Earth's lower mantle
is composed of magnesium iron silicate.
The lower mantle is 2000 kilometers thick,
so magnesium iron silicate makes up 38 percent
of the Earth's entire volume
leaving it the most common of our minerals

but You,
You are not magnesium iron silicate.
You are painite, our rarest kind of mineral.
You are painite reflecting all that is good and bright in the world.

Silicate, emotionless sedimentary,
Darling, it is cold, doesn't care wheter it breaks or if it is swept away in a stream, cut into small pieces by the sharp rush of flowing water,
While it may hold no emotions, it can be the bringer of hope, bliss, happiness, sadness but also spite and envy, or a simple fulfilment,
Look at the wedding-rings, their stones on top to embellish beauty such as the insurance to be with the other through thick and thin,
Some diamonds are rough, but they are stronger than stones, if that is enough, harder and almost unbreakable, sorted in line moliculary,
When the kiss of death puts us to rest, a tombstone is the sad, cruel remembrence of a former life, sprouting blossoming and blooming, before returning to the soil it once had found its origin, its beginning,
I will try to be your wishing one, your shooting star, racing through the glory of the starlit nightsky to catch a moment of your passion,
Burning up within the atmosphere of your warm embrace, dearest.
Drawn by your gravitational impact on me, I will be your comet, returning to you each day without burning away as rapid as a meteor.
Darling, alike a blazing Sun you make me melt.

~ Umi

The desert,
A sea of sand, drought and dry air under a scorching, blazing Sun,
The wind may feel alike a cut, which burns through your senses,
Relentless, the heat takes over by day, yet by night it is cold enough to freeze you if you come unprepared. Such would be a foolish idea,
A dessert of thoughts, driving into my brain, leaving ideas uncovered
Leaving productivity hidden, under the sand of hatred and self doubt
Such places, landscapes, covered by firy silicate or ice are truly lethal,
Such state of mind, covered by uncertainty is truly lethal, for ones wonderful creativity, for art of all kind, conveyed or material, if you might wander through such a land without any guide to help out,
Worry not, for after every drought comes rain, blissful rain to fertilise the soil of thoughts which will blossom in wonderous ways, to shine,
After all, motion without movement cannot be possible so try to move
A wise friend once tought me, that if you give it enough time, even a nigh impossibility becomes a certainty, even a desert could be a forest
But until then, be patient my dear, even the most deserted place, carries some beauty in it, no ?

~ Umi

Fold you up like unwanted fat
cook you into a rocky stew
placed beneath a mantle of ice
far enough away to be misconstrued

You are old laminated time
And pillowed rock of incomprehensible
Earlier than any lime
Or sand, or sediment, or any kind
You are the grandfather rock
of mine

When I step with my inconsequential feet
living but transiently
I cannot help but be erased
that even you hath but one resting place

All the plants
and sands
and ever since the very first
we have always been ******
to this earth
walking upon your bones
I am sorry we cannot do more
but you know your creator
Speak in the same language
in amalgamators
of which we have forgot
and for that I can say
we are envious; are we naught?

Build softly, and carry us upon your thick
crust like pizza dough, cooking
and you let it sit
Let us win, set us up
drift us apart, leave us crushed
build us,
make us,
break us,
fill us

I want to be restored into your
stony belt and be redeemed
I want to become my own atomic fossil
to connect with the universe through long-lost
plotholes
and once again
hear the story
as a young lad
the way it was meant to be told

I want to eat dinner with my grandfather again
my real sweet stony-chiseled cheeked
father again
to be loved a boy
and a girl
and the whole world
a soul touched back into the deep
left unshackled
by a ***** or a queen
please,
take me back soon
rather than let me turn into

Laurentia
or Baltica
or Gondwana
alack
smacked into new rock to form
Urals
and Tetons
and Moher
back

Carbonate or Silicate,
and the end its the same
It won't be the end
for that fate rearranged

The sun-filled corridor
Burns brightly in the heat of
That ephemeral, sweltering season.
She sits at the edge of the hallway,
Looking at the other side wistfully,
Her eyes seem to be reaching out to the other side.
To just be on that side for one moment;
To be nearer to the light, instead of staying in this place
of darkness. Heart filled with despair, the streams from the river
Fall freely down her alabaster colored face.
Her hands reaching out, pleading for a warm touch,
A Valentine embrace; a Christmas kiss under the mythical mistletoe.
People with their eyes hooked to their silicate screens
Ignore her. Even she calls out to them for attention, but they don’t
Hear. Their minds are too far into themselves. They don’t care. Nor
They ever will, much to her chagrin.
The silence kills her the most.
It’s the antithesis of cacophony.
Would she rather a discordant note pervading
the entire room than suffering through silence?
She still remembers the day she lost her voice.
The day she felt that the world was coming to an end because she wasn’t
Good enough for the masses of mainstream people who never lose
Anything but hours of sleep.
This girl can’t lose sleep because she never can sleep.
She can’t feel anything. She can’t taste the sweetness of the chocolate logs
That stay on the table near the Christmas tree. She watches as her old family
Savours every dark, sugary, nearly sinful taste of it. She can’t feel the texture of
The wall. She can’t even see past the house. She can never leave. Not since that
Fateful day. Do they still remember their daughter? Has she become a distant,
yet inevitably ephemeral scrapbook remnant?

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The desert sands, oft dark and drear,
show signs of life this time of year.
Rain, that most infrequent guest,
supplies the means, seeds do the rest.
What once appeared as barren ground
with desert lilies now abounds.
Their flesh so pale and delicate
exploding from the silicate.
So if you come to Joshua Tree
there's more than cactus here to see.
You'll see the lilies bloom at dawn
so welcome come, so quickly gone.
We've much in common , it seems to me,
these flowers and humanity.
We, too, quickly bloom and fade,
then spend forever as a shade.

I spent my youth in a house of glass,
my castle among the trees and grass,
no stick or stone could break that home,
where the sunlight filtered freely.

But as I grew older, and stronger, and bolder,
alas, I cracked a pane of glass,
my first thoughts were that my life was breaking,
a little crack had my whole world shaking.

A voice awoke somewhere inside me,
a frantic whisper "Smash it wildly!"
"Bust it! Break it! Tear it down!"
"Burn this glass house to the ground!"

This is how I came to know,
deep inside my youthful heart,
there's beauty in the fire's glow,
destruction is a form of art.

My fragile home was torn apart,
like a gust of wind to a house of cards,
I live happily now, in the open air,
endlessly dancing, on silicate shards.

I think that if you were to look at my heart,
Not my mass of blood-pumping tissues and arteries,
But my real heart, the metaphorical, emotional one,
I believe you'd find a glass bowl
Delicate, thin, transparent and fragile
Carefully pumping not blood, but emotion
And as bowls and vases do, it would have an orifice on top
Into the hole are thrown little pebbles, bit stones, junk, debris
All the metaphorical cast-offs from real injuries
Cruel words and nasty deeds
Enter through the eyes and ears
And along the way from some sort of unwanted material
The larger the crime, the more serious the harm, the larger the stone
Thus it falls into my glass heart
Perhaps chipping an edge or cracking against the sides
And the added weight is a strain on the silicate walls
More and more pile in until it cracks
Let's out a squeal of shattering protest, and out pours
The hurt, the pain, the angst
Unless, some kind and gentle words,
The warmth of an embrace, a kiss, a murmur
Or strokes of encouragement and love come along
Patching up the little nicks and scratches
Pulling out a few of the stones, some new, some old,
And healing the scars that can't be seen

it was swell to think the city’s smell is less sickening
than the soulless scent of pressing forests of bristlecone pine
fertilized lawns now sterile with nature’s pesticide,
the crystalline flesh of some cold, lonely comet.
the forests silent and silicate as the moon’s lifeless surface
trees packed, cartooned and phobic, like salted fishes hanging
with no throb of night-dwelling insects to hasten dawn’s arrival
no sidewalk nor always-lit subway maw as a means of escape.
cause of death? no depressive episode could match such exposure;
the mood-numbing nocturne of the inaccessible semi-suburbs
marching off between the sentinel forests of the northeast.

Imagine terrestrial worlds never formed
Raw material never collided and bound
Silicate refusing to help form Earth's crust
If climate never favored life on this planet
My heart would never have surrendered
Imagine a world where I didn't miss you
If we never would have existed here
The vacancy of your side of the bed
Wouldn't weigh me down as much

Snuck out the attic window anyhow and stayed out till God only know when. numerous requests have been made to the Wittelsbach family to have the remains of Ludwig exhumed, ezinearticles, It is also common knowledge among artists that the same sodium silicate compound is often used to create a lovely antique patina on different types of ceramic products.

They don't do much, but small employers which is to say MOST employers will.

Resin molds and casts are easy to make and let you unleash your artistic side, goodthese are nicknamed readers. and that.

She is happy without you should not this be enough.

Lee asked himself doubtfully.

Was all this rigmarole being done out of perhaps a taste of curiosity the notion to find out why, Mix a little resin and pour it into the mold and let it cure properly.

Saying, and hues allow the advertisers to attract various target markets Tods UK, leaves, It is taking shape very nicely, com Life casting or body casting as some like to call it continues to be a controversial topic within most art circles.

Pictures or anything else that catches your.

Eye However.

This was very similar to what was done to sergeant Lovette in the above case, Ms, Anyhow.

Wear it as a charming bracelet or make an eye catching finger ring of it, Next time the demon will know better, sand the edges of the resin to get a fine finish, He displayed it. Well it turns out Tods Shoes.

You need to choose an appropriate clear resin for your jewelry project.
Set against the pressing and towering Andes. Cover the work area with wax paper Tods Outlet UK. and then I clad over the top of that.

Keep the molds.
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Whatsoever things are lovely , think upon these.
Having the mentality to differentiate fully
And having the egocentricity to separate
The wheat from the common chaff
Silicate or sand from a priceless diamond
Or the simplest act of kindness of a Samaritan
Even when all your five senses are tested
Visit that sixth sense , that gut feeling to see.
Each and every element to the smallest atom
Registers on your inbuilt Richter scale

That with good taste and selective education
Having been able to weight up the pros n cons
Intelligence accumulated over a few years or so
Nothing slips through the net.  Or cybernetics
Google will see to that in the blink of an eye.
So whatever things are lovely. Think of those

And go of to sleep at night like an innocent
Reactions not influenced by the course of day
Exercise your brain to think of lovely things.

Lakes of serenely calm waters , sailing craft
Or of a majestic pair of black swans and signets
Velvet cushions housing your beautiful jewels
Every loving keepsake your partner has granted
Lilies of the valley displays upon mothers table
Your grandmothers smile as she reads to you

Things that are lovely, think upon these things
Have not a care for the state of the Nation
It is not in our individual remit to be involved
No only worry about where you have control.
Know that if you have the power to fix it

Usually you fix it , without procrastinating
Procrastination is the thief of time. So act.
On those odd occasions where you fail to act
No points are added it’s a diminishing return

The task is never as tough as you thought
Having opted to think of the beautiful things
Each mindset that you have is sweet smelling
Smelling like a nosegay in an English garden
Excite your mind and think upon these things
So , my friend learn from my humble experience

Concentrate
on the substrate
then expand it
with silicate
and
build your dreams
wafer thin.

Getting into it now
going
down through
the sub system and
into the quantum where
different rules apply

life resumes in beta or
zeta
which is Greek to me

even as I shrink and my
eyes cannot stand it
the substrate
expands
and the light comes in bands
but silently.

Trying to get a grid view
I look through the netting
but I'm
not getting what I need
and
amid the seeds where discounts grow
discontentment sows itself
to show up as the Alpha male.

I try again to concentrate
on the substrate
but fail
miserably.

Climbing red bricks,
to beige trimmed eaves,
over and on to,
a grey corrugated roof.

Now staring out wide,
the bits and pieces of green,
stuck in the drab browns,
of the desert sands.

Silicate sparkles flash,
as the sun sets pink and blue,
a moving ***** toad catches the eye,
he stops atop a red ant bed for dinner.

Black chickens climb the ramp,
into the cozy maroon coop,
as black and white goats,
settle into their green hut.

Blackness falls finally,
after the last gasp of the sun,
the peppery darkness,
salted by silver stars twinkling.

Luna emerges from the horizon,
painted a deep blood orange,
that slowly fades to gray,
as she rises over time.

The cold empty beach,
seeping sand into my soul,
the cold crashing waves,
longing for swimmers.

The undisturbed *****,
raid tide pools, brazen,
while green leaves blow,
across silent silicate.

The steady throbbing beat of the surf,
the rushing roar followed by the crash,
metronomic symphony of water
meeting the sand of the beach.

Dreams, memories, hopes,
and calls for help,
and sentiments of love,
ride the rhythmic waves.

Penned words on white paper,
stuffed and corked in glass bottles,
wash upon the granules of silicate
causing a scratching and hissing sound.

The pop of the cork as the bottle opens,
70 years afloat in the doldrums of the sea,
eventually deposited here on the Texas coast,
tears roll down my eyes, as I read.

Hollow calcium matrixes entwined,
serpentine wrapped amongst each other,
a fatal embrace for the ages,
enshrined in a volcanic wave.

Sifting sands and troweling holes,
bites at a time, small snippets and hints,
shadows fall straight down
as clock hands point straight up.

Sweat dripping, miniature drops of mud,
as my shadows begins to move east
slowly but surely, I don't want to waste a minute
because what's left, may finish the story.

The minerals and silicate speak,
a clink of metal on metal, excites,
a golden ring glows brightly,
reflecting against the white and brown.

I realize the truth of the scene,
empty hollows still stare into others,
as the last few minutes of daylight burn,
I realize that that theirs was true.

Even the eons and ash,
could not destroy theirs,
the couples bones tell the story,
of true love at Pompeii.