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Tommy Johnson Dec 2013
You can hear the voices of our peers being silenced, ignored, shunned and distorted.
Staggering out of their bedroom doorways to the street corner to score a dime bag.
Bright, insightful millennials freezing in search of warmth from something to believe in that will encourage them to look forward to see another day.
Where our economy has made financial prudence clear when talking about education, yet price tags of university tuition's skyrocket.
The refused, the ones with hope but no money or scholarships; tread the streets with the echoes of electro house pulsing in their skulls.
Those who strip themselves down and shred their own morals to scraps just to find themselves and to see their own limitations.
Searching for answers to the unknown, to ascertain what they are, who they are and why.
Timid in high school, pushed along with nothing and no one to put their creative vigor into.
The squeakiest wheels that were never even considered to be given a good greasing.
Faculties giving them lethargic hellos on the first day of school, bestowing celebrated goodbyes to them on graduation day, diplomas in hand.
Now are the ones slumped over in a lackadaisical position contemplating how they can afford an education.
They work eight to ten at seven twenty five an hour Monday to Friday; and weekends staying in as not to blow their earnings.
Those who commute to university and balance a job with it, I applaud you.
The bewilderment of adulthood, the overabundance of pressure and responsibility.
Awakened from nightmares of lost opportunities, missed trains and lost contacts.
To step out of bed and splash water onto a severely distressed face and staring into a mirror with a despairing look.
Then hoping a bus to Garfield to bring back weight for all the embryonic smokers not yet at the point of make or break, just save up enough to pave my own way.
Gazing at the town on a roof top, chugging down the tenth…no…twelfth beer of the night wondering how this all happened.
Wild sensations of kissing an attractive stranger, the rush of touching on things never felt, tasting pleasures only the lucky have known.
The passionate, yet dissolute yearning for that ever eluding ******* adrenaline. Pounding, Pounding, Pounding until the culmination of energy has come.
Flip sided to those dizzying, tear jerking thoughts of suicide, annihilation of ones being, the contradictions of their faith in themselves and the people around them.
Unexplainable waves of anxiety crashing onto the shore of a diminutive island of optimism
Striving to look past the panic, the gloominess and fury that may or may not be present. But to remain composed and press forward to what awaits them.
Coffee keeps them going. Cup after cup, late night cramming every bit they can; into their caffeine driven psyches until the indisputable crash and failure.
Packs and packs of menthol cigarettes to calm their rattling nerves but at the same time killing them slowly. Their lives will seem shorter than the time it took to finish one bogey when death is near.
Marijuana induced ventures to run down burger shacks, laughing hysterical in the car ride, eyes heavy with a most ridiculous elastic grin extending from ear to ear. While inside millions of thoughts and realizations of consciously simple speculations and troubles become clear and unproblematic. So the joy is mirrored outside in.
LSD trips in Petruska dancing and singing in the rain! Making music, making love; playing pretend and creating art. Becoming a family while kicking back under the warmth of an illuminated tree on a cool fall night.
MDMA streaming through the body, everything is as it should be
Beautiful, lovely to touch, wondrous to stroke, marvelous to move.
To contact and connect, converse and converge with the dwelling desire to share what you feel with everyone for it would be selfish and unpleasant to keep it in.
Mushrooms oh the emotional overflow I need not say more but ****.
Then there are over the counter candies, Oxycontin, ******, Adderall and Xanax, painkillers and antidepressants. Ups, downs, side ways and backwards.
Selling addiction and dependency legally to kids. Making heroine, ******* and speed easily obtainable to them. Changing the names and giving out prescriptions so the parents can feel like they're actually helping their children but are subconsciously making it easier on themselves because they cannot handle the way their offsprings actually are. Some parents a feel it is the only way, I wish it wasn't so. Becoming zombies, mindless addicts before they even start to mature into puberty. I've seen it, firsthand front row.
Oh, the monotonous, mundane rituals and agendas of our lives. School, work, sleep eat, the sluggish schedules and repetitions of yesterday's conversations and redundancy of itineraries we had plotted months prior.
Same people, the constant faces of boredom that groan in apathy and hold the fear of complacency.
We talk about how hum drum out lives have become and what we could to put some color in our world but don’t.
We speak of how unfair the system is but ultimately confuse ourselves and everyone else due to lack or organization and dedication so nothing is changed.
We speak of breath taking women we want to share ****** fantasies with but can’t even muster enough courage to send a trivial friend request.
Texting away for hours trying to court those who now occupy our minds and possess our hearts hoping they may allow us to acquire their attention and affection. Calling them only to receive futile dial tones and know we are being evaded.
Weeping on and on for seemingly endless time frames of a dilapidated relationship that was so strained that a miniscule breeze could cause it to collapse but still clinging to every memory as if they were vital hieroglyphics depicting your very essence.
Brilliant theories blurted out in a drunken stupor.
Ingenious hypothesis shrouded in marijuana smoked out room.
Remembrance of friends long gone.
The marines, the navy.
The casualties of drug addiction.
The conquerors or their afflictions.
The scholars.
The insane locked away on the flight deck never to be seen again.
Teenage mothers unsure of themselves, abandoned by their families for they believe that they brought fictional shame upon the family’s name. The fate of the child is unclear but the mother’s everlasting love shines through any obscurities in its way.
Dear mother of the new born winter’s moon may the aura of life protect you and your baby.
The father gone without a trace.
He will never know his daughter.
And it will haunt him forever.
Parents bringing up their kids with values and morals, The Holy Bible, mantras and meditation, the Holy Quran, The Bhagavad Gita, and Upanishads. Islamic anecdotes and Jewish parables.
The names all different
The message the same
The stories unlike
Goals equivalent
Faith
Kabala, Scientology and Wicca
Amish and Mormons
All separate paths that intertwine and runoff each other then pool into the plateau of eternal life.
But do we have faith in our country, our government?
They do not have faith in us. Cameras on every street corner, FBI agents stalking social media, recordings of our personal lives and police brutality. 4th amendment where have you gone?
We say farewell to Oresko the last veteran of the last great war. And revisit the Arab spring, Al-Assad’s soldiers opening fire on innocent protesters, one hundred fifteen thousand lay dead. Bin laden dead, Hussein hanged, Gaddafi receiving every ounce of his comeuppance. War, terrorism, the fear of being attacked or is it an excuse to secure our nation's investments across the sea? Throwing trillions of dollars to keep the ****** machine cranking away, taxes, pensions, credit scores, insurance and annuities all cogs in the convoluted contraptions plight.
My dear friend contemplates this every night laying in bed, fetal position; the anxiety if having to be a part of this.
Falling apart on the inside but on the outside, an Adonis, *******, Casanova wanna be. Who worshiped the almighty dollar, gripping it so tightly until it made change, drank until he had his fill falling face first into the snow. The guy who lead on legions of clueless girls wearing their hearts on their sleeves not knowing he had a girlfriend the entire time. Arranging secret meetings in hidden gardens, streaking into the early morning. Driving to Ewing in his yellow Mustang to woo a sado masochistic girl. The chains and whips do nothing to him he is already numbed by the thrill. Then he comes home, lays in bed until one, with no job and having people pay for his meals.
He knows what he does and who he is wrong. He recites and regurgitates excuses endlessly. He cries because he knows he is weak, he knows he must fix himself. I sit on the edge of myself with my fingers crossed hoping maybe, maybe he will set himself straight.
My chum who can talk his way out of any confrontation and into a woman’s *******. Multitudes of amorous affairs in backrooms, backseats, front rows of movies theaters. Selfish, boastful and ignorant, yet woman fling themselves at him like catapulted boulders over a medieval battle field just to say hello. These girls blind to see what going on, for their eyes were taken by low self esteem. A need to be accepted, to feel wanted even only for fifteen minutes. Poor self image, daddy issues, anorexic razor blade slicing sirens screaming on about counted calories and social status. Their uncontrollable mental breakdowns and emotional collapse. Their uncles who ***** them, their parents who split up and confusing their definition of love and loyalty for the rest of their lives. Broken homes, domestic abuse and raised voices, sending jolts of fright into the young girl’s fragile minds. I send my sorrows to you ladies, to see such beautiful creatures suffer then be used and thrown away with the ****** that was just ****** deep into their *****.
Then I see women and men of marvelous stature, romantic in the streets holding everyone and everything in high regards. Finding beauty in anything and anyone. Enjoying every second as if the rapture was over head eating exotic foods from unheard of countries and cultures. Bouncing to the sound of whimsical , reverb ricochets and sense stimulating music. Huffing inspiration to create something out of thin air. Dancing to retired jazz and swing albums as if no time had past since their conception. Wearing bold colors and patterns, thrifty leather shoes or suede.
Dawning pre-owned blazers because why spend hundreds of dollars on new clothes just to look good but feel uncomfortable with a hole in your pocket. Dressing up but dressing down, so class yet urban I love it, chinos, pea coats and flannels so simple but chic.
At night they go to underground dens, sweaty bodies, loud music and freedom. Expressive manifestations glowing fueled with MDMA and other substances to further their enjoyment of the dark glorious occasion. Kandi kids sporting colorful bracelets, not watches for time is of no concern to them, they have all eternity they know that.
Going to book stores, coffee shops just to have some peace of mind and a moment of silence to themselves so that can weave the tapestry of imaginative innovation. Writing their own versions of the same story, endless doors of perception, reading news papers and taking it with a grain of salt. Watching the news on TV with a hand full of salt. Searching for the real story so they can know if the world they all live in is actually safe.
She who made her own way breaking hearts, rolling blunts and making deals. The flower child of the modern age, left the rainy days in search of radiant sunshine, idealistic. Reality was subjective, purple dyed hair, multicolored sweater with sandals on her feet. A ten inch bowl with bud from California packed in tightly. Coming from Dumont to Bergenfeild then on to Philly to Mount Vernon. Off to Astoria and the Heights. Now to Sweden laying in the grassy plains below the mountains. Good for you my friend whom I have loved, may fortunes of unsullied joy come to you and all you meet.
Since you’ve left I have encountered drunken burly firemen just trying to have a good time. Pounding down Pabst Blue Ribbon as if it were water; as if it were good tasting beer. But heroes none the less.
EMT's, young eighteen years old high school graduates, saving lives reviving people who are a mere inch close to death.
Sport stars getting scholarships thanks to their superior skills and strength.
Striking beauty school students who are into making the people of this world a little bit more beautiful on the outside.
All these people, successful, doing things. Departing to their desired destinations. I see inside them, they carry baggage, loneliness and insecurities. I can feel their guilt slowing them down. All have their loads but it’s the way they carry them that shows who they really are. And to me their all gems.
Not far in Paterson I watch the junkies limping across busy winding street, perusing a severely needed fix. “Diesel!” they shout beneath flickering streetlights, asking for spare change and if bold enough a ride to some shady sketchy place. I give them a dollar and politely decline. They’ll die without it. Vomiting up bile and blood, twitches and shivers are all you feel when it’s not in you. They cannot stop, they need help. Why not help them instead of “assisting” those who are homosexual? Cleansing so they can be granted entry to the kingdom of God. Looking down on people who have found love and understanding and a deep attraction to others who just so happen to share alike genitals.
Narrow minded uproars about the spread of AIDS, nonsense! The puritanical onslaught of those who want nothing more than the rest of us, love. "Gay", "****", "******", "queer", how about "kind", "funny", "genuine human being"? The right to be married and divorced should be an option for everyone to enjoy. The strains and hardships of matrimony are yours if you want them. If you don’t agree don’t hate or harm just allow them to be peacefully. Same goes for anything for that matter, Jehovah's going door to door, Mormons from Burbank. New ideas are never a bad thing, they’re not a waste of time. On average you have about eighty years to mull over your options.
Some people don’t live long enough to do so, cancer is rampant, blood diseases, ****** diseases, natural disasters coming right out of left field and blindsiding the innocent bystanders of both hemispheres. Some go through life handicapped, autism is apparent these days. Schizophrenia, Asperburgers, ADD and ADHD. Some lose their golden memories of their many valuable years walking down Alzheimer's Lane, not being able to remember whatever transpired only a few moments ago but revisiting gold nuggets from from fifty-some-odd years ago with ease. Some go through life delusional or bipolar. Some can't even sleep at night but they still carry on. And if assistance is needed it is our job as a race to help our brothers and sisters, no one deserves to be excluded from the gala of life. Or be denied by society and pumped with brightly colored pills from doctors promising a cure but prescribing a crutch.
Finding solace in sincerity.
The serendipity of it all hasn’t been uncovered and that keeps me going.
“Radiate boundless love towards the entire world above, below and across. Unhindered without ill will without enmity.” Oh Buddha the truth as it ever was.
Who is he who keeps these thoughts from the conscious minds of the population?
Who is it that distracts us from the humbling beauty and overwhelming devastation of this place of existence we’re in?
It’s they who do under the table parlor trick behind our backs.
Those who broadcast mind numbing so called reality TV shows without an underlying value or meaning.
Those who produce music, proclaiming extravagance to be the end all be all gluttonous goal we all should aim to achieve.
And those who turn noble causes into money making scams and defile pure ideas.
And of course those who give false promises of easily obtained  bright futures, those who don’t care, those who steal, ****, curse, bad mouth and lie. But still manage to get elected into positions that more or less decide out fates. Monsters, demons, banshees howling inconsequential worries and leaving us deaf to hear the real issues.
The
Olga Valerevna Sep 2012
Everybody here is just the same
Looking for a way to play this game
Trying to perpetuate their name
Daft inside, appearing to be tame

Splitting at the seam of their own hands
Becoming slaves to all of their demands
It seems as though everyone here stands
But unveiled minds reveal the distant lands

If I speak out, they won't hear anything
So underneath a whisper I will sing
The notes, I hope, may offer them a string
And carry on the tune I wish to bring

My eyes begin to close like heavy gates
I fall into a slumber with their fates
And as I travel on my dream creates
A being juxtaposed against its *hates
— for the American Mustang



Strung up on one leg, bled dry while alive,
unloaded off trailers crammed full
of the crippled and blind —mares
giving birth on three legs, foals trampled
by stallions, and a wave of fear
hovering over tossing manes
like the sea after Moby **** surfaced
for the first time. Last year,

135,000 horses died —

rounded up in hundreds and sent
off to slaughter like feeder goldfish,
three stops from Canada
or Cabo, displaced from plains
once revered for their livelihood.

In 1969, Vonnegut
wrote, “And so it goes…”

In 2061, our children will ask about the wild
horses who used to live in their backyards
as they catch the last fireflies and bottle
them up in jars, flickering and dying
like tired bulbs giving up on electricity —

2015 sees Henderson, Nevada grasses paying tribute
to power-plant-lines and a suburb built
on Tralfamadore fiction: house-mounds
and picket fences caging domesticated dogs,
curb-lined streets and caution signs, billboard
warnings of humanity’s fixation with progression,
combined like coffee with an overabundance
of half-and-half and too much sugar — only 99 cents
at Dunkin down a little ways, and home
to the dreamers who forget the word freedom.
Olivia Kent Oct 2015
Venom be spat from the tongue that blinds.
Twixt the lovers.
Whose hearts, no longer entwined.
Words tied and tangled.
Twisted and lost.
Love becomes mangled.
Crumbled to dust.

No words dare be spoken.
The lovers that were.
Invoked the monster of Lady Medusa.
Screeching siren.
Lady's on fire.
Don't dare put her out.

Her eyes surely saved for you.
Muted sounds.
Exploding fear.
Hearing her dear.
Utters last squeak.
Unable to speak.
Bit his own tongue.
As she turns him to stone.
With eyes that don't see.
(c)LIVVI








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Olivia Kent

9 hrs · Daily Mail Online ·



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I rarely use Costa, I will be working back at Winchester hospital shortly.
I will use their canteen, the food is generally very nice x














Revealed: The squalor inside Costa coffee shops

A total of 23 Costas got two or less stars in their most recent inspections, including a hospital branch which had paninis at risk of contamination with bacteria which can cause paralysis and death.



dailymail.co.uk



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‎مستر صلاح السعيطي‎ likes this.
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Olivia Kent







Olivia Kent Ward , starting Monday x

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Philip McCarthy







Philip McCarthy Good luck with the job Olivia, But Im a bit of a coffee freak but will never use Costa it alwaysgives me bad guts ache afterwards.

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Olivia Kent







Olivia Kent Thank you Philip **

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Philip McCarthy







Philip McCarthy Hey I'm at the Cafe Reflections for the first time. It's good here x Photos to follow

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Karen Wilmott
Kagey Sage Jan 2022
I went from the "overabundance of life"
to a knight of resignation
I'm back to cheap pilsners
local Genny's, union made
Sometimes a Three Heads
when I want to get plowed
I'm trying to refine myself
into a thoughtless identity
so I may taste life again,
make music again
Did I do it all in
the grapes of my youth?
I guess I need a sommelier
for my heart cause
all I taste is river rock
where there was once native berries
and rare spices
Sparks that charmed
The dazzle of a demon
that could cover their faults
You dine or drink with thee
and you're stuck in the Fae
I'm the only one that hasn't stayed
Amy Borton Nov 2018
Impulsivity, I am hopelessly in love with you.

Buy the shoes.
Ditch school.

Kiss her.

Drive 30 minutes
for french fries

Kiss him.

Buy 18 pet snails.
Eat the octopus tacos.

In acting class they told me
to follow my impulses.
At home they told me not to.

A blessing and a curse
might land me in a hearse
But I’m living

Today I wrote a letter to someone I love and I’m going to send it

Tomorrow I might stay home and cook pasta,
or maybe I’ll drive to Portland.
Pack only a few T-shirts and my terrifying
overabundance of freedom

Are you proud?

I’ve been told not to be so impulsive.
To think more rationally.
To weigh the consequences.
“You’ll regret it!”

But the greatest regret I’ve ever felt
is having not done anything
about something that is my everything.

I know I’m not an idiot.

I’ve told myself this for years and I’ll stick to it,
but there will never be a day
when my mind defeats my gut.
Sometimes it means I’m

irresponsible.
Unpredictable.
Messy.
Slutty.

“Who are you anyway?”

I have a secret
-I don’t know who I am

And if I’m lucky, I never will.

You, my impulsivity, are to blame and to thank for that.
Yue Wang Yitkbel Oct 2019
‘The Problem to be explored: The Problem of Abundance:’


Nothing lasts anymore, nothing seems meaningful anymore, nothing feels wanted anymore,

Except for the already lost and gone, and can’t be retrieved.

It seems everything is given without being asked for.

You’ll only notice something when it's not there:


Perhaps:


“My cup must be empty once again in order to receive.”


I have suddenly forgotten where I have just heard

This being said in a prayer but I think it is the key, the answer

To the needless and senseless suffering of our herd

But, its truth stuck with me, and I too wonder


I too think I must be silent again to allow the singing once more

I too think I must become the void to welcome the replenishing wave

Of excitement

Of the need to climb while weighed down by life’s

Various impossibilities, and mystery

And not float thus, away

Fallen to the what Milan Kundera

Described perfectly in his title:

“The Unbearable Lightness of Being”


Our cup runneth over, and we are left to wander

With the grains of time, and consciousness

Escaping through our desperate fingers

As we rush towards a mirage of permanence

While scorching our feet on the sand and deserts  

Burnt by an ever more present sun

And the tedium of golden overabundance


Ancient wisdom dictates that:


“What is useful is not the cup,

But the void that’s ready to receive

The already full need no more

And its further worth deceives”


“Reunion of too long must not last

Separation is inevitable

Separation will always be short-lived

Reunion is unavoidable”


Now, that’s some wisdom to heed

The Union of Lovers will need




‘The Problem of Too Much Goodness’




We are always questioning the Problem of Evil

While too few words lend to the Terror of Good


Everything is living longer and longer

Yet

Everything is dying quicker and quicker


It really is “the best of times”

It really is “the worst of times”

While

Our flesh savours a never before longevity

Our soul is aging rapidly at an alarming rate


This is A Tale of Two Realities:


Where Time is both a child

With an almost non-existent attention span

And the world its vast endless sandbox

A toy is too quickly loved and so immediately

Discarded

Where Time is also senile

With an almost non-existent memory reserve

With the ancient past constantly retold in nostalgia

And the immediate events of rapid currents

Dissipated


There are still so much hunger and terror in

The modern world

Of course, the well-fed, warless, and unmarked

are being overlooked


But there is a hidden, yet imminent gloom

A spectre hanging above the peaceful and full:




‘The Problem of the Need to be Desired’




We are beings made with one innate desire

To climb, to reach a height ever higher

And one day

Above all


Throughout history,

There has always been way too much

Obstacles

For the mass to reach the summit

And now,

It seems that the summit itself is built

By a stack of the masses

So many of us are great

That none of us is great

Therefore, so quickly forgotten

And replaced by others in

Time


Speaking of time,

Or rather, our conscious

Awareness of change

It seems to be overused,

Weary and

DYING

As a dying old man in mind

Resembles a stubborn child

Our Collective Temporal Consciousness

Is thus

So forgetful like a senile being

And

Losing interest so quickly like an infant


Our cup, our mind is so full

That not only our flesh has become

That of gluttons complaining the

Blandness of an abundance of food

Our soul is also yearning for the

Quiet performance and desirability

Only a lack of supply could supply


So, in effect, GOODNESS

Or WELLNESS

Have somehow oversupplied

Itself till

It is almost worthless to

Some



What is there to reach

If so many have already found

The Summit of Everything?

That we are among the masses

Again?

And, what about those that have

Risen above THE MASS

So early in their life

That to them, there is only space

To fall?


In the past,

We were all so close to the pit

The Pit of Darkness

The Pit of Death

In our climb

That we hold on to every branch

For dear life

No matter how many stones

Fall on us

We look down upon the void

And the black

Abyss

And will always

Sink our nails deeper

Into the earth

Just to stay alive

And still,

To no avail

So quickly,

We all fall

To pitied, and

Dearly treasured and mourned

Demise


And,

Now,

For the hurt

And the healed

And the unmarked

Life marches on mercilessly

Indifferent to us

The bodies crawling and crouching

Upon the desert of abundance

Row upon row

Chased by the sandstorm

That will soon catch up to us

And sweep over all


Where will it take us,

And what before then?


What would cure and stop

This perpetual climb that will

Always place those on top

At the bottom of this crushing hill




The Possible Solutions:




‘How will we quench the thirst of Height?’


We did not witness THE BIRTH OF TIME

We cannot halt THE AGING OF TIME

We cannot know what comes after

THE DEATH OF TIME

But we desperately need a constant climb


Here, we see the Gates to Two Routes


One leading towards the Tangible

Garden of Men

One leading towards the Unseeable

Temple of Worship


There is no right or wrong way to either

However, how you spend your time

Within each

Will determine your plight during  

The time before the True Flight


Pace yourself in your walk through

The Garden of Men

Though there is an abundance of fruits

You must calculate and ration

Your own sustainable share of

Good and Evil

Enjoyment and Suffering

So you don’t exhaust the reserve

Or become weary till nausea

Of the sweetness of being


If you must seek to rise up above all

Your climb must be timed till the very end

Where you will never be crushed by the fall

On the Rota Fortunae, before you inevitably land


The Supply and Demand of Good and Evil

Must be balanced even if by the hands of men

Lest the world turn to well-rested upheaval

When even gold is as abundant as sand


Then, there is the Pave to the Promised Land

Where lost souls of ****** hunger find

Their means to an end, their helping hand

Where fulfilled bodies of lost souls and minds

Pleads to have their invisible suffering end


I used to think that Grace lives in humility

But I see even the Truth appeals to the nature,

Foolish frailty and vanity of all women and men

How do you tell the beings of imminent demises

That this earthly supply and demand of status

Is worthless in the end in a paradise without ends

Where there is no fall for a fear to plummet and land

But to say the weakest of earth

Must be the strongest of heavens

The least of the timely and impermanent possessions

Will be the most in the place after the ultimate ascension


Not to imprison our desire for greatness

But to set it free and follow the lofty dove and olive branch

Knowing that the great height is achieved by humility

To take the fall and suffering and rise in the Eternal Land




Conclusion:




The painful truth is,

And truth must hurt through the bones,

And ache seasonally to not be forgotten

There must be a Supply and Demand of Good and Evil

By our humble minds or divine hands

For honesty to be wanted, and prized

And not worthless like the ocean sand

Lest we become weary of virtue and crave for its end


There are solutions for all,

For those who put faith in life

And

For those who put faith in an afterlife


Simply, though,

It is ever difficult

Just to pace your climb

Either to reach the summit at the end of your life

Or just to leave the height to the ever lofty place without time.

Where you’ll never fall to a late demise

And be crushed by the Rota Fortunae

Where even the stars would envy

The brilliance of your

Light
Another stream of consciousness that poured itself out of my unkempt mind. I started with a very vague idea and the title and thesis only came in the midst of this essay, or trial of thought. It is again, pages long. And special thanks to Lawrence Hall to help me proofread this mess of my mind.

I think my mind is finally taking a break from forming words, phrases, and sentences, and I for once, welcome this quietness, thought I always fear my silence, fearing I'll never write again.
---
The Supply and Demand of Good and Evil
By: Yitkbel Yue Xing ****
Monday, October 14, 2019, Canadian Thanksgiving
15:03-17:22(Finished Writing First Draft)
Ian Cairns Feb 2014
It was a Wednesday
The September weather impersonated summertime shine
But my eyes were barbed wire to the shimmer
Twisted and tied shut to the summer
Refusing to adjust to the glow
I entered that classroom alone
An intruder
I thought we were all intruders there
Social Work 1140- Minority Perspectives
Peacefully confined to the classroom blackboard
Caged up reality for protected heads to understand
We all sat situated in straight lines
Staring at chalk too bright to comprehend
Silent minds creating the kind of noiselessness only known to tiptoe
We all tiptoed there
Wiggled into tiny seats small enough for suffering
Yet large enough for complacency
The pseudo-summer heat peaking through the curtains
Draped over certain advantages we dare not speak
We all closed our eyes in unison
Wondered when the suffering began
Wondered when the wondering would end
Avoiding chalkboard glares and awkward eye contact
But the chalkboard glares started staring contests
And the eye contact was too awkward to ignore now
I was a sophomore
I wore freight train headlights
I was a trojan warhorse in broad daylight
I was an intruder there

My professor excused our intruderness upon her entrance
Transforming foolishness to fuel the mood
She must be an intruder too
It was noon
And this room of undercover drummers
Marching to different tunes was nothing new for her
She saw the truth in us
Stared the vulnerability away
Spread sunlight sanctuaries through our brains
Our eyes no longer wandering through oblivion
Wondering when the wondering would end
It all began when she said
I think it's time we all open our eyes
We looked confused
Eyes expanding to bite size balloons
Placing helium time bombs at the foot of her news
I stared at the fuse
And she stared at our staring daring us to make the next move
But we refused
Cause it was barely noon
And that's too soon for collective movements
No time for any inch of improvement
We all refused to move
Thankfully she resumed
I want you to look around this room
And understand one thing
Your story is the only proof you bring here
The only sword you swing here
And this is no home for fresh bruises
We are all safe in this room


I sat there in silence
I've always been an overabundance of riches
A treasure chest filled to the brim
But in this moment my gold is good for nothing
My sword is null and void
Skull and crossbones to understanding
My Excalibur belongs permanently stuck in stone
I never opened my eyes that way before
Only saw what I assumed was true
My once royal empire collapsed around my desk
Tears dropped like fallen gemstones crashing the class discussion
I sat there in silence
I sat there alone
Refused to tell my story
Refused to feel so low
It's a tough pill to swallow
Acknowledging you have lived with privilege your entire life
So I sit here in silence
Choking on my silver spoon
Looking for the way to say
I don't want to be an intruder anymore
KG Dec 2022
Tears tear upon my ears and ring with distance resounding now
Two years.
5 days hence your 36, and I've done much to move on.
Burned the bridge with greek fire, slashed tires and bombs. The blaze I burned a pittance compared to the fire raging an inscription upon my soul.
Oh how I've learned my capacity for destruction, exhausting my ambition to scupt my sephiroth by the injustice of it all.
The pain. Would never leave. Couldn't. Shouldn't. Would not. Yet waned with each severed thread held in place by that pact. Trickling like a trickster.
I feel as If the widower now, black against even abysmal shadows, drowned out by thoughts of quicker deaths than one sought out by my shallow cuts & hours drunk to numb this, my greatest loss. Lost for words I stumbled deeper in the mines of hades, time changing by months or days.
What kills a man can be any overabundance, but you killed my spirit. It was I who offered the sacrifice. stupidly, but you I name liar. The deal was not kept, could never be, yet after dying deaths daily, my weeping heart wept, hated and forgot hailing new depths forsaken each breath taken away from me vying to make this make sense.
I'm done.
I want it back.
I want the fuel to live life unkempt and uncertain, laughing at the impossibilities lorded over those too weak to withstand the pressure and my rebelious will to keep fighting fate.
It's not too late, still I feel I've aged a decade in 2 years
Only now, waking to see the sweet nap given to me as punishment for lying under the timeless tree.
haunted no longer
By the visions of a
Wraith.
Mike Bergeron Nov 2011
This act
Just keeps
Wearing me out
Like I’m an evening
Dress and
Each day is a
Different dinner
So I guess I’ll
Keep watching
My patience
Grow thinner
Along with your
Waist.

It’s a short walk,
But still I dread
The trek
Each time
I make it
I expect
I’ll keep following
These same tracks
Until my feet
Wear away
And the tips
Of my tibias
Are concrete
Splinters,
But I don’t mind
Finding out
How many winters
This doubt can last,
It’s all a game,
Just catch and pass
You’re thrown
A bone

Or driven past
As you wave your thumb
Under the overpass
Trying to get home
For the birth of your child
At Woman and Infants
But RIPTA has ******
Service, so you might
Miss it,
But that’s ok,
We all miss things
We never had
And we all wish
To never be sad
But the reality is
Reality’s a fad,
A passing craze
Of the human brain
That hasn’t evolved
To see past the rain
And realize that it
Isn’t falling
Every time we get wet,
The future is calling
But we will always forget
To pick up the phone,
Cuz we’d rather forfeit
Nirvana to sit alone
Playing with an app
That makes a cartoon cat
Play the trombone,

Technology can lead us
Out of the realm of the blind
If only we could find
A way to slow
Our swift decline
Into the self assigned
Ceasing
Of
Creativity
And
Assanine
Overabundance
Of avoidable
Stupidity.
Iphone 4s.
Cop that ****.
Lips red and moist
Others blue and cold

Eyes bright and smiling
Some veiled and void

Hair long, wavy like silk
More is chopped and feels like straw

Hands soft, caressing
Others lifeless and rough

Ample globes of rose tipped buds hard
These no longer vibrant just overabundance of flesh

Rounded hips, silky thighs,
Dried and withered skin dead

The sweet spot of dew lauden rose petals surrounding a tight wet tunnel
Wrinkled, filmy white substance almost dry, tunnel dysfunctional

Long legs that wrap around hips holding tightly pulling inward
Hairy now, hard from edema, pale blue, weak

The bright eyed *** goddess once sought after day by day
Now listless, lifeless almost, no longer wanted or needed

Each day of desire lived to the fullest
Once forgotten each day added more darkness

The **** siren with a voice of velvet honey
No longer speaks not even a spark in the eyes

A past lover arrives it has been years
Tear flows down his cheek at what has become of her

She doens't know it though
Gave up long ago
No one came by or even sent a card of hello
Mind stopped dreaming
Stopped thinking
Let go of life day by day
Body followed some thought it had to be slow
Yet it was not
Her Soul died first
Once that was gone the rest was easy
Written by Jennifer Humphrey all rights reserved
deanena tierney Jun 2010
Be my guide, direct my path, as I blindly *****.
Make pure my actions and encompass the whole.
Simplify what the false rights have turned twisted.
Decipher what was given from what I have stole.

Turn me to embrace an unknown angle,
I make this plea from your higher power.
For many a year has passed away, wasted,
And my minutes hastily become their hour.

Bequeath to me a faith with no evidence,
To nurse my heart and my head in kind.
Remove the falacy of presumed knowledge,
Feed my eternal soul, not my feeble mind.

And, if your will, unveil to my neglected eye,
Your drawn line between pleasure and pain.
A clearer sense of reason, but yet also of heart,
Revealing certain, a great loss; a great gain.

Expose to me, please, your most preferred slant,
And beam the light that once formerly shown.
Temper my decision, Lord, and return me to where,
The choice was not mine, and not mine alone.

For wit, time exposed, as a false friend.
Who has failed me, time and then time again.
And led me here, to where I am now lost,
Blind and resentful of what should have been.

Overabundance turns the wise into fools,
Though the complex may shrug off the grief.
As time passes on, lightheartedness void,
Sole wisdom's been proven a thief.

Lift off the burden, the weight, and the fear,
Of holding my destiny within my hands.
I have found it a burden too heavy to bear,
And I ask to be moved - not to understand.
"Yet not my will, but yours be done." Luke 22:42
Francisco DH Jan 2015
Characters: Speaker, Real Estate Agent

Setting: A house for sale

The real estate agent has shown the kitchen and now enters the main bedroom and begins to explain the latest modifications. The speaker is not at the moment aware of the agent’s speech. Instead the speaker’s attention is caught by the closet which is opened.

Speaker: (Interrupting the agent)
You know, save for the musky odor
And dust collecting on the top shelf,
The closet, back in my mom’s house
The one in what was my room,
Is bare.
I always strained to keep the door shut
With all of my belongings pressing ‘gainst it.
Its bare now.
No trace of what once resided in there.
Just bare.

Real Estate Agent: Well, this closet is the biggest in the house so there is no need to worry about an overabundance of belongings.

Speaker: (Smiles)
It might be hard to believe
But I longer need
A closet.
martin murray May 2014
In My Hat At School I Played Had
When I Was Bad Got A Slap On The Hand
So Glad To Have A Friend Named Brad
We Read My Mag In My Best Bag

School Milk In The Morning Was A Thrill
Share Lunch With My Friend Bill
Wobbly Jelly Dessert Was Swell
Lunch Is Over After The Prefects Bell

At The Back Of The Class
Behind The Teachers Glance
Paper Planes In Overabundance
Dissipate By The Chairs Rance
i was a good kid at school and so were you......
v V v Jan 2011
Your overabundance of meaningless words
are scattered around me like fluttering bugs,
they're wearing me out with their badgering buzz
and making me sick of forever with you.
Anton Jan 2018
Just wanted to go someplace where no one knows my name. I wanna go there alone but not lonely.

Why do I feel so lonely sometimes Even when surrounded by a lot of people?

Why cant this feeling of Emptiness just go away?

Let me forget Everything, the things I know , My Identity, all the problems , and Unwind from it completely.

Help Me Unravel My whole life to find My true self.
Grant My Mind Tranquility amidst everything that's going on in my life.

Make me see my problems as a new Opportunity.
Make me Become useful to my family and not a Hindrance

Help us become prosperous someday, so that my family wont need to face more hardships in life

Give them profusion not scarcity.

Sometimes I envy those who have overabundance in everything, I encourage myself not to but just cant help it sometimes.

I don't fear death I only fear what it prologues.

Why did i write ?
I don't  do it for people to think and assume that I'm smart
Just wanted to say how I really feel deep Inside.

I'm not smart. nope. never in my life.
Never Earned any medals at all.
There's a lot of things I don't Know and still want to learn.

As what Socrates once said,
"I know One thing , That I know nothing"
Stephen Nov 2018
The world is a gaping maw of ignorance
Filled to the brim with hatred,
Intolerance,
Unadulterated bigotry,
And millions of eyes,
Blinded mid-lobotomy,
That self-performed procedure
That protects the subject
From any sudden understandings.
Things are not as they ought to be,
But then things never were
And never will
Be.
The world is the way it is,
And those of us who couldn’t cut into our own calculating core,
Those of us who attempted the task with a torrent of tonics
Instead of hammer and shiv,
Find ourselves wandering through a wasteland of willful
Idiots and bigoted bullies.
Try as we might to open their eyes,
Open their minds,
We fail.
Their eyes are hollow shells and dust.
Their minds are awash with religious rules, rifles, ruination,
Walls, borders, fences,
Imaginary lines drawn everywhere,
Over everything,
And their brains are protected from learning anything new
Or different
By miles of scar tissue and an overabundance of barnacles.
So that leaves the rest of us,
The ones with eyes open, minds primed and wide,
Stuck.
Lost in a world of people who will never understand,
Never let real freedom ring,
Never erase the imaginary lines they drew themselves,
Never accept that everything they believe
Is preposterously perverse.
The more we try to spread the truth,
Attempt to put an end to the primitive procedure of self inflicted
Amentia,
The more they try to stomp us out,
Extinguish our flames,
Burn us to the ground.
But we continue to fight, to bleed, to die.
Sometimes because we still have hope that things can and will
Get better.
But more often than not,
We fight on because it's the only thing that keeps us
From picking up that ice-pick ourselves and becoming
Another one of the mindless masses.
Ashita May 2014
Where are you mon amour?
Where do you lie?
What walls are these
that trap your scented being?
Do your lips not know me
anymore?
Am I no longer your muse?
You loved me.
Remember?

Tell me what you see mon amour,
And I will see them with you
And I will be jealous of the grounds
that you walk on
for they have been touched by
you
Almost like your fingers tucking a lock of
hair behind my ear.
Remember?

I envy the places you have envisioned
for they have the privilege
to stay
in your mind,
and become a part of your life.
Almost like I once was.
Remember?

Speak to me and
my ears be yours;
to hear your heart’s calming
lyre, and the enchantment
cast by your own words.
Almost like the sense of static
on our first kiss.
Our first kiss was truly bliss
Remember?

Come back and be forever mine,
because if poison were to end me now
My heart would rather it be you, mon amour.
You are my vice, but also my guide
along this endless tunnel of darkness
with the apparent ending filled with light.
Almost like that stage I went through.
That moment in life were all my insecurities
spilled over the glass of my life
and I succumbed to the darkness
that befell my soul.
But as my light,
my fallen angel,
You helped me get over.

But we are separated
and these whips of division
slash at my empty yet longing heart,
which was once filled with
an overabundance of your
strokes in my hair,
kisses on my lips,
cups of tea with your scent
mixed in the atmosphere.
Almost like your arms bringing me home,
with my head on your heart and
the lasting sense of belonging.
Remember?
Kathleen Jul 2019
There is this plant on the patio that overgrows itself every once in awhile and dies.
Beautiful flowers, but far too many.
Over-growing without thinking about the consequences.
Four million or so flowers blooming all at once and one little porcelain *** to hold them all.
It came naturally.
Sharice Frieson Jun 2015
Tree of life
Is a profound way of telling the story between good and evil
Life and death
The knowing between the unknowing
The polarities between the forces
Divorces you from the universe
Because of fear
Of the possibilities
That never came into existence
Or experienced
You are no God “they say”
to tell the future so quickly before you try right?
Sacrificed by men then enslaved by mind right?
You fright of the powerful skills you have?
You fear death?
You fear stress?
You fear greed?
You fear wealth?
You fear self?
So you live by sacrificing your self
Since knowledge is thy wealth
Present your presence in the omnipresent of your energetic force that flies invisibly until you can see.
See the light that shines within your forces of energy that centers you to higher self, to thy wealth and beyond.
You find your label of meditation whether sitting, walking, crawling or running
YOU CHOOSE
But you don’t think choice is part of the question.
Vocalize what you want because why not get what you want
People can’t read your mind because they lost too.
Same way you thinking that they can know what you feel, think, turns you on, and what makes you hungry. I’m filling the jar that was once empty.
Accepting those that my spirit allows … For my life lessons, challenges and experiences
Wake up to a salutation that you create, penetrate the forces that drives body to peace.

What the tree of life tells you
The fruit that bears good and evil
That lies in the Garden of Eden
That gave you treasure to bear to
Reach back to your knowing source and what brought YOU into existence.
Seek the old before the new because the old will tell you truth before the enslavement of sacred souls who scrambled the old to the new
Don’t be deceived by the messenger
You hear but seek your own answers not by word of the mouth because it won’t completely help. If the truth is scrambled how can one know how it got scrambled in the first place. When did it start? With the egg or a chicken?
An egg one shouts
but what causes the egg to be the egg before the chicken?
Decide the reach of your complexities.
You make it complicated then it seems.
Balance is the essential for each being because the tree of life is held by both forces that holds the tree up; holds an abundance either up or down.

Heaven or hell.
Conquer both to achieve everlasting peace to be called a beast that people pray to already.
Your leaves are unwinding breaking into limp pieces. Diseased by the chemicals that seep through each water spill.

Don’t catch chills now

Because its been cold.

You just woke up to the temperature change and act up when its hot
Meanwhile the sun is trying to warm the soul
Who were body snatched and hatched to the kingdom of hell, jail, caged up like a hamster running and running til you realize if you can remember
How you got to your situation in the first place?
So take ground to seek heaven and battle the sins because the overabundance of one side could be dangerous as to why they say seek repentance.
Don’t use your words and stumbles against me because I swallow the mumbles that manifest when truth is spoken and make you choke while your tippy toeing away because your broken
And can’t clean up
The glass done got in your skin
So now you *******
Don’t yell and tell someone not to yell when your yelling
wake up! and realize that you doing the same thing the next MAN is doing.
We are made of every pure substance and every pure substance that resides on this earth is you.
The apple you ate is what you chose
So wake up!
and remember self before the attainment of good and evil because that in actuality don’t matter in the waters I’m testing. But its a course you have to take and understand to seek this never-ending career.
Peace and blessings my people!
But I’m not finished
Consider letting the children talk
Their purpose is exploration
So teach and fulfill their lives with liberation
away from cloning them as yourself because you did not liberate yourself or took a stroll into your positives and negatives and may forget your male or female frequencies
The Alpha or the omega.
Yin or yang
Alternate you sessions with self to seek dis-attachment for what blinds you to attaching to the things that causes no miracles out of your problems you are dying off from.
I no longer have my door shut for those who seek peace but seek to learn and not to talk **** without knowing what the **** is made out of.
When in actuality it is made of the **** you eating
The **** that makes you sick and feigning like a crack head
Dying to get another piece of it because you can’t help it
Escape the help because you don’t have time for it
Excuses to the enslavement
Because I do it and did it.
Let’s join and unite because without knowing self we distance our spirit but through guidance we transcend.
Motivate back to love but know hate and what it looks like because you know you found number 7
Or 11:11 because your future is swelling for success and benefits
Remind yourself when you learn why you are here to begin with …
Peace love blessing and immense amount of happiness to everyone who is past present future …
I don’t call people buffoons or dumb if I don’t know what buffoon or dumb look like to man
Truth and honesty everlasting in your spirit.
There’s no surpassing space with your physical.
Learn the bodies forces to compliment the mind
learn, control and center the mind to access spirit
so you can travel along paths beyond your eyes can see.
The colors are more vibrant
Your decision on whether its beautiful, bountiful, wise, intelligent, official, natural, beneficial, abundant with no ambiguity
You know what you know and what you know is what is known and what you don’t know is the needed to be explored to know the unknowing that keeps you asking questions about the unknowing.
Ahmad Cox Jul 2013
Abundance overflowing is our father's for his children. We all have a piece of God in our hearts and souls as we return to the earth to rest our final slumber our father is always with us as we return back to him and return back to his universal love and healing and joy comes from God as he uses his angels to impart his loving kindness with overabundance to all of his children that call his name.
Lee Jan 2013
How exactly does one find themselves in said situation
you didn't say anything about the situation yet
in description,
indisputably
incredible
incredible?
Not in any sense of tradition
Not in any sense that could bring sparkle and innocence to the surface of a child's eyes
Not in any sense immediately apparent to the unobservant man
cut to it *******
Clouds run think in the room
and with ink head to toe
and horns
and swazzies
and clantag black across the chest
and yellowed smokers teeth
golden oils burst hot in desperate lungs.
Relief.
Relief is what they name her
as her remnants drift from grateful mouths
as pale white and soulful as snow in reverse.
What's going on then?
They play a game.
They call it twenty five for missed medicine.
They say if the bell breathes smoke
on calls break the weak,
They hackle happily in a giggling choke.
But I could never participate in these things.
Is it a lack of courage, an overabundance of cowardice?
Its a lack of many things:
lacking history
or will
or wisdom
or faith
or a gut cold and steely enough to handle regurgitation
of my own lungs.
Not many do handle.
As is seen,
when a queen splatters palaces
with spigukums
liquid lowered expectations
only now could they take her seriously.
Do you?
I knew that fate from the start
and that's why I depart
to a cold blue board box
Roll, lick, pack, and light
delight
then again;
Who's to say I didn't enjoy it just as much as they did?
Hal Loyd Denton Nov 2011
The Long Lost Road

Been many places seen the sublime and the harsh realness of our world love’s overabundance then the
Stark night cry of a child lost in the darkness mother had more important plans rivers of pain befall our
Land of plenty many of a home sets in darkness where loved ones have parted the pain lessens but
Never will you be free from gentle tears that slip down your face when friends leave for their love
Brightened homes all that can be done is look to the future where all sorrow will be vanquished turn my
Child into the recesses of those calming streams in daylight or darkness they come when you close
Your eyes against the pain loss struggles weigh heavy and you are carried away by their waves yes the
Road is filled with signs but the mystery lingers baby sister came with the New Year she only stayed
From January to June mother to distraught it fell to others in the family to attend her service what
An Enormity all that room and only the tinniest coffin but it produced much sorrow it seems a lot more
Babies died in the fifties but not to worry life would make up time and claim in great in numbers our
Loved ones in later years you stop at the altered world you try to find the way forward truly the richness
Of the bond runs in the blood at deep streams you find you can step into the canyon the walls block out
The familiar lights that came from their smiles and laughter though the heart beats a somber note the
Spirit Within finds they though faint and light are the same as it was before they filled your life you were
Incomplete and in them wholeness came so much of life is outwardly shallow but when you take
Deliberate Action to walk the lost road you will find less shadows you will find comfort rolled in great
Clouds in this mist that rolls over the hills and valleys loves voice is made clear you are not alone
Merriment underscores your steps truth runs through the depths of high water but here the waves have
The pain and hurt is far removed this is the sacred joining place of both worlds love bridges the torn
Asunder parts of your world you are permitted to bask in all that was perfect and is eternal if the world
Will not allow a vacuum here truth love goes back before your birth and continues for ever forward
When the physical house is dissolved it instantly reveals the indestructible their lies the difficulty you are
Surrounded and shut in by limitations but you can reach this greatness by withdrawing and in the soul
You stand and stretch until these extraordinary heights are yours at least briefly because reality will
Always if not consciously at least sublimely it will occupy this territory.
Anahi Hernandez Jan 2014
It is something that the sky cannot contain.
An overabundance of emotional particles, coming together.
It is a river slowly making its way down the curves of my face
A steady stream gushing through the waterfalls of my tear ducts.
They are waves crashing ashore, retreating then gathering and crashing again.
An unsteady chaos of splashes and unwanted wetness.
It is rain, droplets falling.
Sometimes like slumber sometimes like thunder.
Scarcity has gripped out world
The lack of knowledge, lack of resources, a lack of trust
We hopelessly divide ourselves up
Perfectly portioned for our predators
We scream at injustice
So we may turn away from our own shortcomings
We aim to fix others
And yet we leave our own hearts and minds torn asunder
And for what?
Don't answer that. It's a trap.
Just like that new sale at Nike
Or the newest superhero movie
Because their only commonality:
No Way Home
susan Jul 2015
the ticking of a clock
   becomes unbearable
trying to direct my focus
to something else in the room
a fly buzzing at the window
makes me itchy
      which doesn't help
the    drip    drip    drip
of the faucet
soaks my brain
until i can hear nothing else
   neighbors laughing
          dogs barking
    a cars brakes screeching
the sounds of today
keep my sanity                    in
insanity
too much idleness
an overabundance of time
             alone
brings out the madness
   i am trying to conceal

but at the same time
i yearn for the world
                               to know.
SkinlessFrank Oct 2016
There’s a road sign that
one sometimes passes
on the country roads of Quebec
a child lying still on his side
next to the road

And the words read
“This child could be your own”
though of course
they are written in French

But you’d rather add brine
to an overabundance of peas
peppers and zucchinis
stuff them safely away
in a dark spot
in the kitchen cabinet
in a mason jar and
wait
for the lactic acid tang
to bring out
the pickle

These pickles
are living things
you know
and you can
almost taste them
with their garlic
and dill

But instead
you think about
snake *****
and how it
might smell

The child will be fine you say
he’ll grow up to be an insurance broker
get a divorce at 43
and when he’s eighty-four
his toes will be like gherkins
his nails infected with fungus
and he’ll remember
that day
when he
played dead.
Julian Sep 2020
2 Kings 23:3-5 Version? (I found this by looking up the word Mazzaroth in Wikipedia it was the first reference and it is displayed in 23:5 (the hosts of the heavens and constellations)

3 And the king stood on the platform, and made a covenant before the LORD, to walk after the LORD, and to keep His commandments, and His testimonies, and His statutes, with all his heart, and all his soul, to confirm the words of this covenant that were written in this book; and all the people stood to the covenant.

ד  וַיְצַו הַמֶּלֶךְ אֶת-חִלְקִיָּהוּ הַכֹּהֵן הַגָּדוֹל וְאֶת-כֹּהֲנֵי הַמִּשְׁנֶה, וְאֶת-שֹׁמְרֵי הַסַּף, לְהוֹצִיא מֵהֵיכַל יְהוָה, אֵת כָּל-הַכֵּלִים הָעֲשׂוּיִם לַבַּעַל וְלָאֲשֵׁרָה וּלְכֹל צְבָא הַשָּׁמָיִם; וַיִּשְׂרְפֵם מִחוּץ לִירוּשָׁלִַם, בְּשַׁדְמוֹת קִדְרוֹן, וְנָשָׂא אֶת-עֲפָרָם, בֵּית-אֵל.
4 And the king commanded Hilkiah the high priest, and the priests of the second order, and the keepers of the door, to bring forth out of the temple of the LORD all the vessels that were made for Baal, and for the Asherah, and for all the host of heaven; and he burned them without Jerusalem in the fields of Kidron, and carried the ashes of them unto Beth-el.
ה  וְהִשְׁבִּית אֶת-הַכְּמָרִים, אֲשֶׁר נָתְנוּ מַלְכֵי יְהוּדָה, וַיְקַטֵּר בַּבָּמוֹת בְּעָרֵי יְהוּדָה, וּמְסִבֵּי יְרוּשָׁלִָם; וְאֶת-הַמְקַטְּרִים לַבַּעַל, לַשֶּׁמֶשׁ וְלַיָּרֵחַ וְלַמַּזָּלוֹת, וּלְכֹל, צְבָא הַשָּׁמָיִם.
5 And he put down the idolatrous priests, whom the kings of Judah had ordained to offer in the high places in the cities of Judah, and in the places round about Jerusalem; them also that offered unto Baal, to the sun, and to the moon, and to the constellations, and to all the host of heaven. (Mazzaroth)

First I will refer to Job 38 which is clearly indicative of some guarded celestial truths that might be miscegenated of origins of the life forms that believe in synoecy among the dominions of the covert verdure of Earth reigning over us with silence and silentium with solatium for the soilure of the interregnum of times reigning with pollution and in stern rebuke by God I was reminded subconsciously that Climate Change is a truly evocative Lachrymose experience when encouraged by prayer that was a poignant moment of tears when I meditated on the Carbon Tax I immediately started crying even though I was not saddened by the affair in any other way that was palpable. The staddle of Job talks about specifically the tucked vestiges of the thorny imbroglios of intemperance countermanded by the master stroke of the divine interpretation of lightning which is essentially electricity and the clouds it is referring to are the internet where instantaneous communion can be achieved without exertion the line that struck me the most is the “Clods that cling together” because it is a resonant stroke of Islamic virtues that the ***** clot is the seed of all creation by which all have been created in the fungible image of our variegated creator who is not necessarily janiform of a leviathan of many faces but an experimental disposition of a disembodied figment that can assume any form on heaven or earth to dissemble his true cloaked identity of the original protoplasm of the first anointed civilizations in the long history of the Universe. Knowing the true visage of the first sentient civilization to bow beneath the creator with obsequious devotion in a presumably monolithic world where God’s presence was so obvious it might have actually been the first heaven before there was death and this pays homage to Adam and Eve the firstborn of all creation. The creation story might refer to the first sentient animated civilization in the Universe which sinned and then became a diaspora of a mirrored reality of the realty of heaven and  earth where many variegated snakes and beasts roamed about clamoring for God when they turned the synsematic toasts of revivalism to the newfound creation of sentience with rivalry potentially precluding the salvation of Abel who was murdered by Cain. These stories might be extraterrestrial vestiges of the true lineage of the Almighty God we serve and although controversial as it has been Biblical knowledge that Adam and Eve were humans before being tempted by the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil, it is possible this process was recapitulations of former times and the former protoplasm that precedes all things because the strokes of glory of sentient life was nurtured especially attentively at the beginning of the first civilization of the Universe where God was probably everpresent and ubiquitous and accessible to all creation and it is even possible that this world was the first heaven for the first death before many subsequent deaths of the lineaments of tribes that supplicated beneath divine mercy for adjudication. My theology is that God is attentive to a broad universe of quagmires and in perfection or refinement at the beginning or the crux of history we are a perfectabilism of God’s attentive scrutiny and we master ourselves rapidly enough so that God doesn’t intervene as often as some might hope but many people don’t understand the time frame of God’s everlasting perspective. So it is potential that the first habitable world in the universe became the utopia of extensive cosseted scrutiny that became the prototype for Heaven that eventually alighted into a cosmic if segregated fraternity of the chosen for the cubic metropolis or the gardens beneath which rivers flow. God can assume any form and he chose the pulchritude of humans to issue a strong statement about the verdure of our plenipotentiary potential perhaps replicated often with minor mirrors of dimpled design throughout the cosmos as it is likely that another civilization which resembles humans in DNA with almost exact precision currently exists and is civilized by advanced life at this current time and that we exist in a multiverse unbounded by the enumeration of infinity. God pays scrutiny to those civilizations that repent and many are saved by the salvation of their orbific longings but it is also possible there exists an operative design of cacotopias that don’t know God but relish prosperity or have derelicted the possibility of God for too long because of either extreme asperity or abundant warmth of luxury. Remember the universe is infinitely vast so the likelihood that God is fungible is possible but not yet confirmed because if other alien civilizations exist that yet know God because of Jesus of Nazareth they are reproved by the divinity of interposition of reality in its mercurial ways conforming to the grand design of perfectabilism and God has operated throughout humanity for thousands of years why now have we reached the pinnacle for repentant absolution? We bend towards the synclastic light of the culminated alien fascination with our pulchritude despite their dearth and they are attentive to God because of Jesus of Nazareth and subsidiary to that Muhammad or potentially the deities of the Egyptians which might be defalcated concepts of the alien version of a pancosmism that is mysticated on the rarefied commentary of the strictures of polytheism that might populate some regions of the universe. The absolute truth in the One God we serve is that human understanding cannot enumerate his truths without understanding its distance and segregation from other worlds as we fight the suffrage of old age to propitiate the longing for tranquility. This is all tethered speculation but I believe that God is regnant in all affairs and in this vast universe is attentive to all our pleas and the questions of heaven and Earth remain unheeded or distorted by our humane totemic versions of truth that all memorialized the pyramid a sequential convex formulation of a stratified system that reaches its apex in the singularity of the hypethral skies above and is the tenure of the majesty of the esoteric secrets that coshered and ushered societies into great divergence but ultimate found consecration on Mount Moriah with Abram’s sacrifice before he was known as Abraham of his son Isaac that was prevented by Yahweh’s messengers of isangelous repute. The mystery of Adam and Eve might be a recapitulation just as the story of Noah reminds us of the travail of other centuries and other worlds that provide the pathways to divergent creations that are ultimately saved by providence and the rich thickets of allegory throughout the Bible all point to the emergence of transcendental truth which is shepherded by the mysticism of this age and the surrealism of knowing we belong to the elect hive-mind cosmic fraternity built on psychism and titanism. The firmament is testament both to our distance from our cosmic neighbors and also our propinquity to their suffrage and suffering in their beatific but arid realities that are draped with the pangs of loneliness in their excursion to broader realms of conquest and in their wallop of time itself they have opened up the lychgates of Heaven and Earth to provide the provisions for a new understanding of history that is rich with the percurrent themes of a monotheism of a fungible God which took the form of Man as he can take any form he chooses in his aseity of being and his judicious providence to select the Earth as an exuberant exsibilation against glaikery but also a profound victoria for the awakening of humanity to its cosmic identity as a favored species young in years but enriched by celestial guardians that are among isangelous repute because of their decisive roles in human history throughout the Creations of their divergent designs that illuminate the illuminism of the pyramid the elemental form of the ultimate capstone of knowledge with the all-seeing eye of providence encapsulated above all ethereal reckoning. So it was the downfall of the utopias of ignorance by learning knowledge that bequeathed the lineage of mortality itself in the beginning in the form of men and angels both that inhabit our broad universe because in several occasions in my life I felt like I encountered human beings with such clairvoyance that they seemed like agents of God. Noah’s flood might refer to a distant or near civilization that was swamped by a catastrophic event or tsunami much like Atlantis and this predicates Noah and explains the longevity of his estimated lifespan and that of Methuselah who lived 969 years which ironically points to the  Apollo Moon landing in 1969. The fumatoriums of human ignorance can now be micromanaged by a swarm of up to seven alien civilizations but most likely 3-4 of them and they are all attentive to these theories and probably inseminated the Bible to begin with potentially with their own theological understanding of the universe transplanted on a human perspective to shepherd humanity into the answers it so desperately sought but found themselves famished by. So in Job 38 we crouch in our dens looking for the prey of the lioness of civilization that is embattled against itself for entirely internecine reasons. There is some temerity but I believe the theopneustic power of this revelation because I am keen to the attuned universe of the largesse of omnified civilization trouncing over the matter and fettle of instinct but Genesis is integral to understanding every cosmic mystery on Earth and in celestial Realms and is probably the seedy repute of Baal and Molech among other idolatries which severed themselves by heterodoxy of eunuchs and saturnalias too profane to expound because their epicureanism outweighed their pragmatic need for the virtues of the conclamation of heavenly authority manifest clearly on Earth at various times by various prophecies that all point to the Sacrifice at Mount Moriah and notice how God always works through mountains like Mount Horeb/ Sinai to provide his flock with everything they need to know to maintain vital sustenance. Surah 3.86 “How shall Allah guide a people who disbelieved after their belief and had witnessed that the Messenger is true and clear signs had come to them? And Allah does not guide the wrongdoing people.” Surah 3.84 “Say, "We have believed in Allah and in what was revealed to us and what was revealed to Abraham, Ishmael, Isaac, Jacob, and the Descendants, and in what was given to Moses and Jesus and to the prophets from their Lord. We make no distinction between any of them, and we are Muslims [submitting] to Him.". Surah 38.1-9 is mandatory reading even for the scepsis of Christians because it proves how farsighted the aliens that shepherded Muhammad really were and how insightful Muhammad really is and still is as an emissary of heavenly recompense in his guarded palace beneath which rivers flow. Surah 85:3 (853 AM) “And [by] the witness and what is witnessed” Lets return to the central thesis of all kerygma that is synallagamatic with mutual respect to the pillars of all civilization that the meeting ground of the jovial joust of gladiatorial conquest of the yobbery of rookery and the apikoros yordim that emigrated too far into esotericism might marvel that God is ultimately vindicated as an author of a true unfiltered version of a slightly redacted history suited for the auditorium of a universal audience that displays with majesty and power his foresight to tend to the distant constellations that are created by the tentpoles of the sky reaching their apex into the aperture of the allegorical veracity of all culminated creation exultant in its self-affirmations of pride that it might balk at the embellishments of pettifoggery by the kirkbuzzers of superstition and behold the true throne of grace and authority bestowed upon the bailiwick of the living and the dead in what might be a segregated heaven to prevent the pullulation of tribal discord even in omniety with eternity. I hope to witness heaven firsthand in my upcoming seances with the extramundane but first we must expound this troponder. Jews first, Christians second and Muslims third were all alerted to this watershed moment in history with exact knowledge probably encased in the Arc of the Covenant or some other divine artifact that embodies it but sometimes we pale in our pallor of substandard evils that lurk within the recesses and alcoves of our destiny that we forget to prophesy with earnest sincerity about an abiding hope for the forward rather than the froward future. A book that changed my life forever and shattered my worldview and made me obsessed with Earthquake science was 1906: A Crack at the Edge of the World because that quake inspired the Azusa Church Revival movement that lead to the resurgence of proselytism of protestantism of evangelical churches. I highly recommend buying that book on Amazon.com right now it gives you such a harrowing perspective on that Earthquake 114 years to the day that beset Northern California. Revelations 5:11-14 NKJV “11 Then I looked and heard the voice of many angels, numbering thousands upon thousands, and ten thousand times ten thousand. They encircled the throne and the living creatures and the elders. 12 In a loud voice they were saying:
“Worthy is the Lamb, who was slain,
    to receive power and wealth and wisdom and strength
    and honor and glory and praise!”
13 Then I heard every creature in heaven and on earth and under the earth and on the sea, and all that is in them, saying:
“To him who sits on the throne and to the Lamb
    be praise and honor and glory and power,
for ever and ever!”
14 The four living creatures said, “Amen,” and the elders fell down and worshiped.
Genesis 2:1a (reaffirms my theory) NKJV
 Thus the heavens and the earth were completed in all their vast array
I am going to pause to marvel at the significance of that San Francisco Earthquake because that seismotic jolt shaped the destiny of our aborning nation and was the first time-to my knowledge-martial law was declared and they tried to extinguish the fire with dynamite which further spread the conflagration and San Francisco is obviously named after Saint Francis of Assisi who ironically died listening to Psalm 142 which is about the liberation of prisoners on October 3rd 1226 A.D. His name is also ironic in purely terms of cognomen that should not be expounded. Although depaysed from my original brunt I would like to extend the bronteum of theological reckoning to the absolved polity of the renown of gigantopariahs clamoring for vitality in a time of treachery and perfidy because the valiant insurrection of our adventures in decent music is the chavish of many birds to the itinerant hordes of adoration as in some parallax of reality in the realty of a potentially merged heaven compartmentalized into factions there might be an ulterior reckoning of overabundance but instead I propose a segregation of the heavenly realms postulated on the idea that in omniety we will know of many things that will fascinate entire generations of time as the knowledge of the esoteric percolates through the heavens by riometers beyond calculus and calculation that will one day heed these proclamations with a hortatory weight as the assized Epic of Gilgamesh echoes the same percurrent themes as Noah’s Arc including the forty day ultradian rhythm which signifies temptation and also the contrition of God signified by the flocks of the sigillum of the aspergillum of dignity afforded to all who migrate into tethered territory beyond the yokes of ******* to the dengonins which own all the ulterior praises but serenade lesser patrons in this almighty day of wondrous awakening to the cosmogony of the infinite justification of the allegorical heft of herculean prophecy entwined in the rhetoric of the primordial authors of human sociogenesis bound to the covenant of Abraham and his blessed sons Isaac and Ishmael who both deserve glory and honor. The elegance of the mystagogical parlance of the intrepid bravery of partial rogues but never full-fledged knaves impregnates God’s vibrant experiment with flourish that delights him with the zaktengur of individual raconteurship so an adventurism in life might be warranted as long as it is done gingerly and with love as the ultimate cloak of absolution rather than the self-insulated boredom of an impavid disposition of the self-settled sedentary languor of whilded depositions of thanatousia brought into parturition by the midwives to sorrow and tragedy that besets the human family from time to time but the sorrow of mankind is not beyond the bailiwick of God because perfectabilism is in his very nature in the adolescence of creation which can greatly be prolonged by the conservation of our robust intellectual bastions of energy and the sustainable development of a green planet beyond depredation that heeds some minkumpfs with some peremptory guerdon to save the spate of suffering among our animal brethren. I grieve that my profound plumb into the depths of psychism was abbreviated by the pomp of porlocking purpresture but I renege my former glaikery in sustained suspense over selfsame tridents of musical happenstance and with poignant evocation I convoke a solemn remembrance of all those lost to the spates of disaster and the paroxysms of the unpredictable that is now foreseen in time to forestall turgid tragedy and impregnate the world with a ****** of a thirsty new vogue eager to adapt and learn with laureate belletrist of the aubades of the dawning light of absolution granted the the sacred cross and the lives we relish in history that are dedicated in sincere earnest alacrity to become revenants of the new age beating the whiplash of the second death because the former things have passed away in a figurative manner even though there still is death one day the inventive verve of the quizzical nihilism will try to outfox death itself for a hollow memorial to preserved sentience which is a mockery of transhumanism that is a professed modesty of the ultimate vouchsafe of the transmundane but unnecessary because of the real palpable joy of the resurrection inherent to all segues between life and death that we all might embrace our creator with almsgiving and gratitude with patient forbearance for the virtuosos that memorialize a prosperity worth relishing even in the soilure of privation because no soul should grieve in bereavement when there is so much joy inhabiting this gleeful planet that is hardly glad in any way about the dereliction of spite and anteric schadenfreude of sacrilege on a massive scale that should be a blotch of a bodged chantage of evil. As I digest the memorials of the festive but never churlish traditions I marvel at the synclastic bent of amasthenic enlightenment concave towards certainty in a demarche for the diminished efficacy of viruses to scare us into trepidation but with dutiful caution of proactive measures taken in times of exigency and crisis. There is nothing facetious about God’s exigent deliverance in these times of leniency and fasting as the wineskins preserved from the lineage of old will perdure until they have their fill and the Earth is saturated with the blood of the prescience of a Cattaneo prophecy guarded in his 6-24-2006 set which hints at a catastrophic scenario potentially impending right now or of a future variety where “blood will be pouring like oil gushing out of a well” “respirators will have their fill” “hospitals be closing” etc. and in these steep harbingers we find poise and pause to reflect that the majesty of God is unfurled unpredictably by showcasing the redemptive power of the autarky of the imagination to see the unforeseeable and lurk in the dungeons of the unknown dengonins just to spy with privy knowledge about the circular circus of privation encircling me like the rapture of murders of ravens that are a crow shy of an X-Files repute...Of that situation that the afflictions of the many matter to the anointed few that delegate because of Jethro and through the power of the Levitical orders to abolish some Kosher restrictions among some apikoros Jews that lean on my wisdom because the suffering of animals should be a suffrage for sentient rights of animals not to bleed excessively into a slow painful death. I urge all Jews not to let those cows or other animals suffer so grievously at the hands of malefaction just for a petty consecration which proves a hollow point about sacrifice and thereby seek to abolish some Kosher demarcations on the grounds that they are inhumane sacrilege because the ransom of Jesus of Nazareth’s suffering and agony on the cross-rather than his blood as many people beguiled more on physical manifestations of trauma rather than the emotional toil of suffering that bears more incumbent on the human sympathy-consecrates all virtues of circumcision and makes meat ceremonially clean because we serve a miracle-worker God who hasn’t finished his last work yet because more thaumaturgy is in store. The antagonist of history is congealed human superstition filtered through the siphon of protective scurrilous fears and petty vendettas borne of willborne hatred of tribe and division that was the fettle of preliterate societies of hyperdulia because they knew the iconography of Christ and marveled at his miracles but believed too strongly in retributive justice to scare away the herds of the contrite to a monasticism of plight and blight that consecrated  many great human achievements in scholastic virtue and scientific importance but ultimately found relegation before Gutenberg saved history with his seminal watershed invention third only to the second place wheel and the first place advent of human language itself as the most prominent plucky invention of human revitalization and through the salons of France and the dramaturgy of Shakespeare we found an apex of enlightenment that provoked revolutionary ideas not so guarded by gingerly blackguarded varnish of a superstition for the metal tablets that illustrated magically the future for an abiding audience of the past which must have seemed an abominable miracle to the astounded puritans of the times because songs like Love Story (at least the music video) suggests that the song circulated in the past eras of the English Renaissance before electric lighting was invented. We have all to thank for the invention of rock and roll which is an esoteric title for a sizable momentum of catalyzed verve that enchants the planet still with the majesty of the harp and the lyre to glorify God for all eternity and Allah for all the worlds he possesses in his infinite bounty one in the same for the culminated vision of all hallowed prophets with an emphasis on Surah 2 accentuated to the Christian audience even if neglected by the Muslim audience. I am primarily a Christian but I believe Islam is a divine path worth pursuing on a tentative basis but I have yet to outstretch my hands to try and reach the barnacles of a distant world beyond my womb and bereft of my lineage even though I stand united with the Abrahamic faiths that solidify truth and memorialize the superorganism messiah of humanity in collaboration with our celestial hosts to foist the ribbons of the figurative far-flung Pleiades and the harps of the harpricks of the just as distant but transfixing Orion to envelope the earth in sincere repentance before the holy flock of the justifiable truths found in the candor of devotionals and hymns to the immemorial God of all Creation that is the impetus behind every ambition-if only subconsciously in his universal psyche and consciously the catalyst behind every cohesive machination or orchestration of complex human and alien activity but subsumed in the psychism of God-is the idea that we are living indelible elements that constitute his superorganism in the theoplasm that is circumjacent and adjoined to his intentions that he surveys with such nimongue ease that his wednongues go out of style very slowly because his vogue is the ultimate champion against the misprision of militant psychiatric injustice that needs to be rectified by top-down government action to debrief and inform the necessary travail to surmount my challenges and assume a subsidiary role in the government and the ecclesiarchy to shepherd the shepherds and write for a living with a fair governmental stipend and a partially uncensored internet so my fanfare can envelope a broader portion of the world. I issue a humbled but ultimately otiose entreaty that Donald J. Trump, a personal hero of mine, can be a participant to my plevisable situation by appointing a team of people to work with me on the social engineering of the future and most importantly the ligature of the ecumenical cause for aggiornamento of the ecumenical cause of Abraham and all of his descendants because we all abide by that sacred covenant in the broader world that inhabits our sacred rites and rituals. We should also embrace the boundaries of mysticism to fathom the depths of the theoplasm more fully to understand how the firstborn of all creation is the perpetuity of sentience for the revival of respiration for new species yet to come even more beautiful and prosperous than us and those that already exist frolicking in approximated heavens that we might meet upon transmigration as reincarnated wisps of superior worlds of heavens inhabited by the segues of death but knowing no despair. But I stridently believe in the ultimate promise of an ineffable splendor of a real final resting place or a cradle for the supervisors of the isangelous that orbits above our heads and flutters in our considerations as the vast multitude of worlds.with heroic saviors that spellbind the universe together with a stitchwork of mastery of the fraternal bonds that divide some species from others by insuperable bounds of space and time but through the gift of transcended time ushered by alienesque invention and we have thus been bequeathed a new unexpected emergence phenomenon that is aperspectival in temporal terms but always recumbent upon the prolific dance with a jousting destiny toying with us through swarpollock and other machines of sentinels but never tiring their terrier race as subservient to the human imagination ambitious beyond former bounds.
    Thank God we have a president that presides over the defeat of the strictures of warped and intorted hypocrisies of orthopraxy for the candid endeavor of the plain plaid truth of the vibrancy of germane beating the pulp pallor of the nebbich calculations of uxorious plumage plucky in its resolve to serenade our youthful cadets in their continued resolve to chaperoned campaigns of the barnstorm of the obvious for the conclamation of the ultimate victory of history over its worst proclivities that suspend themselves in the tentpoles of time and space as glaring menaces of affliction. The gated entryway to prosperity should be unfurled with majesty and a welcoming grace to sustain cordial deeds and promote fundamental encounters with vagary not with a vagrant fission but an emergent fusion not of hyperbolic atrocity but rather the subsidence of the chisel of directive ambition that serves the greatest causes of the ****** of dignity to transcend the fettle of disarray. The quibbles of the questermongers and the querulous wernaggles of relative impotence matter greatly to the large bulk of a hibernating humanity but when we all awaken to a universal truth that serves a flickerstorm of revolutionary usucaption of the halidom of tomorrow experienced by the foresight of today. We levy the largesse of a collective bronteum that warns and admonishes gently the people behind the curtains that might find objectionable some of the barnstorms inherent to this missive of doctrinaire but soluble missions to save humanity from its worse caverns of idolatry and to anoint the brightest light to beat the most deafening din of darkness that can be imagined by the sterile vapid retreats of privilege into insularity-we fight not for a mercenary cause but for the valorous insurrection sanctioned by the chartered expedition of new frontiers for a newfound freedom found in fundamental vouchsafes of a freer speech in the lyceum of the knowable reality of noogenesis. We should never suborn the dacoitage of the hybridized compromises of the halvork of mandarism but always tolerate the entreaties of amicable jousts of demarche even when combative with a peaceful irenic resolve that is contempered with virility rather than pomp and not even a hint of virulence because the collective world depends on a quorum of well-spoken and considered thinkers adjudicating a bonhomie rather than provoking a collieshangie. The world should not spurn error but castigate it calmly because the worst errors of temerity are remediated by the ploys of the treacle of the imaginary plane of the supersolid convergence of the ulterior with the pragmatic that serves the working class as well as the shepherds of elite institutions because all deserve a fair hearing in the court of commonwealth justice. There is no treachery in universal irenology that special barleychild of serendipity that shields us from harm while providing bulwarks to stabilize economies and sustain the recognition of our wholesome usucaption of newly acquired deeds and merchandise that spawns an ingemination of technological revolution incumbent upon declassification that leads to a resurgent robustness of economic conditions that calibrates properly on the proper alkendur of the hikkle of hype mixed with disdain. We suppose that the remixed panmixia of virtual insanity doesn’t become an affliction because in many ways it might meet abomination but some people lean on the leniency of felicity to swell the coffers rather than populate the coffins of the agreeable pivot between the sustenance of choice and amicable adjustments in economic security meets a run-on sentence of the levies of strain as the imponderables outnumber the certainties of the covert. We populate the future by going back to the past and this is why the movie is so entitled Back to the Future because if you think about it, it requires a recumbent logic of a recursive incursion of the origination of the future visible to the past to create the impetus to sustain the vitality of a resurgence of travel to the future itself one of the most obvious giveaways in movie titles ever devised by the clever. We encounter the timing of the lightning and thus hear the thunder not of the radioglare but the laskerade and serenade of the pulpit of good deeds rectified by the rectiserial visionaries that balk at orthodromics when the artful bypass of nonlinearity is favored for curiosity rather than missives of emissary diplomacy.
The reparations of tomorrow are the guerdon of yesteryear, the heyday of seminal prophecies that consummated a theological brunt that revolutionized the perspective of eagles nest lookouts all around the world to sempiternal decryption of history showcased by the sheen of prophecies now culminated in the effervescent now is a plangent epiphany in the life of a storybook romance with an artful dalliance with a romanticist ideal of an enlisted destiny recruited to cement its own purpose with concrete action without flagging resolve. The ultimatum of history was a faltered filibuster of the listless historian marveling at the prescient telaesthesia of the unknown visibilia that protrude in remontant certainty that the memorials of yesteryear catapult this cause into the fruition of a dated missive of coded bywords encrypted by the chronological clepsammia of allotted time for special occasions when the entirety of space-time folded upon itself to anoint itself champion of the supersolid reality of the surrealism draped over the tentpoles of abundant absolution that excuses the kisswonks of the glaring threats of Wilkes Booth to entomb a heroic titan of imposture as the real effigy of a slain delay of strenuous calculation to appease the Confederate heart wounded by the diacopes of struggle. In this rollicking turmoil of a roiled time of rookery we can celebrate that the amasthenic weight of the historical certitudes of the docimasy of memorialized junctures in time when all was denuded barefaced in the sight of the world to marvel at the rigged artisans of the artistry of furtive skullduggery that imposes no astringent rebukes other than those reserved for departed gyrovagues of hallswallop before their due time and season, we marvel at the irony that an insular vociferous vehemence of clairvoyance predicated on the absolved shrive of history for aborning and alighted apostasies now stands regnant in triumph of the space-time continuum. This might be an overstatement of the herald of a day signified by a transcendent conversion to a theology reified by the rengall discoveries of the intuitive theopneustic truths of the subsultus of vagary and vicissitude that the day when the code was cracked about the fractures of history converging upon the latticework of ephemeral and ethereal cords of cordial embrace of the cryptadia belonging to the “commonwealth of the aliens of Israel” (Eph 2:12) became evident to the masses was the chosen day of encroachment upon the suspicions of the alerted masons of the American Revolution-to ward off with apotropaic beacons of light glinting in lighthouse caverns of repositories of unknown treasuries-the salvation of the human race from the dudgeons of apostasy by the consecrated creed of the newfangled credenda that borrows heavily from lore to make this fabled date stammer as a freckle in a dimpled time that is cute but eccentric in its flapdoons of memorial that shower history with innumerable examples of the numerological importance of consecrating or desecrating a given day based on the furtive skulks of hidden troves of luxuries the elite have always bestowed upon the elect. So maybe this day wasn’t as transcendent as it could have been and maybe there is a resigned awgrudge that such a pilfer of time would make such a resonant dent on the pride of Britain to provoke their invasion and scuttle the American bastions of prideful reconnaissance of the future bestowed by the patronage of elective privilege, but this day will always be canonical in its ability to reprove the critics that the orchestra of history is not a heterochrony with destiny but a very validation of its truth in serpentine convolutions of the bywords of the guarded synquests of aristocracy. May the doubters gleefully jibe at the overstatement of a heroic task on a filibuster against the cretins that foresaw the trudge of ignominy and still willingly stooped to the levels of evil cadges into prurience that they foisted upon the reminiscence of evil protrusions that they might be forever banished to the barathrum for their pitiable deeds to desecrate and blaspheme that historic wallop of synquest to trounce the trinces of an uncertain future gravitated and mesmerized by certain facts known widely enough to provoke wars and enter the pasilaly of universal knowledge enough to warrant further inspection. The wravel of time is elegant and exquisite and all the glory goes to the coryphaeus dengonin that braved infamy and rebuke to soldier on in demarches to dignify the otherwise seedy drab and daft drolleries of pretense that any uncouth man could ever emerge from the throes of absolute defeat into the vindication that history either by intention or by accident is convex and aimed to entrench the vital truth that accidents are convenient but deliberation is calculus that deserves fanfare. It was because of a seminal theory of theology that this day earned its repute in history because it coincided with such rattled seismic events that are turgid with blessed tragedy that is never gloated over but always solemnly commemorated in hymn and deed of charity and eleemosynary duty. The irony is that the Revolutionary War ended on May 12th 1784 which marked the exact time of the Earthquake in California at 5:12AM PST and that fact makes many subscribers to the scepsis of sebastomaniacal delusion postulates more keen on the acumen of the day that history unraveled at the seams and revealed its circular reference to an ennobled prophecy that was the momentum and excuse for many clarigations of force and many other heralded deeds of posture and gentility or savagery and desecration. All that matters now is that we know that history is not a myth but rather a stagecraft of timing that is predevoted by preordained memorials to the tithes of time to cement its own legacy as foresight transcends hindsight in its own largesse but also its brutal slaughter. If the encroachment of tyranny poaches its greatest champion to excoriate an overstated case of mania they will meet the Army of Me and believe me their exhaustion will no know swift end in the halls of a deep dark purgatorial gridlock cell of eternal torment at the castration of their virility or their spayed femininity because I will not be reduced to rubble because of some hapless Facebook posts misinterpreted by the garbled miscegenated heap of albatrosses of invidious lies trying desperately to dethrone my virtues and seek the ulterior misprision of a  forever vanquished hope that resides in the torment of a plagued future negligent of the sacerdotal duty of the guardians to protect history rather than brutally savage it with dismal reprisals that are pangs of the deepest ire that will provoke a choleric rage enough for them to have to barge into my apartment and break down my doors. They will not trespass into my sanctuary city because I inoculate myself hereby from any incursions foreign or domestic on my livelihood for posts that do not hint at instability but only memorialize cute facts of the gawsy rather than the gawky imposture of the morality police trying to entomb me in the glaikery of a forever sunken refuge of homelessness and ill-gotten subterfuge.
Grant Horst Dec 2014
Rich fields of interest, yet to be harvested
The crop of my choice has yet to be planted
Looking inside I have an overabundance of diverse seeds
It’s up to me to plant a new one everyday
Sadly, not all grow to be a part of my world
Some ideas thrive and even drop unfamiliar fruit
Some are neglected to be trained, and soon wither
Each new seed is an experience, learning from the next
Finding new ways to grow is a tricky quest
The embodiment of my inner soul is my reflection in the natural world
And our physical body is the vessel on which we embark
Life is a journey to find the idea that will flourish
The idea that branches out and enhances all others
I’m just waiting for that one
One to change my world
One to willfully tend eternally
You can never harness them all, so take your pick
Our minds are delicate, choose what you want to grow wisely.
krista Jan 2016
when dolphins are born, they burst into the water tail first.
within minutes, their mother herds them up to the surface
for a first breath of air, sharp and dry,
as they exhale a spray of water into the sky.
when dolphins are born, they are born smiling.

when i was born, i opened my mouth before i opened my eyes
and screamed for thirty minutes straight,
my young lungs choking on the unfamiliar taste of air, sharp and dry.
by the time i blinked through my first spray of tears,
my mother said there were enough to fill the pacific ocean twice over.
she said she hoped that it would be enough to last me a lifetime.

in 1966, a twenty-four year old brian wilson began recording
a teenage symphony to god.
smoke in his lungs and fire in his heart,
he transcribed the california dreams that kept him up at night,
held his breath underwater until he saw constellations in the pool,
built a sandbox beneath his grand piano just to bring the surf inside.
even after wilson shelved his SMiLE in favor of
pillbox teeth and bedsheet sunsets,
the world never stopped searching for it.

in high school, my nickname was "smiles"
because it's all i ever seemed to do.
i navigated campus like i was being showcased in a tank half full,
jumped through hoops of
fire,
boys,
and college apps alike
without ever showing an ounce of discomfort,
like perfect was indeed possible without practice,
or even possible at all.
it became easier to dive deeper, move quieter,
bury my insecurities beneath a wide-eyed grin.
no one notices an overabundance of skin or body or
words when confronted by a hundred-tooth barricade.

i went through boys like storms go through ships,
my fingers springing accidental leaks into each of their sides
until they fell,
captivated,
captivating,
capsized,
spiraling into the depths below.
yet i was always the first to hear their cries when the tides withdrew,
the only siren in the world capable of regret,
the eye of the hurricane that granted them safety.
even after i emerged from the fray,
soaking and breathless and alone,
my eyes were dry, my smile buoyed in place.
staring out over the wreckage behind me,
i did not know it was possible to feel anything but relief.

it is 2016 and brian wilson is seventy-three years old.
he has felt every vibration, good and bad, and now chooses both,
now understands that every summer must eventually come to an end.
on the days he feels alone at his grand piano, he wanders down to the beach,
buries his toes in sand still warmed by the sun.
when he smiles, the ocean roars in approval.
as he closes his eyes, it calls for an encore.

these days, i have stopped ornamenting myself with illusions,
though sometimes i can still feel them tug at the corners of my mouth.
i am too wary, too large, too loud to be sealed behind glass anymore,
to either save or be saved.
some days, i wake up and there is not ocean enough in the world to contain me.

when dolphins are born, they are born smiling.
that doesn’t mean that they are always happy.
even when tossed by a sea of its own blood,
surrounded by the gaping jaws of
mothers
and brothers
and daughters
who can no longer sing back,
a dolphin cannot frown.
i have long learned to be grateful for my ability to.

my smiles come and go,
brought on tides i can no longer control.
but each time one washes ashore,
i cradle it in my arms before letting it go.
just another wild thing that needs to be free.
featured in FLASH THRIVE (jan 2016)
http://flashthrive.me/
Jeremy Bean Aug 2014
Still waiting
for a friend to show up with beer
because I ran out
and I'm too drunk to go get more

Still waiting
for Jesus to hit me in the head
with a frying pan
and tell me I'm wrong

Still waiting
to wake up
without a hangover
and smokers cough

Still waiting
on a paycheck that is livable
and people that are bearable
pigs might as well fly

Still waiting
for that woman to save me
by accepting my flaws
instead of trying to change them

Still waiting
to leave my mark
on a planet bombed to ****
with an overabundance of meaningless

Still waiting
for peace, love
and all that poppycock
while I hide in the trenches of my mind
awaiting messages from
a war torn heart

Still waiting. . .

to write that immortal poem

Historic sonnet

Eternal song

— The End —