Friends, in the Introductory portion we have seen how Herodotus
gave birth to the subject of 'History'. Now I conclude this true story
by quoting a poem by the English poet Edgar O' Shaughnessy, which
is very appropriate for my Story! Please take your time to read, there is no hurry! Thanks, -Raj Nandy.

        HISTORIANS  AFTER  HERODOTUS
Herodotus became the trail blazer with his narration
of History,
Inspiring several Greek and Roman chroniclers as  
we subsequently get to see!
There was Thucydides, Livy, Sallust, Xenophon, and
Polybius,
Not forgetting chroniclers like Julius Caesar, Tacitus,
and the oft quoted Plutarch!
The Roman scholar Cicero had called Herodotus the
‘Father of History’;
But later the Greek historian Plutarch criticized him
for his many hearsay inaccuracies!
Even though Herodotus had cautioned his readers in
his Historical narrations, -
About those hearsay accounts and doubtful portions!
Greek historian Thucydides, who was a junior and a
contemporary of Herodotus,
For his accurate historical rendering of ‘The
Peloponnesian War’ between Athens and Sparta, -
Was praised by later scholars very much!

CYCLIC AND LINEAR PATTERNS OF HISTORY:
Herodotus believed in Nemesis and a repetitive
pattern of History.
While Thucydides with his strict investigation drew
a line between myth and reality!
Thucydides viewed history as a political struggle
based on the nature of man;
And felt that since human nature does not change
often, -
The past events would reoccur once again !
The Greeks believed in this cyclic notion of History,
Also developed a prose style to narrate their stories!
Unlike the Greeks, Roman History did not begin in an
oral Homeric tradition,
But they had a ready-made Greek model for their
historical narrations!
Roman historiography began after the Second Punic
War against Hannibal of Carthage,
When Quintus Flavius Pictor wrote Rome’s History
in Greek, instead of Latin!     (around 200BC)
Cato the Elder, was the first to write in Latin Rome’s
History,
While the Roman Livy born in Padua in 59 BC, was
praised for introducing a ‘milky richness’ of style  
for narrating these true stories !
From Julius Caesar’s accounts we learn about the
Gallic Wars and events of those ancient days;
But he Romans had used History for propaganda
and self-praise !
Also to make the conquered world to look up to them
with wonder and admiration;
For the Romans were creating History with their
conquests in a steady progression!

CYCLIC VIEW OF TIME AND HISTORY
Perhaps the cyclic view of Time has influenced the
cyclic concept of History to a great extent,
Since this cyclic view was held by many of those
Ancients !
Ancient doctrine of 'eternal return' like the seasons
of Summer, Autumn, Winter and Spring, existed
in old Egypt, and the Hindu religion;
Also with the Greek Pythagoreans and Stoic
conceptions;
As well as in the Mayans and the Aztec Civilizations!
In the East, cyclic theory of History as succession of
dynastic rule developed in China,
While the Vedic Hindus developed their theory of
Cycles of Yugas!    (epoch or era)
Writing of Indian History had commenced with
the Colonial British initially,
Who had criticized India for its lack of a sense of
History and Historiography!
The ancient Hindus were more concerned with
religious philosophy, and the essence of existence,
Rather than getting absorbed with historical details!
The Hindus divide cosmic time into cyclic eras of
Satya, Tretra, Dwapara, and Kali Yugas;
With each era covering many thousands of our
human eras!
These Yugas or Cyclic segments of time is said to
repeat itself in a cyclic motion, -
Which had perhaps mystified their early views
of a clear Historical perception.
However, later Indian historians have corrected
the earlier British interpretations, -
By dividing Indian History into Ancient, Medieval
and Modern Periods,
Replacing the earlier Hindu, Muslim, and British
Periods as Colonial segregation!
And also by correcting the British Aryan Invasion
Theory as Aryan Migration;
Based on more accurate historical research and
better perception!

CHRISTIAN AND LATER VIEWS OF HISTORY:
St. Augustine during the 4th century AD, systematized
the Christian view of History, -
As a struggle between the City of God and the City
of Man, where the City of God gains victory, -
Establishing peace and prosperity!
The Christian view is therefore Linear with a
positive beginning and an end;
A providential view from the Creation of Adam
till the Day of Last Judgment!

THE RENAISSANCE: (14TH - 17TH CENTURIES):
During this period the theological view gradually
begun to fade, giving rise to the Cyclic concept of
History,
As illustrated by the decline and fall of the mighty
Roman Empire, immortalized by Edward Gibbons
in his narrated story!
This cyclic view was also maintained by Oswald
Spengler, Nikolai Danilevsky, and Paul Kennedy,
during the 19th and the 20th Centuries.

AGE OF ENLIGHTENMENT : THE 18TH CENTURY
This period advocated the use of reason to obtain
objective truth, when human beings made all the
difference freed from superstition and bigotry;
Which led to favoring a Linear and a progressive
view of History.
Voltaire symbolizing the spirit of this age had
supported human wit and education, -
Since only enlightened people could give History
a positive direction !
For Karl Marx Feudalism was followed by Capitalism,
and Capitalism by Communism.
History of existing Society as the History of Class
Struggle - was Karl Marx’s new concept!
For social material forces drove History, and this
‘historical materialism’ as a revolutionary view, -
many later Scholars did accept!

SOME MODERN CONCEPTS ABOUT HISTORY
Now I share the views of three of our renowned
Historians; the German Oswald Spengler, the
British Arnold Toynbee, and the American
Carroll Quigley,
To provide you with three different concepts
of History.
Oswald Spengler (1880-1936):
Spengler’s reputation rests on his work titled
‘Decline of the West’, considered as a major
contribution to social theory;
Where he rejects the ‘Linear’ view in favor of
definite, observable, and unrelated cycles of
History!
Rejecting the Eurocentric view of History and its
Linear division into ‘Ancient-Medieval-Modern’
Eras,
Spengler recognizes eight ‘high cultures’ which
evolve as organism, following the cycles of
growth, development, and decline;
And his views astonished the Western mind!
These high cultures were the Babylonian,
Egyptian, Chinese, Indian, Mexican ( Mayan&
Aztec), Classical (Greece& Rome), Arabian,
and Western or Euro-American!
Cultures have a life span of about a thousand
years each,
So the Western Civilization too shall decline one
day, - Spengler did teach!

Arnold Toynbee (1889-1975):
Toynbee’s 12 volumes on ‘A Study of History’
covers a wider spectrum of 23 Civilizations,
Where he rejects Spengler’s cynical theory of
growth and decline of Western Nations!
“Civilization is a movement and not a condition,
a voyage not a harbor”, Arnold said;
Like human beings Civilizations were free to chart
their own course with the capacity to ‘consciously’
choose its destiny, he had felt!
Arnold moves on to formulate his Theory of
‘Challenge and Response’, since by responding to
such challenges Civilizations could move on !
These challenges could be social or environmental
he had said;
The Greeks responded to their growing population
by taking to the seas and maritime trade,
And also prospered as their overseas colonies had
begun to spread!
Toynbee’s Civilization start to decay when they lose
their moral fiber,
He perhaps over emphasized the religious and
cultural aspects, ignoring those economic factors!
But his views were certainly more popular than
the cynical Spengler!

Carroll Quigley (1910-1977):
Quigley’s scientific trained mind could not accept
either of the above views,
So he created a synthesis of Spengler and Toynbee,
while paying History its dues!
Quigley laid down seven stages for the evolution
of Civilization;
Commencing with Mixture, Gestation, Expansion,
Conflict, Universal Empire, Decay, and Invasion!
His Civilizations are neither groups nor individuals,
But each is a system which share some common
traits.
In Quigley’s model each system come into being
adapted to their environment;
But since environment always changes, Quigley
states with some relish, -
Systems which cannot adapt themselves, must
necessarily perish!

WE ARE ALL LIVING PARTICIPANTS IN THE
  LONG UNFOLDING HUMAN STORY!
“Know Thy Self” said Socrates, and the Delphic
Oracle had pronounced that he was wisest of
the Greeks!
To know ourselves truly we must know about
our past,
For this evolutionary process shall continue as
long as the Human species last!
Today we remain as a living monument to the
past,
We continue to make History as long as humans
on this planet shall last!
Our planet earth is around 4.5 billion years old;
While the first ****-erectus emerged around
two million years hence - we are told!
By walking ***** the two hands became free to
develop,
With flexible fingers and the rotating thumb;
Which was crucial for shaping the destiny of
the Human species on earth!
Our Civilization proper dates back to about
five thousand BC,
Thus an emerging pattern we can easily see!
With the development of human consciousness
we have learned to delve inwards, -
To discovered within a vast macro world!
Now, I would love to conclude this narration by
quoting from the English poet Arthur William
Edgar O’Shaughnessy’s book ‘Music and
Moonlight’;       (1874)
Do try to follow the philosophical content relevant
to the Cyclic History of Mankind!

“We are the music makers,
And we are the dreamers of dreams,
Wandering by lone sea-brakers,
And sitting by desolate streams;
World losers and world forsakers,
On whom the pale moon gleams;
Yet we are the movers and shakers
Of the world for ever, it seems.

With wonderful deathless ditties,
We build up the world’s great cities,
And out of a fabulous story
We fashion an empire’s glory.
One man with a dream, at pleasure,
Shall go forth and conquer a crown;
And there with a new song’s measure
Can trample an empire down.

We, in the ages lying
In the buried past of the earth,
Built Nineveh with our sighing,
And Babel itself with our mirth;
And overthrew them with prophesying
To the old of the new world’s worth;
For Each Age Is a Dream That’s Dying,
Or One That Is Coming To Birth.”

Thanks my readers and poet friends,
Sincerely hope you will now appreciate
History better, and love its contents!
**ALL COPYRIGHTS ARE WITH THE AUTHOR
RAJ NANDY OF NEW DELHI

Reoccurrence; oh do I deserve it's again? Of love,
of time, of hope, of faith, of promise, and the beauties
of my yesterdays...

Reoccurrence; oh do I deserve it's again? Of grace,
of joy, of peace, of forgiveness, and the dreams of
my former slumbers...

Reoccurrence; oh do I deserve it's again? Of you,
of when we once loved, of our youth, and the desire
of a forever...

Of us; in the seasons of summer. The warmth of knowing
your bright smile. Of the spring; in the skips of steps towards
a future.

Do any of which; ever reoccur as like memories... Or are we
just moments; soon to be forgotten..

Will I reoccur in those memories...

The eyes of tearful past
Gaze upward, past small faces

I watch him
He begins to rise himself
Off the coldhearted bench
Gazing through the distance

Thoughts reoccur in his fading mind
He lays back down

Roaming, helpless and scarred
He lost himself in fear, and that alone

Links of steal and agony
They fall beneath earth's eye

What's left alone to pity
Has nothing, than to die

Tears of saddened hearts,
They are, but a target

The world, they are the darts
Piercing happiness, in the eye

He grazes, in weathered grass
Throughout a darkened tranceless state

Left to gather thoughts
Expected sadness, on the contrary

He is dead to the world
What are you

Muggy murky dawn clogged with gloom the abbey

Where his grampy sleeps ,

Through

the drizzles fizzle

As native orchids embosoms and blossoms in his lost vault.

like a curfew drawn in the church

The pew lost its crowd

With the paws of time.

Lone man sleep

In deep latin chants they petrify you

Before sheol purifies you

And litany literature lecture limbs you

When in overprotected embankments of battlements

They dry their garbs

Where your lore forayed growth

And sweat smeared smelt breathed wealth

Chagrin dreams washed ashore

lay as upon a cold mornings recollection on a tabloids sold column

which drew your freckles bolder

In a savour of remembrance

For your zealous zealots

Who on an another 'all souls day' reoccur revisiting

the truth of their establishment


in prayers
The good Lord adorn you
Let Lekker dreams cradle you
Your consorts concert never consume you
And earth never haunt you

I am a boomerang.
             You throw me out into a blur,
             of unanswered questions that reoccur.
             No matter though, I turn around,
             and come back to that unsteady ground.
I am the song you sang.
             The one that got stuck in your head,
             that you hummed softly as you went to bed.
             From time to time though, forgot it,
             the words would gradually lose their pitch.
I am that scarf you hang
             The one so easily covered,
             that suspended there amongst the others.
             They cater to your separate needs,
             since weather changes so drastically
             from summer to winter or in-between.


I’m now an overhang
             I see above everything,
             and the waste of time it all did bring.
             The cloud that loomed over my mind, (is gone)
             can’t bring you back around this time.


I’ll no longer be the blood on your fangs,
I’ll no longer be your boomerang.

You've made me forget why I was so guarded,
+ you have made me forget how it felt
to be broken-hearted.
You've helped me remember how it felt to love,
+ you have helped me remember how one can feel
on cloud 9 + above.
But you see,
that was then + this is now.
Now everything is switched;
now everything is but a memory.
Your memories . . .
They're like toxic drugs:
they give me hallucinations of comfort + joy,
but they really hurt me, much more
than I already was.
Yet,
I choose to relive them in my head.
Your hugs. Your words. Your smile. Your scent.
Just please.
Please, make me forget you.
I do not want to remember.
I will not allow you to stay in me.
You made me remember what you made me forget
+ I did not see that coming.
My stupidity is no excuse.
You told everyone we were only "friends,"
so I suppose this is where that
"friendship," must end.
Because you're nothing.
Like a burnt-out flame or a forgotten memory.
You're nothing except history
that unfortunately had to repeat itself
for a reason I cannot explain.
But more importantly:
you're nothing to me.
Everyone knows history must happen
for us to learn
from the mistakes
from the past
so they will not reoccur.
But what you must understand is
this passage has happened to me
too many times + I'm afraid
I will never learn from my mistakes.
The only way out of this is to burn
the history book
or myself.
Which is easier?
I have not decided.

They flurry fashion clad around him,
Bashed and bumped he is upon his knees,
Nought but an obstacle to their purpose,
Just mechanised utilitarian’s ****** into abstraction.

The mishap stagger jounces loose a depth,
A profundity in a shallow weakened him,
His hollow cavern caves into consciousness,
To behold thumping polychrome dances of light.

The wash of sludge slinks down his hands,
In the puddle on the mid of his legs he gapes,
It is a fall of falls to end his deaden tumble,
As he stands he knows not what next to do.

He had death marched his life to a timber box,
Crafted career, projected home for expected wife and child,
He weighs an unlike life of who knows what,
Just not this one where he supposed he was alive.

Wind begs for his tie and so he lets it free,
Looks to the looming tower block prison,
Through the militia of totalitarian drones,
He runs and he runs and he runs.

Through the bustling paves he is a sketched dash,
It is the most paramount of hurries he’d ever began,
His heart flourished as he saw not where he was going,
Knowing only that he would not ever reoccur.

Did I tell you how I prayed
on knees before the morning came
and listened to by bells that rang in mighty decibels
and fell to crush and stay my uttered syllables.

Where in the singing of the psalms did blood appear to flow from palms
and calm this torture
played out as a platform game on X box three or was it me
who could not grasp the significance
of an abeyance I would deign make
what if fakery was the order of the day and would then the bells ring out to say in sixteen chimes or as many times as I could bear
Would the lines that led to crucifixion day be written any other way?
Did those legionnaires despair
or on the darkened unlit stairs did they rejoice at choices made?

And we fade as thus we shine and in another time we'll do it,did it been there and bit by bit we bid this happening to reoccur
so we the unfit,unloved,unwashed,unholy,outcast ones can join in and share
the melancholy felt by those the ones who knelt before the cross
in the loss of things
or in the losing and the grief it brings another lonely bell rings out
with heartfelt pleas and once again I'm on my knees
and giving thanks for these the moments when the light has flashed
and bells have crashed to smother me with talk of other times
the chimes
the chimes
and would there ever be the time to hear them all before the call was sent
Did I not rend the air with blasphemy and would he see the truth behind the curses that I spat into the gutters
when in utter abject poverty
blinded by those who could only see
the misery and not the man?
I wonder if that was in his plan to make the beggars saints and vice versa
or could it have ever been the plan to make a man who felt so bad
that man who knelt would go quite mad
and wrap into a bundle tight
to trundle off with head down in the night.

I kneel before the altar
altered irrevocably
I don't need to see what others see
I now see me in my many faults
for I have walked and talked deep within the vaults of introspection
and selected only those the pieces suitable for my inspections of my soul
and now the hole there was is filled
and stilled the raging mind
and stilled the storm and tempest
instilling what is best and disregarding all the rest
I go to take my rest
and am at peace.

There were still little words grated in the brush, ourself riding around, a great black horse,

the eyeliner, and an iris forest escapes.  I am the flowering fire, a sunset westcoast in the twinkling

airwaves, or radiowaves, and so we can breathe the literal mass of wind.  The green carressed and

aerially blessed, deepness and depth; what is truly grey.

The powerlines stretch hungrily for days, we see the purple glow and thus it exists-- we graze like

ghosts or bugs and try to find the blessed.  We wind up and clear the smoke, and blindness is only

black until death peers through, and calls the bird call, a shrilling through the spiritual silence.

I can see you on maps, you reoccur the same, giant and all. You are the same story and dwell

in roles through my brain.

It stopped.
Your mahogany façade now encases
more than the minute intricacies of time,
preserving something besides stale,
wooden air. Abiding now is an essence,
a moment,
an instant that will never
ever, reoccur.
What ghostly hand grasped your swinging
metal heart? Oh towering vision.
The cogs that are inside us continue
but you are dead. For now.
Frozen at 11:09 last Tuesday.




©*Thomas Gabriel

Leave me like past eventide
and reoccur like morningtide
so that I can rest in the faith
of seeing you one more time.

By; Cedric McClester

They call it a civil war
But ain’t nothing civil about it
If you’ve seen people die before
Then you wouldn’t doubt it
Who said victory is sweet
When bombs fall through concrete
And people die right at your feet
It’s impossible to retreat

How can anyone avoid
Post traumatic stress
When nightmares reoccur
From living through that mess
The fact that you’re alive
Says that you are blessed
And life goes on they say
Nevertheless

They call it civil war
But ain’t nothing civil about it
If you’re lucky enough to survive
You’d probably want to shout it
Blood flows in the street
And the carnage just repeats
So the memory never deletes
The muffle sounds of the drum beats

How can anyone avoid
Post traumatic stress
When nightmares reoccur
From living through that mess
The fact that you’re alive
Says that you are blessed
And life goes on they say
Nevertheless






Cedric McClester, Copyright © 2017.  All rights reserved.

You were like a dream.
Magical,
Brief,
And too good to be true.
And just like the best of dreams,
They can never reoccur.
So I'll shove you out of my heart,
At least the best I can.
Because just like good dreams, you think about the best ones every now and then.
Always knowing they're too good to be true, and actually exist.
They're theories of a perfect world. Making you ache at reality.

You can say that again, later, it is -time
lace up the daily bag and pass it
for all private interpretation
removal, from the rumen, to the next
- gaseous we, Huxley called us, 1957

No, this ain't show business, this
is living, made in a made up mind,
being finished doing, just
living.

Making up reasons to dispute liars.

Maybe not a good living, but it's free.
Or paid for, any way.
Bought with a price
my grands won't be forced to pay.
- divided attention makes
- ads obliviate into the mercantile
- classification, in attention econ 101
It's free - this living
in the way well fed children do,
in America, outside the cities;

Joy pursued and grabbed in happy
fistfuls that fill laughing memory bubbles
to store for when these become
the olden days.

No, this ain't show business,
its sacred duty,
work of a thing,
made from a boy who looks
into flies eyes, gazing up
from the bottom of the cup,
a little glazed, perhaps,

owing the fly an easy escape, look away

Tricae,
tricae
"perplexities, hindrances, toys, tricks,"

The collections of thoughts,
the access to held thoughts, knotted
messages
to you
private moments,
time alone, as a mortal human being,
humus built, auto-repairing thing being

being, eh?
One-like, only, or
on-like, only going on and on and on,

becoming fruitful
becoming useful
becoming less and less useful, but
becoming more and more curious
becoming full enough to become superfluous.

Lay preachers can create cushions
for lazy wishers wishing to be comforted,
but the weighing of the worth of comfort,

lay preachers seldom do, to my knowledge.

Terminus gnosis, all I know, my bubble of knowns;
this is it…
a thousand stacks of sensible lines, atop precepts,

strewn beside the trail.
Heavy
heuristic heretical how-to do as I dones,
published by faith in the thousands, litter
the little hills the psalmist asked,
why they writhed and twisted,
as in a dance of anger wishing,

clear channel, me and the truth, today,
just/instance, this/ now.

Free am I, by the faith in me, but you
already
knew that,

don't you?
Don't you know, there is a musing mind,
we wear to bed, some nights,
we lay on memory foam, some nights.

Thinking sorted thoughts, untying lying links,
links to educated guesses fed you as new reasons

to be ever vigilant, ever ready to defend the faith,
the laughing faith of a child, leaping
into the sky

- my grandson, I just learned,
- asked for more math.

No class common man, that is what I am,
on the cusp of next, looking back,
at the mess I left, like a cyclone,
randomly distributing seeds of kindness, specs
by which an idle word can activate troves
of ancient autoresponders, each guessing
what if, what if not,
what if, what if not,
what if, what
if
not now, when. Pop.
Bubbles of been, leave go, go on, think it

through, and passed through, into
the now
where we formed, letters, letting words wait,
sit still, ready
for the reader, ready
to steady the quivering fearful thing,
lost in thought,
stuck in stacks of holy orders, hearer only,
only ordainded doers do the trick,
intricate, folding to make not a paper swan,

too, easy. Make a protein. With no model,
just the idea in the word applied to science,
proper pose, super knowing, proto-life-ish thing,
that is digestible using an infantile nourishing node.

What tricks do you know?, the magi aske Moshe.
Snake from a staff.

From the crozier of goatherd, sure,
we can all do that. What else?
---
Allusions to ever knowing, knowing as old
as knowledge given girls at their flowering,
as old a mystery as any orphaned mother may tell
her great grand daughters,
nobody told me any thing,

but I took it as normal,

As the patient potency prefecting
effectual
fervent
prayer, dramatized, made big as all
art
any
bubbled artifice holding essences,

essential bits of the daily grind to gloss
the leading intellect's reason for being
so shiny,
Klimt golden, as that one kiss I recall,

yes, a facsimile, a memory evocation,

a kiss, golden in that moment, infected
with a feeling
dramatized to be offered to all who see,
intricacies,
khipu twists and loops and bundles and beads,

accounting for dues,
instructing kaballah, pass it on

Excuse me, are you in the right realm,
we feel pluralized,
but you don't fit,
we are uniform,
uninformed,

excathedra, listen up, all eight billion now living, are destined
for certain death,
it is a matter of time, dying once,
can happen anytime,

and if there is a second death, so far,
I never saw any body do it twice,
once truth makes what I am free,
we stay free,
amen,
reception accepted kaballah, et al,
take that greasy grace, feel it,
as the oil ran down Aaron's beard,

and there were no poor denied
starship rations,
until the comet hit and all
but a single mind
blew, into this
a complete fiction,
or another compleat guide to fishing

Imagine the magic of the sailor's accounting book,
envision the magic of levers, and pulleys and cogged
wheels feeling the weight

ping
2023 Gravity driven or gravity powered, is it
one
or the other, when it come be to inspire
first fears
to frame wisdom pools,
at depths we learn
to believe,
prove each participant,
worthy of keeping,
the secret.
Salt of the earth, deep down dehr dat
Caribbean Sea,
shore line fracture,
follow the riverwise road,
any thing you think you must bear,
don't blame,
sometimes it pays, to bend.
Grasshopper Locust practice, for the mind
of an ant.

Wisdom harnessed the fear of God,
put it down,
in other words,
when there was nothing
but E, mass and time being assent
esse, sentient, in sentient and ex
insentience, sapient over lay,
- honeycomb tripe pattern, say
- why not ruminate enclosed
- in a beauteous inner digestive
- recluse-exclusive-sub-science con
ified, tied ligously, fi,
to witty means, and ways we prove
gravity is our friend, driven power for all life,
strong as earth itself, but, we are

in the burning phase,
let me bring you down,
cause being accused, does that
to a stranger
being
entertained, or entertaining, on an aitia
let me
reason,

have you come for more, or do we have
too much
of too many things
to make too much
sense
of any particular reader/writer ifery algorithm,
if then,
else is this, current, slow, nodding, flux,
capacitance
loading axially,
if each mind thinks right once,
today, we have enough,
let's save the world.
- that easy, eh?
global restoration, Christ, yes,
that is the plan.
As the planet was.
Prior to Peleg's days.
Intended to have a single
dry land mass,
Wisdom pushed
for plates meeting
and using ice
at the top
of the world, as seen polaris up,
spinning
in a slow wobble
through four
seasonal positional hot-cool-cold-warm
gyre drivers, saline liquid epicycles, sisters
of the four winds
as a flywheel effect
in the telling times… a little imbalence leaning helps
with the wobble,
in the event,
slim to none,
the odds, but,
Don't Look Up. It could
reoccur, and shall, if
Nietzsche's epicycle

has wheels. Graham Hancock, on clocks…cosmic

Mindspacetime, the elite flight,
secretshitistic, it is, most certain, it is
fantasmic imagining
E not equal any thing, mere words
-jello-timingoooisht
between me and thee,
no point, not one, between the we
we become,
in the final analysis, if you wish,

might
you wish,
long, lazy river readers, re-mind
their lost selves, how innocense felt.

The worth of an unsold story, given
as a gift, as a poor artist might
attempt
a portrait
of their daughter's children

- "that little thing"
Done. As best he could, he believed,
at the time,
as it is
with
everything being as is when we arrive,
we adapt
or become the insane opposition,
to anything,
just
be the counter weight on the pendulum,

keep things swingin'

feel time slide
into the real deal,
at the crossroads
in the wayback seat,
sayin' honey, you ain't here
after what I'm here after,
y'gonna be there, after I'm gone, as  asong
that was
once a joke ended you gonnabe here
after I'm gone, but

seemsayin' eye
squint, see,
way back
when,
we were otherwise involved, affirming
sacred oathes, we swore as children learn
IT being life, whatever,
it don't mean
nothin'
is not a joke, it's ahint, to readers, ready
writing is key to reading,
vertical eyed
qwerty keying is learned,
phone wide,
natural, feels familiar
style adaptation
as cuneiform once was,
years of hearing the same words,
said and resaid, story after story stacked
in
time, measured by stargazers, called, by god,
eyes like eagles, these minds expand, and see
the order of the cosmos,
and the chaos of the collective sub-science

locked by a generational curse on oathes
under the God those kids had in mind,
September, 1954, first day of school,
all across the Wyatt Earp of Nations,
each child not religiously exempted,
stood, right
hand on heart and repeated, as a national
student body, K through 12, a pledge,
local time 9 a.m. nationwide,
not unlike
a true Tenant's pledge of fealty,
as recorded in
The Compleat English Copyholder:
Common and Statute LAW of
England, relating to Manors
and Lords of Manors Et c.
- buzz nod what instance… seven seconds
Sorry, Under God, was added to the pledge
that year, that affectionizes those exposed,
we meander under god, think it not strange.
It’s a legendary trait, we'll all be remembered a bit.
- default modemod is always beguiling temptation
- for temptation sake, win a game, get the rush.
of chasing hares
to where the conies hide,
feeble folk, but they live among big rocks,
reason enough,
use what you know is right,
hide from things that eat you,
that evolves
in nations
with no elders, constant defence mode
peace makers seem
feeble folk,
who knew,
and fell away, impossible to renew,

whoah, zeke play me that riddle,
'bout scrublands being humbly blissed
so long- wayback, anchoring the authority
17
that's me, I
fiddled around
and blew the clearwater revival
to kingdom come, Muddy Waters, aight
and there was hippies, ever whar, swanee,
so I do, I swan no no no no mo
lie like the devil for the sake of church heritage,
holy warrior sworn, heart torn, tears shed, tongues
spoken.
You know, when gravity is taken
in, your weight, sunk
into the reasoning
swung wide
in progress, no aim, past the cloud,
for crying out loud, this is louder than ever,
listen, no
silence
all that
noise, is natural
to persons genitivally, ok, cross
shadowed animus anima imitation,
in your cultural genes, cowgirl
seeing the world a yingyang thang,
with gravity and the E-magnetic shields
allowing systems to com-uni-cate locally,

scarey
indeed

too much,
the scope
of any thing one might think
or ask,
as in what was that rule
of LAW once?
I read
Compleat Fisherman's Guide U recall led
to , yes, The Compleat English Copyholder:
Common and Statute LAW of
England, relating to Manors
and Lords of Manors Et c.
is on Google books, masterfully typeset

Feel free to learn all you will, 'tis all in the Common.

as, by now is much that may have been, otherwise,
in needier times,
less riches, more sorrow,
less sorrows, more riches, peace.

Made that my after all battlefield task,
no mas win or lose.

My side, on the scalar models is gravity empowered,
heavyweight, ancient concept,
gradient slopes
with long lazy loops
on the downhill side,
listening
to kids make all the noise they wish,
two chalk walls away,
in the bubble we all breathe.

To this day, whatever it took, it worked.
Life gets as good as you can make up a mind

to accept, as
this is it,
this is my bit. My close up. To the exact point
where I breathed that bubblierised wedom-opinion

opinion opinion opinion okeh, settle years ago, okay
we all say okeh here, holy ground,
entire collection of recollection on that victory alone.

Okeh, is still the proto voice model, ok.

Salty eyes,
Eyes filled with salty water,
If only they were happy salty drops,
But not,
These salty drops reoccur,
Every night,
Salty drops filled with stories,
Meanings and hurt,
These salty drops for attention?
But yet forces the salty drops to fall alone,
In dark, quiet rooms,
Tucked so close to fabric,
That the salty drops just roll off,
And soak themselves into pillows,
Blankets and teddies,
Why?
I ask myself, can't I stop?
With these sad thoughts,
Keeping me so low and ruined,
But then how?
Who? When? And why?
Share these thoughts?
Others will comfort for limited time,
Before they remain the reason why,
I cry.

I look at the pictures
Wishing I was with her
It shows me of what we are
I can hardly wait for our reunion to reoccur.

Since I didnt choose it,
I cant change it.
But there something bothering me today.

When things happen,reoccur,shape and
demobilize on a special day around you,
do you feel like changing the day?

And if you can change the day,
it will be something like you have
changed your birthday!!!

How does it matter anyway,
its all the same day right?
but then, why birthdays are so
special to us unlike the other days??

It was raining, thats all I knew,
I was heading home to see my baby boo.

It was stroming as I walked up the drive,
Thats when I saw her and another man begining to look alive.

I stopped and began to smoke,
It hurt so much I began to choke.

They decided to go out for the night,
I headed toward them, maybe she would see me and we would reunite.

It was a mistake,
Him and I began to fight, I was as swift as a snake.

When other guy was down, I went to claime my prize,
When I faced her there was only fear laying within her deep blue eyes.

I ran off in a rage, feeling hurt and sick,
She helped the other guy walk as he leaned on a wall made of brick.

I ran into an alley and broke down,
The rain becoming an overwelming sound.

The other guy went to search for me,
He rounded a corner and saw me, his face went grim.

I faced the other guy, and was suddenly slapped,
The snake was now trapped.

The other guy beat me senseless,
He didnt know that her and I shared a connection, and that he was hitting her aswell.. she was defenceless.

I thought of her,
All the memories of her and I began to reoccur.

The other guy kicked me once more,
He then walked away and didn't care anymore.

I lay there short of breath, the rain feeling as cold as death,
That was when I took my last breath.

The words from the paper jumped off and took a hold,
squeezin' at my heart, and snatched up my soul,
the content took me by such a surprise,
numb, is now what i feel as i just watch the moon rise,
trying to grasp my own thoughts, swirling in my mind,
the words written, and the cold feels deadly, combined,
contemplation, followed by some aggravation,
and the determination, to not let it happen,
now with all the pressure, my heart is misshapen,
as I stare at the icy waters below,
and feel the arctic chill of the snow,
sparkling around me and the mountains across the bay,
I'm still trying to comprehend, why you chose to speak on paper, and why to me, you could not say,
I will get through, cause I always seem to,
but may need some help to raise my temperature, to change my flesh back from blue,
with the start of it at my fingertips, the cut caused by the ice of your words,
not the page itself, and the way i'm feeling at the moment i wish would never reoccur,
so i let you and your pages go and reclaim my soul,
I'm okay that you let me go,
just didn't agree with the form, that you let me know.

is this a fad,
or newfound freedom?
passions pass
and reoccur (occasionally).
but this seems solid,
something to heave in the heart
and sit as a warm stone in the stomach.
hope this owl sticks around. his feather pattern still relatively unknown.
hope he remains on his perch
until i, too, can fly.

Two thousand graves all in narrow rows
Which one is my dad's? God only knows
Who is buried where, no one could be sure
Please tell me mummy why dad went to war

My poor dad was flown out early one morn
Mum was pregnant, I still hadn't been born
Wasn't long, he looked down the barrel of a gun
Dead at twenty two and never got to see his son

Ambushed they were, certainly never had a chance
Had absolutely no warning as the enemy advanced
Machine guns, grenades, cannons and lots of mortar
Just before dawn, it was like lambs to the slaughter

Two thousand died that day, mostly young men
Sure hope our country never suffers like that again
Lonely women at home pregnant or with a small kid
Such a tragedy should never reoccur, heaven forbid

Today is dad's thirtieth birthday and we shed a tear
Should be with me and mum celebrating with a beer
Why must they fight, do countries have to go to war
Not just me without a dad but many thousands more

Only a kid and I'm walking around the cemetery in a trance
Can't all the world leaders just try and give peace a chance
War has made me lonely and my dear old mum is a mess
Trying to find dad's grave but sadly she'll need to guess

When you emptied yourself inside because things outside made you cried.
When your sacred self startled shattered to stutter without flutter.

When no one hear this mumble yet fumble and tumbled to hear me as troubled, but why instead themselves wanting to become more humble.

Who is everyone that added anything and everything to my voice;  screaming stopped, yet heartbeat ignition, and grumbling papers with and without written symbolism.  

I needed you to be here with the gem of treasure and filled with muse of your soothe and yet I waited to hear your amused with joy and listened to this delighted sadness of how really isn’t something to be amused or nor abused.

Wanting to wait for the return of the u-turns, so I became emblems of I said I’m sorry but it was actually an reoccur of it not being the chance to say that was my own turn.

Tears, aches, and screams didn’t swivel, its shriveled.
Yet, the eyes of the stars dreamt of awakening beaming bright, and if so it's beneath dimming the lower lights.

expected it sooner
we are all made of clay
chaff,dust
too ***** to be clean
I swallowed all guile
hoping for good
held on to shadows
until this day
my eyes flew open
I stagger to stand
it won't reoccur
but I'm too weak to know
expected it sooner
my tears won't flow
not even for joy
that moment happened
I took my stand
the verdict so true
I guess you'll doubt
so sorry but its true
the little girl has grown
now words can't reform
I'm sorry but its true
I left fear behind
at home with the maid
now bye to you I say
anything holding me is gone
swept,crushed in anger and gone
i'm finally free
free to fly, to soar
I knew all this since dawn
but will this really last...
i'm clay and I remember
can I bear his piercing gaze?

T. A. Preacher- a character investigation

Friday, February 3, 2023
12:33 PM

Thanks for looking twice, this is after chapter one.
So that's the first line of chapter two, I suppose
That was one, but this is first because,
the internet is read last to first,
later this is the middle, it is auto intuitive

Any given day gone by
I may have thought I like this ending.

"Before time, God Almighty promised eternal life. Before time!"
A preacher to the choir, offered this as proof,
that there is life, after the time
of life has ceased, thus hell,
must be avoided…
if you can read this accept it must have been voided
nullift,
to totally invalidate lobster stacking- or well, no hell, never was.
kingpriest selfishgene mindmeme power substructure
in the course
Masterclass Civics, with Newt. I was there,
that series in the course
of human events… timeless
and --- grace must be earned.
              Duty-wise, Soldier of the Cross T. A.

I am doing nothing, really, messin' with messaging tek
thinking momentary lapses reoccur aiwise
déjà vu is a function, not a flaw
we recall becoming, and learning, as a we, we
do not unbecome.
Be true.
Life is not a horror movie.
If, indeed,
the effect
from knowing, die-for-it level knowledge,
is being free,
becoming free,
to chose the way
we go from knowing,
wow, Teddy Ruxpin, Worlds of Wonder,
was a beautiful idea, look what we made…

The now old gadfly, happy to die, happy to pass
the spark  to kindled acts enforcing char
at the spark,
to burst in tiny, most tender of flames, softest
wind
tend to sush…

lulla-byye'es be  long here, hmmm, listen

arrested developments catch light, used right,
once burnt, twice wise.

Let no story steal the peace you find
upon precept one.
Your point.
Your reason to expect better from worse,
this time,
the one that counts, constantly, ticketing mindspacetime
hook,
to the sidetracked train,
using your attention tension
to increase our torque, you learn
and we got a load o' gamblers and ramblers
ridin' my train,
we, let me tell you, we, the passengers on this train,
we, thought Sisyphus happy,
thought him so, he said,
he'ld show us rock rollin'
keep it secret,
but having something to do,
get to the top, take your
time,
meandering down,

hell's what you make
from life
with you as init-
for years, we felt we should, keep it secret
for the whole existential philosophy route through then,
-re zen
commabreaths re member,
we agreed, objective POV, gratis, no credits due no body,
observant being we…
- wait, maybe we become better each time
Contrary to the once incarnate God, who said he gives,
without money and without cost, slick as gnosis, re-co-known.
- you will pay for knowing what you think you may know now
Mindspacetime, same yesterday, today, forever… instant, constant
time, not more,
time, no less, yet
time between distant things remains,
but
in the mind's timelessness,
constant instants
in prayer,
accepting
unearnable grace, as expertise
with the weapons
of warfare, in truth and spirit perfected,

in waiting, fect, compleat. As time's tyranny breaks,
and next
is after nothing, and the rest remains.

Advocate for the truth as possible.
Opposing principles ruling voice,
- gut says walk it out
- guy in mind thinks stick
- anon become
I am the Authority who may say we,
and it, or he, or she, ad in fun item,
union rule. We, the whole
idea driving the threads hear…

click it
disagrees
with all the dogmatic tools used
in the business
of fear motived religious service.

He holds to a conceit, a heresy, at first
accepted as his own, but that was pride.

Plum on my thumb,
oh, what a bright old man am I, silly me.

One, among the eight-billions, I, silly me;
what can I do?
pSigh, hi-band lo-brow
Fast the acceptable fast.
Announce the acceptable year.
Disagree with all who claim secret
insight based on the Bible, Torah,
which says none of the works of YHWH
were done in secret.

Cretan,…


of a certainty, as often hap
t
Finding peace, core serenity,
body, soul and spirit,
heart, mind, spleen, gut, reins and
liver, fingers, toes,
levers and pumps,
tunnels and tubules and folds.

Organized containment of life
-that's what bodies are
for articulated interference
with objectified reality,
beyond the bonds of flesh and blood,
I,
me, you see, I think I exist abstracted
from the mass of mankind,
from the nameless soldiers sent to war
for the God who is served,
by allegiants, pledged from age six,
to honor the pledge to the nation
representing the perfect will
of the God
of the Church Selective.

Documented seven sec set. true that.
Selective Service US 56910427

Right.
Rights.
Right use.
Right reason.
Right cause, just effect.

Affection attached
Military  mind pays affectionate
attention
to tension
some force in one dir
ect effect of minds melded
"to make a mental impression on," 1630s;
earlier "to attack" (c. 1600),
"act upon, infect" (early 15c.),
from affect (n.)
or from Latin affectus
"disposition, mood, state of mind or body produced by some external influence."

From <https://www.etymonline.com/search?q=affect>

Sheer jesuitry… been said known, so
coulda been a pain
to learnsumomahlathashit, stuckSTÜCK
salimsayn okeh, say it
oy vey

Unavoidable thorny issue burrs, sores rubbed
so raw

The business of religion, for a while,
in America, religions united
in pro-hibition, which, I
do not rightly know, what hibition is,
so I do not think I'm ob-liged re-liged
or promise tied, to be pro
much at all.
When my hair grew white,
I went all in for freedom,
and self governing, and self categorization
allow if you must, a battle,
- I heard a Rebbi say today
- jerusalem is in our minds, or yours
- I may have mistaken, who knew
Bedtime, echo opera, my reality,
nothing's on hold this is live
forever

Ego- arise
Exceptionalizm extreme, personally,
become
dead to this world and all its science,
falsely so called,

you know. Teaching times and seasons,

change to some before time state,
when nothing that is was,
-Phrygian Sitar twangninng uper subtle soft
distant soft even there still
and God {El-oh-him} he said, to nothing,
apparently,

be, and light, apparently, occurred,
plausibly causing time,
whereby days of exactly how ll'll


choke point, language pattern shock event
worst on New Guinee - for peak effect
it could be surmised,
confusion-wise
as language appears full bloom. Be
sensible
right
now, ah child, did nobody tell you,
we already get what you get when you get here.

Language, the signals we send and receive,
friendly dog, entire demeaner, wags,

trained dog, coded, made ready
to accept command, language, "sic-'em",
Wolf1
you may have heard,
if there were a time in your past experience,
if there were a once,
when you went to jail
for your boss, or because you would not lie,
not even by omission… ah, let me tell of a once.

There, in the everso long ago,
in the canyon I can feel,
to this day, I can recall,

the time I prayed, in Sycamore Canyon,
while looking through my wallet,
while sitting on a rock, in the middle of the creek.

I had no money, but I did have a Gospel Tract,
I had purchased, from a door to door sales man,

a white-haired man, full, not long, but full white beard,
and a Greek fisherman's cap.

I do not recall his pitch, but he  asked for a quarter,
in exchange for a 32 page book of Bible verses,
anointed through the testimony of untold numbers,

over and above the gross of original chosen ones.

As recorded in the Bible, the word is its own evidence.
believing is the believer's duty…

Come, let us
reason, you show me yours, so I show you mine,

as when the prophets proved one the other,
show me your faith, in knowledge,
I'll show you mine formed in time, timeless now,
in the past,
in the course of cosmic events, global-earthwise,

mankind has power to devise and construct,
means, whereby we all can just get along;
but the Bible says,
or the Q'uran says,
or the Founder says,

or research into remaining tangible fibers,
bones, shards, art-intuited spiritual aspects,
say said
aligned
with the stars… sacred orders evidence,
the sun, and the moon, and the stars,

wandering and otherwise,
so vast, even then, there were seers,

later, the nomenclature changed to prophet,
and seers became witches suffered not,
no putting up
with seers saying prophets were blind
leading the blind.

Chosen warriors, called of the systemized faith,
the only allowable faith, truth be told,
the one that knows God, truth and spiritwise.

Where all men are created equal,
if, indeed, the story is told
to all with ears
to hear… if, indeed, lieving be, is believing, done,
letting letters hold the law, wherein
the spirit must abide, con the knowledge needed,

to measure worth, and offer appraisal,
for all a unit
of mankind is valued. equally in the inchoate mind
of the nation, just taking shape, in the highest minds.
Then, again
Look, learned masses,
learn the lessons from tyrants past.

The greed a child can witness, in spirit and in truth,
as manifested in the churches,
used to tame the wild Indians.  All
of them, slated
for eternal damnation,
due to ignorance of life's rules, as revealed
to preachers who truly comprehend Revelation.
- the award goes to, the man with the turtle
- a man of the cloth, in the long tradition
- he wins the skin of the lamb,
- and as per rules, the scapegoat books.

As did Father Joe Smith,
and Ellen G. White, all the suffragettes
Mary Baker Eddy,
Aimee McPherson, Katherine Kuhlman, Jimmy Swaggert, All Saints fans
Tony and Sue, David Koresh, Jim Jones,
and all the congregations
in TV Land… and
the entire PTL financial support base, et al

And Rome and Topkapi and wherever else
so help me, god

------- this must be way later, just thinkinsayin
rubbing my eyes, and tasting
potato salad

Is this a thorny issue, oh, to the letter
if I offend you, I can explain,
the point to being itchy is making marks
when finally scratching the surface
riverwise peace acceptance broadcast
old seed, unplowed mindtimespace.
hooh, stick, hold
!¢ÜLXX-¿Þ? thorns marked such heresies
in my record in the cloud of all knowing
as you may in advertently already hold known
once have
Have you ever, really, been in jail?

- Why you ask, really? Is there…
Yeh, there are imaginary jails.
- like puzzle lifes?
Complexities, many creases, many ply, thick
walled off separate sections in mindtimespace.

Held thoughts, enclosed in thought bubbles,
and stacked, no,
o
can't stack bubbles, yet
stacks of globular shapes topple.
polar attract pepulse
push pull
come to shove slimy truth metaphor
rib-it
Ah, ha, frog's egg globs encased in goo.
Protoplasmic goo.
Gnosis, subconscious know how, frogs bodies have.

Patterning thought nets, thinking holds, slipping
fix the point… attach [arachnoid-mater-kids]
your mind to mine, let this mind be in you, seen

from a lustful hustler's most winning con, forming,
like a plan, do the religion, be
Elmer Gantry… listen
as each adjusts the other's wig,
the promo guy, wise to the Hunt silver game,
shame he would not listen, few knew,
to the lady, she knows the game.
She has sprinkled her bed
with aloes and myrrh.

Simple, go right on your way, the end there of…

my cue, queue up, get your excuse,
- who thinks all he knows
- simple
simplicity is a valid excuse,
feeble minded finding comfort
in an imaginary reality,
certain that the truth, eventually wins,

those we may attempt to tempt.
- we made no such bet
- no mas win lose
Sublimnity, you see,
subtle expression of the man, Christ Jesus,
would that ye all were wise as serpents,
such as legends testify, wise serpents
seen burned in toast
once
preserved the hope of mankind,
at the cost a heel stomp, **!
Aieee
She slew the lying demon, no, no,
that was me, Eve and the shining thing
I can tell it from when no witches burned
Beyond Prince James's Thesis on Daemons,
Ai- we found san razon, d
ust reflective mica
mine licensed sibyls pipe direct
all on raspberry pi,
- it's not all smoke and diamond dust,
We have the facsimiles in mindtimespace storage

Python 3. Magnitudes, orders of above
old wives tales juvenilized
to mere Tolkien/Lewis
Grimm-level bogus spiritseed, degreed B.S.

---------- with that capital B

----------- we entered the reasoning chamber,
with all the wu wu allowed
in me, let this mind be,
- from Paul's doctrine of mind-using
- in Romans, yes
delve, dig, dis-cover the sealed knowings known sealed,
awaiting discovery alone… that's Hebrews, not sure, anon
-- I coulda said this
to nobody then
now I said it to you
--- in another chapter I went mad and
copy pasted hebrew curse derivatives
and their phonetic lottkaballahalelu yeha
yep…
but you're not ready Hebrews, permission
granted withheld, mind prison, while keyed up.
to deny any use to the bicameral mind/brain sack
precisely measured to Dirac's dismay,
never ending eve is really thinkable,
as long as any one wishes,
know your own too much,
that was certainty
my child hood bet was that I won, and nobody lost.
in defiance of Delphi,
by millennia,
trust me

the language of life, earthling to earthling, evolves,
as we augment our pluralminded state, situ-circum

float-ish

here-ness, and nearness, and absence of distance,
time immeasured,
quarkishly insignificant units of self awareness shared,
we
can think as who's must have been thought to think,
when we were seven,
and inoculated by Suess.
In
Oculus, bud, from one branch,
into another, through a tiny RIP.

Some days, I am the only reader, as I rest, in peace,

peace, I choose to think,
exists, out is, be-ing, action-ionic, there's the rub,

amber and cat, spark of re-co-knowing all about love,
as a child,
let's refuse,
to ever grow up… let's pretend, my friend, to the end.

Wake up, get outabedragonnon anon anonymous
visitors,
arrive announcing, each nameless, yes, anonymous,
I saw, I forgot,

serpentine little think, wisdom exercise, you ordered,
or did I, going subjective for a second, I thought
this…

and I read it, and I am thirstydrymou
THUD
and cold. Settle,
reset
breathe softslowwhoowhowowowooooo-slow rereadhay
okeh. More or ride it one more time all we w…
soft quiet 9:59
already the slow twangy sitar in phrygian soft g distant
soft there, softer yet under us

This is the end of chapter two.

expected it sooner
we are all made of clay
chaff,dust
too ***** to be clean
I swallowed all guile
hoping for good
held on to shadows
until this day
my eyes flew open
I stagger to stand
it won't reoccur
but I'm too weak to know

expected it sooner
my tears won't flow
not even for joy
that moment happened
I took my stand
the verdict so true
I guess you'll doubt
so sorry but its true
the little girl has grown
now word can't reform
I'm sorry but its true

I left fear behind
at home with the maid
now bye to you I say
anything holding me is gone
swept,crushed in anger and gone
i'm finally free
free to fly, to soar
I knew all this since dawn
but will this really last...
i'm clay and I remember
can I bear his piercing gaze?

The poets hour
Where thoughts reoccur
When sins are committed
Memories run wild
Regrets break your smile..
When wanting feels like needing
And all the broken hearts are bleeding.

These pills aren't going to fix me
They only bring a temporary bliss
Fake happiness I've been medicated to feel
Why would I want to be dependent on a drug to be happy?
I miss one day and suddenly the thoughts of suicide reoccur more vividly
I choose to just deal with the mess I've made of myself
Instead of being convinced this magic pill will take the thoughts away

I made a deal with my depression that if it left me alone I wouldn’t question it’s obsession with the pain that I hold..
I feel it must’ve missed the message lately it’s been constantly calling me, cursing me -
Telling me it hurts to breathe, I’m tired but I’m awake afraid of dreams that reoccur while I am asleep.
It says I’m weak and no one loves me, I’m just a burden to bare on everybody that I care about and I’d be better off dead.
Says ‘it’s okay to be a quitter, remember last time you tried?’
I thought for half a second and before I could reply
‘That’s what I thought’ it cut me off ‘you sit in one place going nowhere just spinning your wheels - you would love to buy a boat but wont, always wanted your own house but nowhere ever felt like home, you love her but she’ll never know it, so what?—admit it she’s better off being kept in the dark ..then again you never know, she might need laugh at the expense of your heart.
You lazy wishful waste of bones, my god, you’re such a joke and even if it’s you she choose that would go to show that love you hold is just a lie - would you respect her while she says she loves you?
No—I assure you that
the love you felt would surely die.’
‘Why wont you just leave me be?’ I asked and begged for mercy
Without a moment passing depression laughed at last it hurt me.
‘I’m not even real —it’s you that you’ve been hurting.’
Grabbing for my medicine seen my sight was getting blurry
‘You took too much - remember now? Ignoring me wasn’t working. I was all that you had left - making deals with me instead of facing facts - regrets you just left to fester. Crying you tried but that’s a lie only you would buy still vain enough attempt to protect it. Always looking to blame and push peers away - then victimize your own demise like somehow a lack of love or not enough affection was reason for your grand escape - when it was you who failed to mention, you needing help your pride was beyond this intervention. Now there’s no one to blame, too late for a change - as you reach for your phone now you’re practically dead- dial 911 for attention. Tell them it’s me, i made you believe that life was wasted on you- put the pills in your hand told you take them—‘
“911 what is your emergency?”
With half a breath left the last thing i said
“Mis.take.help”

I then awoke alone, in my bed the voice now gone.

Relief for the dream as real as it seemed was just that same old dream.
No need to be alarmed, I’m up now - get ready for another day of mindless work, turn on a lamp and light a smoke-forget the fact the power’s overdue. Ash my cigarette atop a stack of boating magazines i acquired as a muse - thoughts of my boss cross my mind (that ****) just bought a yacht brand new doesn’t know how much I do. If I wasn’t there they’d be so *******, no one can do what i do. Drop my smoke in last nights last glass of rye and make my way to my mirror where I contemplate a shave. Stubble is fine, i just wet my face and skip the soap. Gargle a bit of no name Scope in hopes it hides the smell of whiskey, nicotine but mostly just my shame.
Make my way to a bus i cannot miss. Sit three seats away from this girl i see each day. I’m half awake and always rushed and so i never ask her name. Looking down at a broken phone trying to wrap my head around this weather. If it rains it seems i always forget my **** umbrella then again the sun might shine a bit to bright while of course i forgot my shades - and just watch, you’ll see, later it will be way too warm to wear this sweater.
She usually does crosswords - she’s so pretty and smart
A moment to catch my breath and thoughts this is where she gets off, that means the next stop is my stop
Smile, single file three get off i wait so i am last - the first guy makes the same bad joke everyday i fake a laugh - step out on the sidewalk make my way to make a buck. Another day like everyday before it - repeats so i feel stuck.
I tell myself my luck will change as long as i put up - with all these friendly faces counting down the days till payday - tinker with the idea i might get away for a couple nights take in some sights unseen
Knowing that i never will but its a nice warm thought to think.
Made it through a monday with hope infatuation meets my eye - on the bus back to my place although I’ve never seen her ride on my afternoon commute. Still, i felt a familiar pang of hope today she might then for sure i could finally introduce myself.
Disappointment as we fly past her stop - I’m always so busy. Too busy for love. Never enough time, and time is a cost i can not afford while i walk a couple of blocks to corner store internally *******. Alone in my thoughts about all that I’m missing. Pick up my brand of smokes they went up, can’t buy a magazine thanks to prices they want - still have a bottle back up in my flat. I suppose that can wait now ill make my way back. All the while i keep wondering why, cigarettes cost so much - it’s a plant thats dried up. Alone back at home i turn on some tunes look out the window to stare, it will do even my radios antenna is in need of repair. They don’t make em like they used to i quip to myself - drink until I forget the fact that I’m afraid to sleep -
And that’s why a while back
I made a deal with my insomnia, if it let me unwind I’d only pop a couple pills a night but i find nowadays it all seems foggy like I’m losing my mind - weather hasn’t changed since I can’t recall, the bus and those who ride it also all are the same.
Anxiety is racing now my hearts beating fast - grab a glass a water a drink it all back. Look in to the mirror and close my eye to forget.

This is where i live now.
Forever this is it.

It's events in the form of dreams or memories, even thoughts that could reoccur over time if the now does not change. The now, can make the past seem like it was only yesterday or the day before. The years that go by, the months that go by, the weeks that go by, the days that go by. It's all in the past to the mind, but if the now does not change? The past can become all that is new.

All that it once was.

Time spent thinking of you
Breathe wasted speaking of you
Headaches reoccur because of you
It's the love that won't fade
The part of me that still cares
But it's the stronger part of me who serves as a reminder
That you're no good and you never were
That if I were with you
Time would be eternally wasted
My breath would shorten from fighting
And the headaches would turn into migraines

i came onto this site because of you
and now i've been cut off from the entirety of you
you have left my sight entirely
you and narcotics reoccur in my thoughts daily....funny no one mentioned girls would give me withdrawal symptoms
i tormented you with a guilt trip, but i am guilty of tripping on my own set backs as a constant reminder of that which i don't want to be reminded
your land, exploring with you i have newly marked it

you are so beautiful...yet you deny it...it's like denying gravity...we all know it's there.
the colourblind person may not be able to see red, but i stare at this apple for evidence.
your eyes sparkle like the glimmer of a snowflake
diamonds don't refract as much light as your eyes
alluring (hot) like a burst of magma spewed out of a volcano
you are calm and listen...listen to me...you listen.

σχίζω (greek) must ****..i'm trying to understand, but i can't walk a mile in your shoes because i only wear flip flops/
who would walk a mile in platforms...the stage is yours.