fanciful quotation, so that man could imbue a godliness rather than the filth of prophetic warmongering in the desert, sacrificing children to a bear like Elisha, the new testimony and the clean prophet, beware the wolf in sheep clothing, sheep equating itself to Nazarene cleanliness, but the wolf inside that will be worthy a tri-summation of interests - before universal education in the Victorian era, when finally enough horses were used up and machines took over, and people were allowed to be escorted into the cinema of uncovered phonetic encoding - taught literacy - but to no avail, having squandered that on acronym shortenings... multifaceted digressions ensue, as i am true to the purpose of suddenly injecting venomous imagery into this whole crescendo of the new regime, nightwatchman every over day, to save myself the pointless stimulus of drinking - let's leave the realm of italics and regroup with the points already made...

what a glorious night yesterday's was, by me saying,
well, there is still over an hour left to include yesterday's
night as today - the heavy Baroque organs of thunder,
interchanging with brilliance of lightning -
7,000 accounts of lightning flashing in a square mile,
perhaps more - there was me, reminiscing what i missed
about Freddy Kruger in the original version of
a nightmare on Elm's street, the 2010 revamp made it
plain (i thought Freddy was a bit of a loser compared
to the other horror icons, like Jason, Michael, Pinhead),
but then it dawned on me... he, was, a *******!
the former two were mutes, hefty mutes, bodybuilding
mutes, bulls, charging, dragging around them a gravity
of pure animal, a bit like a lion hunting although without
the growling - if only lions had cat eyes,
but lions don't have serpent eyes, their pupils are more
mammalian than cat eyes, bonsai, Asian squint, inverse,
serpents in fur - their pupils dilate proportionately
to small pupil, large pupil, not vertical Asian squint in
leather... anyway... what a night to watch a horror movie...
the big brainstorm before the referendum,
morning's newspaper and the newspaper *the times
in revamp mode of the tabloid the sun with
a Shakespeare quote: i to the world am like a drop of
water (or, whatever, water is precious, Shakespeare
is about as much a schooled sneeze / quotation in
comparison), that in the ocean seeks another drop -
told you, the times is just a revamped tabloid version,
it's under the same umbrella group - the only two
opposition newspapers with credentials in England
are the guardian (the left) and the daily telegraph
(the right) - i can see now why Freddy seems pathetic
but is more frightening - it's the ****** talking,
the nursery rhyme jingle - that's the freaky part -
but in the same night i expressively enjoyed
t.v. caviar of Versailles, no critical essay mind you,
just noticing this strange pair of aristocratic ladies,
fakes, a mother and a daughter, what's revealing
is that the girl has no interest in the king, this
builder is eyeing her up, whistles, and loving it,
she has not desire for aristocratic **** *******
of her cousin who's courting Louis XIV brother
Philippe, the gardener ex-soldier (a Socratic type)
warns him, he's asked by the builder, what the hell you
doing here? oh, i'm trying to see the garden more clearer.
he ain't though, he's questioning the entire hierarchy,
later on the same builder puts a pink rose in a bucket
and lowers it down to the garden promenade
where the same pair mother and daughter are walking,
the girl engages... she isn't aristocratic in the least!
she's more interested in frolicking in the hay with
a builder than some king or prince... the mother is poor,
she knows all the salon politics, she basically wants
her daughter to get herself a pension by ******* the king
and bearing him a *******, but there's a scene where
the daughter asks late at night... what are you doing?
the mother replies... writing letters... now you'd expect
that to mean letters in the style of Voltaire or de Montainge,
but by letters she means A B C, D E F... she's illiterate!
an aristocrat and illiterate? how else to control the
masses so long ago if not keeping them illiterate
content with fables from Plato's shadow puppet metaphors?
later the mother becomes frightened that the motto
Louis XIV emphasises (appearances are power -
deception = poker-hand perception, bluffs the higher up
you go), she's walking alone through the corridors of
Versailles and starts chatting up the court inquisitor etc.,
Fabien Marchal - he ain't exactly the aristocratic type,
she's already seeing the failures of her daughter
and the failures of too much information being passed down
to her about how to catch the eye of the king - god i love
this show, Philippe taking an ancient form of a selfie
looking into a little mirror before charging on his horse,
the power struggle, Louis flicks some porridge
onto Philippe, Philippe flicks some back,
Louis shoves a whole bowl of it on Philippe's head,
Philippe ****** on Louis, a wrestling match after:
you might have ****** on a brother's head...
but i ****** on a king's head. so why **** this entire
notion from Detective Comics and Edward (e)Nigma
******* all the brains out from a television set?
the idea of a bulls-eye is still out there - just have to know
what to glue yourself to;
but never mind that, to give closure to this whole
random escapade -
vote leave, reason? three houses of parliament in Brussels,
not a single member is elected by the public,
they're all self-appointed or appointed by connections.
vote remain, reason? cheap cigarettes from Romania,
Bulgaria and Poland - under new regulations they might
not be so cheap, i might have to resort to e-cigarettes.
probable outcome? Europe is already failing, it seems
that the idea of the free-movement of people doesn't
really apply to member states, but to non-member states,
esp. those outside Europe - the stigma born from
the grand European expansion of ~2005 fuelled the problem,
free movement of post-British Empire peoples, yes,
movement of member states in the political union? no,
no one from California and go to New Mexico,
but Mexicans can go to Washington, what a ****** up
logic - the prophesy of a revived Roman Empire is a bit
daft - and if i really did have an illegitimate child,
at what age does paying child support end? 16 or 18?
i wasn't married, i asked about the contraceptive pills,
but still the hot-bun shoved under my pillow to think about...
i'm positive that's when the buzzing in the left
hemisphere of my brain will end, and a grand L.S.D. trip
will appear in the sky, like a big Christmas mince pie -
ask me then, it's been 9 years in, i might have a break,
but until then i'm contemplating juggling Joyce with
Burroughs, and telling you... you know what i'd really like?
hearing Händel messiah in German... singing opera
is English is so so horrid, i love the opera never mind,
i was inspired by the section:
opernchor - weil von mann kommen tod -
to want to hear it in German - and trying to write German
using English grammar, and translate it, is like
a little-Oedipus fable, not as bad as mother and son,
no gauging of the eyes, more like the standard practice
in Arabia with marriage between 2nd or 3rd cousins -
and D.N.A. quick-tests in Iceland, who i'm praying will
win if the vote is to leave, fairy-tale Leicester City,
a country with the same population, 330,000;
not to mention Gudmundur Benediktsson's ******
that beat any South American gooooooooooo(h)'l /
enlarged spelling of ~gall, and so on and so forth bladder
or blah blah blah blah blah.

There was always two sides of a story
But sometimes no connection could be made out of them
Because both were lies

To the Great Absolute I pray
That when I am gone and
Nothing but dust is left of me
That I may be remembered
For the joy and love I gave and,
For my prose and poetry.

Intoxicated with enchanted dreams,
I strive to weave poetic vistas
Filled with magic and illusions,
With unfolding multifaceted mirrored images
Of things that could or are yet to be;
Of joy and measured sadness and
Endless impassioned struggles.
I seek to capture love's raging fires,
Stoked by amorous energies,
To illuminate the darkness of despair,
Exposing paths to bliss and ecstasies.

With awe and reverence of creation,
From undulating, azure oceans
To canopies of sparkling, starry skies,
I script Mother Nature with all her majesty
With expansive, fertile fields
Filled with irises, lilies, and yellow daffodils;
Or snow-capped purple sierras and
Eagles circling pristine, placid mountain lakes.
I conjure prancing, dancing fireflies
On luminescent moonlit nights and
Winged horses gliding through the sky
Over golden spire peaks that rise
From gleaming, ivory castle towers,
Or heroic, quixotic noble quests
To right wrongs and vanquish evil
Until there's peace and harmony.

Give me, Great Spirit, the mental dexterity
To compose indelible, memorable stories
That will be etched in the annals of history.
Help open my mind’s eye to peer into eternity.
I feel tremors, murmurs in my heart
Beating, aching from within, longing
To write and write until I'm consumed,
Having fulfilled my karmic destiny.

Finally, when my pen runs dry
It will be my time to die;
I pray that at my passing
The world will pause and sigh.

There is something intrinsically enchanting about traveling—
Meeting small destinies,
Feeling the flow of life sweep you along—
It’s not all about running away,
Or where you end up,
Or how fast you go—
Rather, it’s about the actual act of
Moving Forward.
You sit in the car, or on the plane, or in the back of someone’s pickup, and you can see the landscape undergo its natural metamorphosis again and again
Into unique multifaceted checkpoints down the list of
Things To Experience:
People to laugh with,
Hands to hold,
Memories to make…
I look out into the alternating horizon and see
‘Opportunity’ spelled out in the clouds.
I look out and can see all the reasons why I should just
Take to the wind,
Flit and float across vast spaces of life—
Set free my spirit of all societal burden for the sake of introspective sentience and honest self-discovery—
I get the appeal;
I have tasted from the goblet that decadent ambrosia,
That flavor by which coats and balms my self-criticizing soul—
Soothing away all the hack marks,
The pocks and nicks and dents that blemish and tarnish the delicate skin protecting my psyche—
I am healed by travel,
By taking life seriously as that journey by which to merely ‘enjoy the ride’,
By making a literal journey out of life,
(Via journeying.)
Ah, even as I drive onward,
Even as I am propelled ever forward along the Devil’s Backbone, and Montezuma’s Castle, chasing the setting sun,
I am already thirsting for more

I am who I'm not
I was who I ain't
everything about me is fake
the multifaceted facade
I'm everything
you think I'm not
i'm life imitating art
since arts imitating life
I'm everything that I write
which is a hoax
a laughable out loud joke dilettante
unaccomplished a novice garbage nonsensical nonsense
Product of my surroundings
Victim to my environment
A sum of the world
so can't take it to heart
where do I start?
Oh life imitating art
Since arts imitating life
I'm everything that I write
Which is a hoax
Just as the world
broke

I am stuck in this place of begging for someone to listen to me and denying my own desires to talk

It is still here – the longing to cry with someone – but it is impossible now. It’s been impossible for so long I don’t know why I even bother with any of it. I don’t know to help her…no one knows how to help her.

It doesn’t matter if you feel like a victim or a survivor, or at times, both…it still happened. It was me. It was me lying there – it was my body. I am no longer that little girl but it was undeniably me. I was hurt, I cried, I yielded all of my power to him. Me. It was me. No one helped me. I can’t make that any different. I can’t change that….not through my writing, not by speaking, not inside my mind. I can’t undo it.

I want to bury this hurt in an airtight coffin until it suffocates and can no longer damage me. I want to smash the pain with a boulder until it is crushed and no longer alive in me. I am stuck in this place of begging for someone to listen to me and denying my own desires to talk. It all comes back to the forbidden words of trust and need and I’m having a difficult time trying to shift and re-position myself in a positive, healing way.

It’s difficult to get the words out without the tears and emotions. And I won’t cry in front of anyone. There are times when I am aching with the desire to talk about difficult things and I hold back. Why? Multifaceted…complicated question and an equally complicated answer. First, there is a part of me that does not trust anyone, or even want to trust anyone. A part of me is embarrassed at the Nita that will be seen when the tears start. It is not the me that everyone knows…it’s the miserable, self-indulgent, childish, hopeless me. And I cannot risk being seen like that. And there’s a third reason…it feels incredibly undignified to cry in front of someone when they just sit there…silent and unmoving.  Late at night, when it is overwhelming and relentless, I ache for someone to talk to about this pain, someone who loves me, not someone who is paid to listen.

Perhaps the cost doesn't exceed the value . The prospects there where myriad . Where do you go to escape the elusive delusions of your psychic quandary ? The ramifications of inductive collusion make writing a chore which requires extrapolations in progressive dynamics . The allusions of paradoxical analogies multifaceted conjectures often have more depth than the hypothetical dynamic intentions can pervade . I too would like to get more out of the plausiblities of problematic diversity . What were you trying to accomplish ? The diversity of possibility makes self oriented interjection seem a pragmatic enigma to ourselves . To receive unity I must conceive the totality of my cognation . The dog was wearing its collar . The rhythms of logic may seem impractical although aesthetically pleasing . There are many ways to exercise the perplexing quagmires of psychic revelry . Since I don't have another outlet I must attempt to succeed through cognitive diligence . Their impetus was not clear . The whole picture was not necessary for the production of viable assumptions . I don't know whether to go or stay home . The dialectics of rational induction often seem almost visible . Psychology is not an empirical science . Transience may seem a convenient quality . The first matrix seemed similar to the third in the progression . If I could I would fashion a legitimate conjecture to help mitigate the discrepancies in these arguments . I find I have worries for my relative clarity in the midst of these almost catalytic litigations . The site for the new well was carefully mapped . I find it difficult to satisfy the dictates of my conscience . A lot of people are distressed by the estranged condition of their moral ethics . The clarity of criticism creates credibility , comprehension can cause conducive consciousness . Multifariously versatile obnoxiously obsessed protuberant demonstratively cajole deviant affectionate ****** caress. English is a colorfully diverse and versatile language . Parallel thoughts like parallel lines carry similar veins of reasoning in almost identical directions . The picture forming seemed to be a synthesis of the almost kaleidoscopic torrents of symbolical regalia . It's not convenience it's the spontaneity of intrinsic expedience which dictates . The light house stood out stark and ominous amidst the torrential rain and flashing lighting of the stormy weather .Anxiety is often caused by an accumulation of unresolved delusions . If the tone of that man's voice is any indication we are not going to have an easy time convincing him to give up his old records collection . Sometimes having something is not as exciting as you thought it would be before you owned it . The occasion was just another new moment in time . The mechanism was a miniature scale model of the larger machine . The man's perception of the situation appeared quite shallow and incomplete . Belief is a relative state that often lacks objective clarity . The monolithic precipice is probably not as steep as it looks . The heights of sanity are a lofty and precarious perch indeed . He was not conscious of the collaborations of his enemies clandestine collusions . The magnitude of the problem put it outside the realm of my perception . The angel was a vision of resplendent beauty as it hovered in mid air above the knoll . I don't think you understood what I meant . I sincerely ment what I said about the sorcerer . I will succeed through cognitive diligence . To say the state of mankind's metaphysique is an imaginary condition is a gross denial of evolutional principle . What then is the nature of problematic hypothesis , or the personification of positive prosthesis ? I don't mean to embarrass the perpetrators of theological indenture but perhaps this is not pragmatically aesthetic . The athlete carried the torch with grace and solemn devotion almost as if on a mystical sojourn . The quality of existence may not transcend the tenacious transience of time ; then again perhaps the exogamy of homogeny will produce the ultimate successor . Under our political system the privilege of freedom is inalienably granted to all unless abridged by due process of law . If you attempt to unlawfully abridge my freedom I will file a prejudice against you . I am more wholly concerned for my anonymity than I am with the ideology of your evangelist . I know I would rather be self sufficient than deterred by the ulterior motives of political impetus . Though I know I am is more than I may ever be I like to think I could . Through extrapolation one can enhance their vision of the realms of possibility .

Cross things off Instead of erase and feel lost
but you dont have to think I am lame because
its too late to wear aviators-since its not the summer
and I got arthritis.
Feeling swept up in fall like brushing leaves off the sidewalk

I was captain bazaar with my sidekick
flying in on a broken engine
smoke rushing out the side
trying to lift a plane
the subsequent pain in my wrists
and the rest of my limbs
brought me to this bridge

its another thing;
multifaceted.
clever coat
and correct.

Way out in its own oasis
Its very own brand of homeostasis
Passed the jarred ideas and whacked out mazes
Is a spot

Full of unknown faces
Hailing from unknown places
Look at it, fall out with out protracted traces
Vacant lot

Then let's settle the score
What is your original face before your mom and dad were born?
Why not start over with a clean slate, as the smell of new dawns pervade
I forgot to eat

Maybe if you gave the derelict half a chance
And looked at things from the ambivert's stance
People wouldn't notice your ego's protuberance
Upstaged by an under study

Pull the button, turn the lever, push the switch and flip the ****
Predicate the incendiary infraction
Reductio ad absurdum
Lip service provides scrutiny

We've been normalized, what the recipe for ice?
We're full of emptiness, nothing exists
No-thing, not a thing does not exist
Life is deathless

I'm looking for multifaceted individuals
To fix something that's irreparable  
An eerie parable, something terrible
My future's told by flash cards

I put my head between my knees
Just wipe my memory
Leave me at the bottom of the sea
Leave my dignity to discard

When two separate divisions are over lapping
What's the sound of one hand clapping?
Comparing then and now every now and then
Again, never will I say"never again"

       -Tommy Johnson

I am retooling myself
Into the man, who honors integrity with daily exercise,
Into the words of a poem, a new stanza added daily,
Into the notes of a song, yet to be complete,
Into the symphony p, a theme that lifts, soaring above the commonplace,
Into the jewel multifaceted,  colors deep and husky,
Into the essences of love, always learning, dispensing hatefulness,
Into the fury of a great warrior ennobled with heroism,
Into the dexterity of fingers that dispense living kindness,
Into the vibrancy of an orchid, born from tiny seed and falls soil,
Into the vessel science and technology constantly reforms, evolute,
Into the words of a book before his eyes, before closing time, clutched with purebred pride.

What an umbrageous day
Heavy downpour cleaning soul city streetlights
unburdened back beckoned bright eye and high
The cleansing of the spirit

New rain beginnings
relinquishing old dirt and washed
all resentment that peels away like rotten orange rinds
revealing the musty moth-eaten underside of the teenage psyche

It’s a beacon of light, a point in the celestial wake of night
The true-burning ember amidst the counterfeit
glows of the day to day drudgery of a mundane
Human existence

Who cower and hide from head to toe in plastic wrap
and duct their senses with sticky ignorance
Who wander and wonder upon the multifaceted
raindrop that caresses each fleshy pore with motherly love

Who drift effortlessly
up misty parking garages
up sweaty chimney stacks
down missing fire escapes

In the tundra of weary dreary winter bite
Cold suspects stand innocent on frozen street corner

What an umbrageous day. Overcast. Raining.
Like open wounds rinsed clean to be healed by
and forgotten in time

The fractals are hard to miss
even in the gathering puddles

[written about getting high. April 2010.]

Tears vermilion reflecting the night,
St Elmo's fire burning bright,
Sea sick sailors pray for the light
Doomed and forgotten nets are dry.
Albatross soars, wings of flight
Guiding the lost with cries of gulls,
Let us laugh at their misfortune,
Schadenfreude
Styx flows too soon,
Gold on each eyelid
The Titans shall have their due.

Hyperion weeps to Neptune's view
As Icarus burns to seas of blue
And the sails catch on,
Enlightened by the
Dawn multifaceted hue.
Scarlet prism gems
Reflect the fallen, truth
Through crimson tinted lens.

Stand firm young explorer, our reality is before your eyes. The path of least resistance comes and goes with the reading of the signs. Do not reach beyond their grasp dear astronaut, for you can only hold what you must. And your disinclined stance may start to sway, towards a book of spiritual trust. A compass of lost translation, which has been tattered by the evolution of our time. Sown together by imperfect hands and tongues, of the righteously divine.  Or instead you stumble towards numbered texts and the collection of mans thoughts. Classified, organized, and defined in complex logical knots. A thorn bush of intricate perceptions of our multifaceted human condition, subjected to nothing more than our screaming birth and our timely decomposition. But fear not my naive trekker, for the decision is yours to hold. Either with nail in hand or the hammer made ready, may your heart be ever so bold. And though the philosophical plates of these worlds seem to diverge from once connected fates, the heavens you come to find as a result may be behind different gates. Only you hold the key to open your ever changing mind, one carved by humble carpenter hand or molded by mankind. So step lively youthful sailor for the winds are at your back, and the house from which you build your truth comes of brick or with cross-bared plaque. Worry not of your inaction little voyager, for the world will not react. The world remains in constant motion, and will force you to interact. Whether several days of creation must pass or a bang of creative juice, it is you who must chose to dive in the water or walk above man’s made truth. So good luck my inexperienced hiker as the waves of decision roll in. May the solace you find in the choices you make be without regrettable sin. I pray the stars you look to at night point you toward your goal, and that you find a balanced understanding of the earth and your spiritual soul.

make yourself glowingly present
and bow down to
higher consciousness

feel the bewildering
burning
yearning
churning sensation of
your third eye
struggling for
freedom of sight
with all of its might
it should be easier
it will soon come
naturally
if you just
follow my lead

greed is futile
let all your tangibles free
feel the sweet relief of the weight
off your shoulders
you owe yourself
that sigh of completion

the freedom of
hedonism within reason
commence the ******* of the
purest sensation of truth
you have it in you
just wake up

the apple of your eye
is ripe and ****
your vibrant brain is
a ravishing work of art
frolicking down
mysterious spiral staircases
through moments of
intensely intellectual
visionary illumination
and bioluminescence

the essence of joy
intertwined with pain
juxtaposed with
sublimity in vain

wander yonder
into the somber beyond
no magic wand
nor wizard tongue
transfigure and transcend
ascend into
the winding bend of forever

shudder with delight as
shimmering reality breaks through
with vivacious sound
color and light

conscious convergences
delicate reserves of infinite truth
the youth is not wasted
by the young
breathe deeper
your life has only begun

arrival and departure
candle lit picnics in
graveyards of forgotten dreams
the cobwebs are ephemeral
and easily defeated

repeated incomplete ideas
eventually materialize into
concrete visions
the prison gates
were never secure
the allure to venture abroad
was never ruled out
tumble forth and
discover
uncover
recover

nourishment in its purest form
reach as high as your vision spans
wanderlust for the
bright side of the moon
the stark luster of
the multifaceted sunset

tender are the
wilting worries of yesterday
the glimmering welcomes
of desire lines
halcyon days precede
wondrous adventures
transcending darkness
lanterns are unneeded
the neurons are aglow

promises of
playful rendezvous with
all species
all personalities
commonalities made apparent immediately

your mind wastes no time
reality proves
the clock is irrelevant regardless

keep your guard down
you'll be delighted to find
that you're already home
you're already found

"It ain't easy being green."
It ain't easy being the wrong
Type of guy to be.
But I laugh in the face of the
People who strive to take the love
Of self away from me.
I am multifaceted,
A harpist, poet, artist, a Christian.
An engineer, dancer, dreamer of fantastic,
Writer, fiction nerd, a fighting man.
A Black man, mixed with Irish and Cuban.
And I refuse to give up my beliefs,
I'm different, odd and flamboyant. Peculiarities I protect with tenacity.
No it ain't easy being green.
But better to strive being me.