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"preceptions" poems
Accepting quantum fuzziness and discreteness, u-h-d allows the idea of seeing one thing is not the other, über aber ich weis nicht focus, this is spiritual, not religious, this is inner-bubble space, pick a hat, here's a Dumbo feather … "and called it macaroni." A line forms an ancient meme, in the Spirit of America, dancing children singing and waving tri-colors, performing grammar school maypole pageants in conjunction with the ashtorothean rites called passion, feeling earth warm to the dance of our sowing of the seed, celebrate, the coming of the sun to the appointed time as time is measured on the stone that bhers witness to our we formed spirit. We are walkers along the spiral, twisting this way then to that once, you felt me make a point you felt was your tic to on point, alert, predictions pile in unverifiable belivable, but easy to believe, life is good, in terms of essential being, elemental preceptions glimpse of something super-semantic tic super symmetrick not having seen hell, from the perspective of the conqueror, leaves any weapon fit to fight the reality hell forms unique, unlike any weapon as yet imagined better, truth as a concept any mind may form to hold, from holding nothing, as a thought, then in a word caught as thought think this is the trick to quantum being, be a bit. See how it does feel to be real, ah, as in Wings of Desire, I knew I did not suffer through that film in vain. Anthro-poor-morphed angels imagined as unread messages, felt where good is the only thing ever felt real, as real as any angel's kiss, but just a kind word heard, as thought.
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Jun 8, 2021
Jun 8, 2021 at 4:04 PM UTC
Wings of Desire, a TCM movie interpretation
Accepting quantum fuzziness and discreteness, u-h-d allows the idea of seeing one thing is not the other, über aber ich weis nicht focus, this is spiritual, not religious, this is inner-bubble space, pick a hat, here's a Dumbo feather … "and called it macaroni." A line forms an ancient meme, in the Spirit of America, dancing children singing and waving tri-colors, performing grammar school maypole pageants in conjunction with the ashtorothean rites called passion, feeling earth warm to the dance of our sowing of the seed, celebrate, the coming of the sun to the appointed time as time is measured on the stone that bhers witness to our we formed spirit. We are walkers along the spiral, twisting this way then to that once, you felt me make a point you felt was your tic to on point, alert, predictions pile in unverifiable belivable, but easy to believe, life is good, in terms of essential being, elemental preceptions glimpse of something super-semantic tic super symmetrick not having seen hell, from the perspective of the conqueror, leaves any weapon fit to fight the reality hell forms unique, unlike any weapon as yet imagined better, truth as a concept any mind may form to hold, from holding nothing, as a thought, then in a word caught as thought think this is the trick to quantum being, be a bit. See how it does feel to be real, ah, as in Wings of Desire, I knew I did not suffer through that film in vain. Anthro-poor-morphed angels imagined as unread messages, felt where good is the only thing ever felt real, as real as any angel's kiss, but just a kind word heard, as thought.
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Chained by the feeling of resentment As we fight in a war that none of us forged Or so we thought In a world where barriers are built; A great Wall stacked with bricks of discrimination, Strengthened by pebbles of false preceptions, Gracefully repelling sound premonitions For this wall was  cemented by biased thoughts.
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Mar 2, 2017
Mar 2, 2017 at 8:59 AM UTC
Untitled