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Brynn Apr 2014
No; Adverb \ˈnō- Used to convey the opposite of a following statement.
Where; Adverb \ˈhwer, ˈwer, (ˌ)(h)wər- At or in what place.
Nowhere; Adverb \ˈnō-ˌ(h)wer, -(h)wər- Not in or at any place.

Spaceless, timeless, empty.
Lost.
Taken away from all things familiar.

Nowhere: A compound word derived from the words No and Where.

When placed together these words contradict.

Is Nowhere a place in itself?
Is it a place absent of stars and atoms in which no location can be found?
Is it a place absent of time?
Or over the years have the building blocks of this word been altered.
Is this place here?

Are we No Where?
Or are we
Now Here.

It does not matter the place.
It does not matter the time.
For whether these exist or not.
We are Now Here.

Now; Adverb\ˈnau̇- At present time.
Here; Adverb \ˈhir- In or at this location.
Now Here; Adverbs \ˈnau̇\ˈhir- Presently at this location.
Jazzelle Monae Apr 2014
The tension,
did you feel it too?
Pulling you-to-me,
or was it metoyou?
One moment
an arms length       away
The next,
nospacebetween

Breathless begins to feel
good
© 2014 by Jazzelle Monae. All rights reserved.
I felt the totality of nothing
and it provoked utter elation
as all that was born of sensation
was inversed to none, nothing, one.

It feels nothing beneath or above,
Neither beside of me, no way
left nor right nor wrong.

As aeons unfelt
allowed anesthesia
to grip me, held wight
by its dissociative thrall.

I have braved the depths
of eternity, delved into spaceless
infinity, submerged in its chaotic bliss.

I dared to immerse myself in it.
Low and behold, the M-hole.
There's nothing there (if ever you'll remember where).
Parker Sep 2018
The man on the moon has tied a noose
Stars are choking on temporary love
Known faces becoming blurry
Darkness
Holds my heart
I met your shadow
The absence of light
The creator destoyed
My temporary site
Whispers and screams
Eyes sealed shut
Everyone is laughing
Anxiety fills my gut
Juliana Mar 2021
A glass box, sitting on the wooden shelf carved
by an unknown soul, in an unknown time.
The box is solid, invisible, humane.
The creature who lives there is trapped,
yet he does not know anything else.

This box, his glass prison, is his whole world.
His freedom, his nature, it is here he travels
from one side of his spaceless cage to another,
searching for a purpose; a meaning.

Yet how can there be any meaning
when one’s life consists of a water jug,
filed down wood trimmings, a few brown
pellets, and a spinning wheel.

The wheel, and its monotonous motion,
saddens me. There is no destination, no
ending goal, just energy wasted on a lifetime
of potential. The poor creature had such
potential. If only he could leave his cage.
Michal Shilor Jan 2014
loss
and rainbows where two edges meet
orchestras of cellos (purposely out of tune)
shallow gasps manifested in rest notes between the spaces of off-key melodies
mosquito bites and your suggestion that my blood must be sweetest but I can't take you as a compliment;
this is not a time for threats, my darling, nor is it a time for deaths. it is not a time for spaceless thoughts nor for confessions with political motives under white garments of smiles and spices and seductive entices

the breath gets deeper even if only for a moment and then the gasp returns:
     the window blinds my glasses
      the windows blind the masses
       the windowblinds conceal the sun from me which hides my sanity and peace behind the instruments and their voices but it is probably to be found in the rests where the bars meet each other at the edges, where the silences collide and burn as substances react to oxygen and oxidized carbon and I don't feel god and that is startling,

it is starting to sound like a long bar of rest notes
or a mind which deciphers like stars out of their constellations
                                                       out of their occupations
                                                       out of their spheres
                                         like stars unaligned
                                         like lies out of signs in the open blinding sun shining minds sparkling like water after a chemical synthetic process (like most of our bodies) and my condescending opinions on all who give in to fabrications and useless surgeries and drugs to feel
or to stop feeling, or to reverse the effects of
our sadness our misery our traumas and dramas
without seeing them face to face, eye to eye, because to turn around blindly is
so. much. easier.
the lone boatman Dec 2014
A spaceless canvas of a beautiful dream
Spaces to see and spaces to dream
Myriad and countless in thousands they seem;
Distanced thoughts of an uncertain kind..
The swift strokes of a finer self
A breast of pain and the womb of death..
The Rampant search of a timeless man,
The Mystique brilliance of a madder dream..
Clawing to lose a searchless path
The Maya of me and the Maya of death
Spaces and spaces myriad they seem

To stand alone and To view apart
An un-poisoned brightness of a fewer whole
froth-less waves of a mid-life's depth
kindled flames, a rocking boat
Spaces and spaces to me they seem
(needs some editing..)
Randall Walker Oct 2017
This is real
This is true
I cut, reform, reshape for you
And though it hurts
With penknife sting
I hope one day
You'll accept this ring.

So trust me baby
Though I cause a fuss
I’ll work on past it
For the sake of us.

Lace my pain with percussive cussing
Swear care no matter how you fare
Taking turns, till, we in turn fail
End nearing, gasp through by breadth of hair.

So hold no breaths
And cry no tears
We’ll be there soon
Speak, breathe, forget your fears.

It's true our future’s cloudy
We're over 8 by 8 by 100 miles away
I daily **** up as you tuck in
Pledging, “Rest, I don’t jest figure eights.”

Numbers don’t matter.

And my senses, they’re surely wrong.

So why hold both eyes on you?
And ask the same for me, just as long?
It’s so we both go strain blind
Bind souls and minds together
Splatter glue hastily agreeing to this eternal song
Float handheld in this spaceless place
Disintegrating all the walls that fall upon us.

… Or those we need to walk through.

There, in fantasy, easily we go
Each kiss a taste of the love we share
That we only alone in our nakedness wear
It's clear I would put nothing on or over you
Or dare seek some other exchange
Because without this arrangement
There'd be nothing
Besides empty, pitted pangs.
Joseph Martinez Aug 2011
Wild rose

within a windowless, fire-lit night
flickering angels of the holy moment
swarming over top of my bed
swallowing my soulful thoughtless form
suspending my forlorn figure across the staggering skyway & stretching flesh thin as film across cloudless expanses

A riotous, monumental movement in time
known only in it's infinite form, the destructive creator, by the wholly most defeated souls
-those who seek the warm glowing eternal dawn of the unobtainable realm, the spaceless expanse of godly bliss
those who go mad in their thoughts and weep for misery they cannot detect but which looms, omnipresent, as a deranged creature of scavenged bones and pale white memories
K Balachandran Mar 2014
A giant egg of possibilities,
we see from inside, its embrio
yolk and white, like galaxies
this rainbow colored  cosmos,
lay submerged within
the timelss -spaceless state,
unimagianably limitless,
indescribable, incomparable
unfathomable and  know not
what or what not,
inspite all continueing probes.

A matrix of 'multiverse' exist
ignorant of one another
within the cosmic egg.
Inside the egg's one puny little cell
you and I fill an infinitesimal space
why try to break the tender shell
and **** the millions of organisms?

Love can heal, make the shell endure
and expand the possibilities, more and more
till the dice from a mighty invisible hand
falls over the egg , one fateful day
and the play comes to a grinding halt.
may be with a whimper not with a bang.
Alin Jan 2017
What is a day when you wake up in meditation
this body is inseparable from this light
and the mellowly blowing signless flag
singing only to one side
and the brown edge
beckoning
nothing else than its edgeness

Skin having already freed itself from the weight bearing traces of the dust of my mind
capturing smooth
the light –
melting differences over the bumpless
recalling velvety longing

not for the sake of the material but
Saluting
the freedom that has once recorded this twin light
long ago
on such surface

for its manifestation


bringing awareness about the tempter
on senses
and again imploding its imaginary cavities
on the touchless curves of a sofa
newly displaying the angle of
its wooden edge
drawing a perfect eighty five degree Invisible line
in space
towards the webless corner -just noticed-
where the eye gets relieved by its neatness
and relaxes
becoming the point of a trivalent stillness

This – the edgy- is a sister of these Sofa legs
Four in all

implying itself as a sexiest part of its couch –
couch of a type – as it says
owning each other
now
Like body and sense
in one posture
and in its remembered object name

and maybe ready to unfold memories Alas
if there would be openness to listen
or if I were what it could allure me to be for its charm

but No – it says nothing this time
mending time through fractals of its becoming my spaceless space
with the old radio set aside
never playing more than its silent tunes for those skaters in an etching of an ancient landscape hanging on the wall above since …
since before the internet age
showcasing a memory that nobody knows and can see or hear but smell maybe
beside a winter blossom
flourishing its inspiration

not understanding each other but requiring the same attention as my body does
or as the realization of a thought that I could not run up that hill as fast as that dog –

a dog being observed behind a glass and I am unsure if this observation could have effect on the style it puts to the run

or if my observation is being observed and that may be a reason of its action as such
as if it does so to show off – Really!
unknowing to who or what
and then again still …

AaaaaW !!!! Shut up!

No no no ! I should stop now

what may make a catch less of a catch
putting things of importance of a day on a scale of indifference
and then again what is this nosy urge
unallowing
interfering
asking for order!?!

It is a play.

See ?!
even if you like it or not
I am in and such is
You yOU YoU

A play as true as the one watching
Same actually –
Same as the one watching

Watching or steeped in
Space in Space

and/or
No Space

and/or
non of these Things

nonetheless
A day remains
Unending
as the mind fades to embrace
Wordless

*Like the day
rainbows are manifesting
from the heart of this inspiration
I am a fatalistic dame
*** and death, it’s all the same.
Returning, bloodied, from the war
to ***** me on the kitchen floor.

Slick with sweat, my mounted ride
locked and spaceless, held inside.
To have and hold. Oh! Glory be!
And vanquished are mine enemy.

In tattered furs, my Roman king
fresh from battle, seeking sin.
Age and time, the ticking numerals -
why else do we **** after funerals?
Anshuman sharma Apr 2015
Take me somewhere
Into the unknown
Take me afar
And not ashore,
Where time won't come knocking at my door

Timeless and spaceless it shall be
Promise me a life~
Careless and free..
Careless free timeless freedom
Karijinbba Jul 2019
May in Kemah's new
dimension
May a girl be planted
and there she shall bloom
a Texas queen of song
of name and country

may a girl be reborn to grow
to play the game of canoe
with a cute little ruddy boy
by the Galveston's lake's shores

May the two bloom right
where planted near by
a boy and a girl living
perfectly safe childhoods
divine cherished and adored along with many brothers
and sisters
aunts and uncles cousins
all well to do educated gifted
talented society's best
of benefactors to humanity

famous among the elite most prestigious and highly intellectual entrepenours

So that boy and this girl
may grow up living
life to the fullest going to
same schools

loving the out doors under
the starry sky camp
marry and live happily ever
after in another life

In Kemah by Galveston shores
a cute boy and lovely girl shall find each other again

beautiful inside twin smiles outwards  
as were in this lifetime
twin souls found again and again
both shall bloom where
planted intitled
timeless spaceless two as one
twin flame twin souls
~~~~~~~~~~
By:Karijinbba
All rights reserved.
Two souls planned it this way
and so shall it be.

Inspired by Rdd-Jpc
for Bba-Asg
1975-1995-2001-)
eileen Aug 2018
Let's stop talking
I love it when we stay quiet

Mm
love silence

Let's keep quiet
there's nothing to discuss
dismiss all these problems

Mm
I love our silence

I'm never understood
I'm always writing
I have things to say

I stay silent
I'm always watching

I can't say what I want to say

No one ever cares
anyways

We just loving talking
filled with empty words

let's stop talking
I want to hear nothing
foerno May 2013
heavy drips rise from unseen
mind that boggles spaceless theme —seems to escape
i cannot keep it in my frame
the reference begins to blur
as does my conscience of this room
i am and the picture is, that's about how much i can handle
by climbing up i managed to go under
wait, ***** that, i'm going back.
irinia Sep 2016
longing creates canyons
a row of well behaved days
a new physiognomy for metaphors
the night has paused
no semiotic skin between me and my lover
ecoutez-moi
listen to the spaceless desire
this woman lost in me
my womb chimes, utopia
Unlimited
Alisha Isabell Aug 2016
It may be true that we’re
All sitting on death row
Mistaking temporary ripples
For permanence.
But life doesn't touch you
Because
Your eyes are portals into eternity,
And your smile is a wormhole into
Polaroid moments, taking place in
A timeless spaceless plane where
We are infinite.

No wonder the demons are jealous.
Lexander J Nov 2015
He slept as the waking sun approached
suspended in time and spaceless animation,
a man seeking to traverse the stars,
he died gazing with eyes of fascination

with a cigarette hanging jauntily from his mouth
and arms hastily folded,
surrounded with charred magazines and empty canteens
slumped, his skin heavily blistered and scolded

his last hours were that of beauty
lost in silence and subdued by its respect,
he knew his time was up
but of this journey he'd never forget -

"It's just.. so.. beautiful, how can I not love these stars?!
To my left lies Earth, to my right glows Mars -"


his ship a silver bullet plummeting towards the pulsing sun
the tragedy of his voyage forever embedded into everyone's minds,
a shadow soiling the pride of humanity,
a catastrophe that we simply cannot leave behind

#BOOM#

#CRACK#

#FLASH!#

feeling infallible we found nothing but failure
yet through bitter determination we still try,
preparing for another man to be sent in the Lieutenant's footsteps
knowing indefinitely that he could die

"LIFT OFF IN... 5... 4... 3... 2... 1 -"

pathetic, egotistic
desires churning out ideas ridiculous, caustic

vying to conquer space, the whole Galaxy,
yet again greed and power drives the human soul -

alas, such does a few lives become expendable

when we seek that one perfect goal.
Gaye Feb 2017
Seems to me I am doing something wrong,
Terribly wrong to the birthday cakes you
Ate and bikes that broke your spine, but
Spaceless words leave me with pipedreams,
Three years, long and gone but it's not easy
To quit binoculars, I always watch over you,
Obsess over the voiceless words and
Movies I did not understand but I know that
I will keep chasing unless one day you
Pop out of that lousy little town. One day.
I have high hopes.
Aver Oct 2014
and
it happened again tonight
the drifting
that lack of resolve  
my heart only knows how
to dissolve
every morsel of love
every line of your ill reprise  
each inch of this spaceless , weightless soul
growing heavier
and my mind breaks its bonds again
i allow a tear to fall
only one
for i did work so tirelessly to build those walls
to  smelt  the metal on my iron clasps
these locks for which only i possess
the key
your voice
your voice
and its never -failing-to-calm-me personality
my head
my head
and its inability to stay level
to keep my thoughts brief
would be to ask the moon
if it could be the sun
relatives to death and life
we are beautiful creatures
we are tangled lovers
awaiting our demise
if only one sorrowful sparrow
could fly overhead so i could realize
that the air is not solid
yet still i cannot breathe
but all the birds
have gone southward
they have followed the breeze
oh how i wish i could float on the seas
till my purpose is useful and my loneliness at ease  
till my woe-is-me' s
have all been spoken
and my pity wallowed out
till my friends are no longer awaiting
the shadows to bleed themselves out
till my selfish wailing is screamed out
till the days and the nights have lost significance
when time is negligent  
seconds or hours
its all in our skulls
which filled they are now
with words that i've said
have you noticed yet, wise ones
that i speak only of myself
even when im speaking
of someone else
this is the life we have not chosen
to lead
but its ours
and we are its
and there is so very much to see
so shake off your burdens
or sink in the sea
you will rise up or drown
do not follow me
let the spirits run free
of the past and ourselves
speak to the trees ask them where they wish they could be
they are grounded
we are free
Yitkbel Nov 2019
In my copy of J. M. Cohen's translation of Michel de Montaigne's Essays
Cohen wrote in the introduction: "Montaigne accepted a double truth; the sphere of faith and the sphere of reason were to him entirely separate."

If I were to describe my own double truth, of reason and faith,
I think my sphere of faith is surely placed within the sphere of reason.


Like a torus of Reason and Faith:
Though I can rationally navigate my way to reach the membrane of my faith
What is truly hidden within is still ever beyond reason.

Perhaps through this relentless search of truth, and the piercing gravity of love,
I can one day breach and reach
The nucleus of this ring or Circle
That is Perfectly spaceless
And
Timeless
The Torus of Reason and Faith
By: Yue Xing Yitkbel **** 
November 5, 2019 2:09 PM
S I N Nov 2019
I met him standing
In the middle of the lane, awaiting
For some silhouettes, apparently,
For he
Was gazing through the haze
Enveloping the ground of this intricate maze,
Amidst eternities of both
The one behind us and the one of forth
Acquaintance; peevishly there hotching
On his place, like pole earthshaking
Though with not a-lack of grace
This little figure strangèly reminded
Of my own wraiths I thought was far behind me; but never did they leave my soul’s abode,
No matter whether home I or abroad
I always carry them like plummet on a chain
With which all a-way down and down upcoming drowner fane,
Just like pale moon is setting to its further sleep
The same way future drowner does complete
The full life circle of eternal plan,
The one which you could not outran
In vacuous attempt to fool the time
In game that has been riggéd before thine
Name and surname were inscribed in list
Of papyrus and lost in spaceless mist
A relict from the days of yore
As i sit on the damp bank amongst the ivy that can’t help but tickle my ankles
I listen to the gurgling stream, and she says to me
“Life isn’t always as it seems, but if you look at everything with a positive mind-- obsticles become easier even if they seem impossible…”
And the trees wave me on..
Their support helps me breathe in ever so deeply..
I’m alive, i’m alive…
The bugs cheer me on to peddle faster and the wind is here to cool me off
And as i let out a big sigh,
I’m not ready to die,
I am spaceless, i am timeless,
I’m not ready to die
I’m not ready to die quite yet
this poem was just for fun, i love to personify nature as if the little beings/ critters are my friends... inspired by a simple bike ride in the park and being able to simply sit by the bank an listen to what around me has to say
Faizel Farzee Oct 2019
Some times I steal a glance at you sitting
Lost in a spaceless haze

Thoughts of wonder I hope, running through your mind
I smile slowly creeping over your captivating
lips
Unknowingly it instantly lights up the sky

Your beauty at this moment overwhelms me
I promptly forget who I am, I too get lost in a timeless daze
The love we share I can never truly capture
Your beauty these words can give justice to
Just know I'll keep trying my love
Until my last breath
This words from my soul is true.
- Jan 2018
If this sorrow dares not ever fade, in that what way is my heart paid
Severing the electric within me, the frame within me
What splay! O what splay…
Save me, GOD!
I PLEAD, you step from your throne, your spaceless, timeless domain and save me... A MERE MORTAL AMONGST STARS
Save me, she will not.
George Krokos Jan 2018
Boundless
Changeless
Colorless
Deathless
Fathomless
Formless
Mind­less
Odorless
Spaceless
Timeless
Weightless

Nothingness

Attribu­te-less
_____
Written in 2017.  About the indescribable nature of God or the Eternal Divine Spirit and Almighty Being
MS Lim Jan 2016
Too often the heart can do what the brain can't and puts the grey matter to sleep---it has no limits and is free as the wind, it is spaceless and encircles the whole universe.  It is a mystery beyond the brain's finiteness.

THE HEART OR THE BRAIN?

In my youth I held
the brain to be superior to all
the seat of all wisdom
and the university dons said: 'the call

of genius lies
in grey matter-
nowhere else--you students should know
lest you academically falter'.

I wore my degree
on my sleeve
I could talk my way through
it only brought grief.

I found through the years and tears
reasoning and logic was dry as leaves in decay
I learnt to laugh and smile, I smelled the flowers
I talked to kids, I tried to write poetry and in every way

my childish innocence and wonder
returned and I was transformed and born again
I began to feel and understand life's mysteries
its wondrous  joys and its every deep pain

and how profound was peace and contentment
(who ever dared say ' Knowledge is the end-
the door to bliss?'   Trust not lofty philosophy
it's a cynic, a joy-destroyer and not a friend).

My heart is with me every moment
and with it I converse and only in it I place all my trust
my brain is arrogant, without warmth and obtrusive
garrulous and obtrusive---say goodbye to it I must.
* prompted by a short conversation with Jamie , a fellow-writer in HP
today
# John Keats, in a letter wrote:
I am certain of nothing but the holiness of the heart's affections
and the truth of imagination.  He is my favourite English romantic poet
Morrie W S May 2019
i wish this one had a rhyme,
a careful slip-of-hand design.
i wish i could look myself in
the eye

i wish i didn't sense disaster,
wish ken felt less like the cruelest master.

i wish i believed a wish meant anything.
that way when i stared off into the sun,
i could trade a line on the eye chart
for more years with you

i wish any of my thoughts made sense

i wonder how you can love me  
when what i have equates to pence

i wonder how all the things about myself i can't stand--
i wonder how all of those things are so beautiful on you

there are a lot of things i wonder
and none of them compare to your ageless, spaceless, graceless grace
wip sort-of, rambling
Mateuš Conrad Mar 2020
i said to her, prior -
i've just found a gem of a song...
alterslied by walther von der vogelweide,

how would it not remind me
of the time - the spring on the balcony -
the suffocating perfume of
the marrow yet to be or just born
in the calf -
         or the perfumery of mahogany
of cherry not yet a chair or
a table... in that: her blossom as if...
more tender than any japanese
porcelain or for that matter: geishas'
milky leather... warm: for still worn
cloaking the sinew, the **** and spew
of intestines...
            and the last signature in bone...
still walking... calling the moon
a... fickle dunked biscuit...

  she was blooming beneath me...
this cherry tree - and but one among
the rest of the plethora of scents...
      still that book i was reading:
Henryk Sienkiewicz - knights of the cross -
the teutonic knights -  Krzyżacy -
          and of course the screen-adaptation...
one by Aleksander Ford...
    
the veneer corpse riddle -
                haunting as glass
with its imitation of water
                  or see through
as a veil of Baghdad's exquisite harem
of an abiding: sheikh or imam -
            piercing eyes that know no
depth of sleep -
                   stolen light: as what i call
dreams -

but i was "thinking" along the lines
of...
             neoplatonism came from
Plotinus reading Plato - basics...
         Bertnard Russell can cover the rest...
but i was "thinking" of... a neo-cartesian model...
way before it might become ideological
and an 'ism...
                      how does the original begin?
dubito, ergo cogito, ergo sum...
   not much of doubt these days...
to doubt these days is to almost entertain
belief: or at least: the plethora of emotions
that hitchhike their way for the heart
to carry... it's not an outright negation...
doubt, that is...

           then again: doubt is a double-edged
sword... it cripples those that believe
as it does ******* those who disbelieve...
        
   but i can hardly want to begin from doubt...
i've heard it somewhere...
like a hindu or a buddhist mantra...
i remember...
i remember...
    i remember...
                 i did link memory to a sort of...
cameo cinema of my place in this world...

perhaps... if i begin with: dubito - i doubt...
i don't see how i can translate myself into
a concreteness of: cogito - i think -
therefore into: sum - i am...
        by now thought is a fickle aspect of
my summa summarum...
i'd very much like to begin with...
at least one aspect of time being invoked...
doubt... is timeless -
                        thought is timeless and spaceless...
existence: is both...

i'd begin my neo-cartesian route by
stating an alternative route...

memoro, ergo cogito, ergo sum...
i remember, therefore i think, therefore i am...
doubt is a fickle creature...
a pretty creature... a peacock...
which... is hardly a phoenix...
     can any so-called editorial section journalists...
the opinion pieces journalists...
the dialectical-phobia-prone saturday journalists...
be called... journalists?
      
  are they really journalists?
to have... opinion columns in newspapers?
just asking...
i never thought they were...
   ideologue ditto-heads comes to mind...
how can: thinking translate itself into:
the pivot of out of every instance:
this insistent paraphrase...
      
       i never find myself shackled to thought...
esp. not by doubt...
           the labours of the liar to think...
when all has been thought...
but i am gladly thinking when shackled
to memory - when there's some narrative involved...
when there's the cameo cinema of memory
and i find myself: a good man...

i was once accused of "liking the sound
of my own voice"...
god forbid - but with regards to liking
my given names?
how doesn't this sound:
but it already does: Conrad von Heiligkreuz...
second name at baptism -
and i am... von heiligkreuz...
it's a region in Poland...
       there is a Świętokrzyskie Voivodeship...
i have a fetish for german...
and it's not like matthew isn't a loan
name to be given - origin in hebrew...
but at least i have a past -
to live under the guidance of the names
bestowed upon one...
in good company with ol' von Wallenrode...
C... K... does it matter?

i do like my given names...
hell... i'd like it even more if i was
Ezra rather than Matthew...
more so if i was a Nikita...
fluid non-binary names... don't you think?

because i am thinking of germany
from the medieval period -
             or at least: what became of barbarossa
drowning and being pickled...
and how... prussia and lithuania were
just gagging for a stab in the dark
for an already adrenaline fuelled junkies
of the passion of the cross...
or *****... i never know which the jester,
marquis the sade asked for...

foundation of knowledge: yes...
dubito, ergo cogito, ergo sum...
but i'm not here to know more than what's
already known - where does knowledge
lead these days? pub-quizes and trivia...
regurgitation of facts...
i want to find an alternative to knowledge...
a: transcendence of morality -
a leverage of my remains that cannot
be confined to a bone -
to a name - i'd wish for an escape
with and through an epitaph...

                     or - anon.
                       as some works are cited...
prompter of the theatre -
     in the prompter's box when the actors
would forget their lines...
ah... the critique of the proposition with
the presupposition of a "i"...
                  "it" is also a presupposition -
nothing can be a pronoun...
                                but i'm not here to make
a genesis of man via: dubium...
nor via reverentia...
     i'm not a child any more...
i've visisted the underworld and came back
with dreams -
and to the world i left and came back
to... yes... i have been here before...
    to begin with... memoriae... though...
that's enough to subsequently think,
to subsequently be...
   otherwise why would the powers that be...
make it a crusade in the realm
of pedagogy
to pour corrosive juices into our brains
with all that encyclopedic *******,
arithmetic when there are calculators,
to exhaust our very personal capacity to
remember?
travesty i yelp!

                   hell: i'll even yarl!
                save your memory...
it will give you more than doubt in what
has to become you -
   or whatever happens to thinking -
insert any number of blanks when a concrete
translation of thought into will was lost
to "thinking" / day-dreaming...

but at least: the cameo cinema of memory...
10 very focused memories...
enough... and these to be kept unchanged...
sharpened like flint...
polished like silver...
             bitten like metal...
                     worshipped like ink poured
into chiselled labyrinths of timber...
                            
                      to wake from having to inherit
the 20th century from others...
              my 20th century begins circa 1989...
but it also begins circa 1944...
and circa 1937...
                        circa 1982...
                                            circa 1998...
             circa 1994...
                           but it is never...
the history of a people that is...
             but my slot... memory: as personal
as thought... i have seen how memory can be
usurped... can be... the focus of saboteurs...
          i'm missing two nouns at present...

to remember something from aeons beyond...
i cannot doubt these two words i am thinking of...
but i don't remember them...
then again: is memory such a fickle bride
of thought?
            isn't doubt more fickle?
                    
ah! subverters! well... saboteurs...
         and that second word?
it's a psychiatric term: of implanting false
memories... regression!
                 or something... but if psychiatry
is making an attack on the faculty of memory...
and pedadogy has already poured
carboxylic acid into our brains with education
that's... only for the purpose of ensuring
there are pedagogues...

                       yes... and the prospect of me becoming
a father, let alone a grandfather...
is for mickey mouse to become a ******* nun...
but you'll never know...

memory is under attack...
doubt... well you can doubt whatever the hell
you want: deny or believe whatever you want...
mind you...
if it "all" begins with:

    memoro, ergo cogito, ergo sum...
and psychiatry and the great psi (Ψ) of psychology...
what sort of: "critique of the proposition with
the presupposition of a 'i'" is there?
when you have the practice of regression /
false memory implants? and all that pedogogic juice
to boot?

better keep yourself to memory...
you never know: doubt can take care of itself...
it doesn't have to translate into thinking
into being...
but sure as **** and sherlock 'olmes to boot...
your memory needs defending...
to be sure... a + b + a + c + u + s = ?
                         well... sure... 1 + 1 = 2...
        to put to memory... how something sounds...
into writing... onomatopoeia...
well... it's not one of those: knock-knock...
who's there jokes...
                  ghosts don't knock on doors...
they slide their chains across the wood...
rhapsody in any ghoul's adventure of:
revision of the taste of morello cherries...
there will be no revision of the taste of morello cherries!
that sort of sour is one and only,
and it would better define someone's last
breath on this rock and couldron of constellations
come night... than...
                              an adieu with a kiss.
Nikka Arabestani Feb 2019
The blind man too,
enjoys birdsong, sun on his face,
pungent scents of spice, the
perfume of flowers.
Even the flute pipes sweeter when
undistracted.

In solitary silence
taste the freshly peeled orange,
enjoy the citrus spray,
remember this spaceless,
pin-wheeling sensation.

Savor the memory of
of morning gold rush,
summer blues in lazy sky,
rose and amber dusk falling,
nights when the moon hung so low
light brushed your cheek with slumber
and you saw heaven through the eyes of a dream.
Ken Pepiton May 26
All my mind in time spent
Thinking in multi-tasking mode, modernized
ontuition, in multicomplexity, chata chabad,

original intention, revealed long ago,
to a trance chance glance of a ox, I knew,
it was no bull.
But had been, as a calf.

*******.
Some old fool I knew,
hollers from the back of my mind…

Historically, part of me assists informing
all the first time crossers of this meandering

mind stream swirling phi in life with pi and x
concepts set to contend, earnestly
for the best gifts, coveted, in trust,

true rest, excusing superstitious sacraments,

all the lies are swallowed in truth, time tells.

A message. An Inspirited shape in forming,
a we, to recollect once knowing an instant true.

An artist, a person gifted with a time spanning
imagination.

An eye, we use, in times of loosed beliefs,
ontuition, intuited as mysterious mystical
as a we. We
have being shared in timesmindspace's
expanded sense of each reader's pace
adapting
breath and bubble, below
common consciousness
sensing sensibilities
adapted to due to normalized
faith in the phraze that declares,
MONEY ANSWERS ALL THINGGGGS

in the infallible preacher's whinings

que sera, sera

the story from the spirit window seen
through to the future when you see
we imagined knowing is repetition,

we imagined many impossible things,
we made them work, mickey mouse,
but, we made things work, to make
old age easier for the beguiled mis-
sionaries, empty vessles, gathered

widow's mighty faith, borrow,
borrow means, to know, how lamps
kept burning, call with smoke,
commas breathe and act as brakes/ lo'
come trim the new knowns from olden
days, now that the curious may fact check

but, as with plain text literacy, the gifted,
the mind that can read and does not,
knows no more than the mind
in movie mode, turbo
memory augments
tuned to reason,
depth charges,
accusing saints,

calling all revelators to prophesy
face to face with Micaiah, and walk on
inspired by his God's permissive will done
bymarching as to war dening the imperative,
loving those who treat you like refuse, biochar

desert stream bringing lithium from old dust,
what was once some kind of star rare as hells.
-------------
non sense. sense.
sems sun sumsymsense when  we accept

let us veliebe, old orders of reformed
societies, gelaubt
after the purge of all who
could not tolerate the truth,

The pilgrim's fled religion,
the missionaries sold religion,
and the money changers set the worth
of knowledge traded for curses lifted,

when old men stop drinkin' stop being
so godamned useless and good

for nothing, free, for free
for nothing but the use
knowing good from bad. from a child,
fed sweet peaches from Canyon de Chelly

-- long ago a hero named Kit Carson
-- led federal troops and local conscripts
or hired hands, squatters on Dene land,
Kit led a rowdy bunch to Canyon de Chelly

to burn a thousand of the sweetest peach trees
ever nourished for centuries on sacred ground.

Kindness of strangers,
old cultural investments, paid ahead,
weight of all the worthy fasts all past,
take no thought for worth in exchange
for the yes, at the judgement bar,
to thy ownself true, are you ready
for your judgement day, bets all in?
worth of an extra six months, at the end

this is declared that bet, let ride… no

money, ecclesiastical hordes, invested
with the wise users of letting information
manifest compounding interest, on a whim,
made this will worship worth reproving,
as a fluid  ide, a thought, breath,
thing in a thought, hooks
an eye a measure, a
0ne part in one floating point
at the recent mean rate of Petaflops
just yoost
enough, particle particulation, you think
this time,
it makes patience sweeter than revenge.

We yoost to call the guy who knew the rules,
now ai know, so we can say we do. too.

This is a good future. We had something like it
propagating between data and metadata price
praise and worship
measure all the effort effectual
as taken for granted to mean  whatever
confusion
persists in believing spells
concentrated into koanic mantras,

spend time or take time
used for nothing more than
slowing knowing too much humm

coming into tune to the ever after
Jesus, or a spokes person, Paul, I think,
sole witness of his own conversion,
according to the authorized story,

let this mind be.
Let this mind be in you.
Letting that which letteth be
taken away,

what can it mean, to
a day dream believer, and
a rodeo queen, at the dawning
of the harvest festival down under.


costs the average adult VBS QUESTERS,

when an instance in doubt, forced yous
to learn we do have multiple CPUs

some of which tuned in to sub conscious
user canals cutting across the esophagus

as we swallow, unsaid protestations,
gulping hesitation, to **** it up and,
clear the are way, to say it is gnosis,

air way, empty abhorred vacuous space
between ose and ic on balancing atomic

ideas developed to help us conceive, ic
internal circuitry to as ist, sein, wir sind,

intentionally conserved kennen und wissen,

in qwerty future scribal service prep,

during the Child Buyer buildup at ARPA net,

Ike's first term,
before under God went in the pledge,
but after Polio was cured, in exchange,

some good, some bad, live and learn,
before the Dulles Brothers,
before solid state quantum foam bubble RAM.

And.
Now.
The original intent. Embodied in a word, as
real as any worded message from beyond you.

Real letters, letting us think,
silly thought that never stink,

sigh, and try to be honest now, smell
the rose or the cheese, ask
which triggers gut reaction,

relaxatation, loosen bowels of mercies,
prayed for under inquisitor's historical,

memories, useful for Memorial Day BBQs

wave the sacred flag representing the lost
intentionally religiously regulated republic,

God, bless America, the dream, the ghost.

True rest, flowing in life's higher will warrings,
appetites and courses cut across experiences,

manifest in out of mind rewindings of things,
math wise, a ruliard is thinkable, as this set,

these words that translate verbatum,
phonetically in webedonspoken spaceless
old cuneiform wet clay repressed
palimpsests lost to EMPs,

in all dystopias.

--------------------

Fretting for another's lack of freedom
to imagine using another's mind, reading

original intention, when the parable,
or analogy allowed in drama spake aloud

to the rabble used to make deme mobs,
we forms of feeling normal, we think alike

until freedom emerges from an over learned
truth, from the bottom of your cache,

depths unplumed introspherical sure selves
set on shelves as crystaline urns, not a few.

see if some
of these be emptied, not a few, emptied
of old lies left allowed told, according
to old oaths taught us in our toddlehood.

What binds us to our oaths?
In truth we slightly smile, saying whatever
in truth being lets us be
we remain free, from fretting overflow.

----------- epithought
this professional whim wrestling is useful:
for rumination under mystical mis perceptions,
for greazing gears gone crusty dis used,
-- legal. garden grown herba consemillia
the dormouse said feed your head.
Slick, Grace.
All my mind in time spent worrying never netted me one extra day, now,
after a heart attack six month's ago I have  all my children and grand children laughing at old hippie stories that prove war is hell. all avoidable, with thought.
Tanaya Oct 2020
'I' am the Universe's Eye, the metaphysical self, the Bliss Divine.
Transcending the realm of the ordinary and familiar-
I am not just the Mind, nor just the Matter;
But everything yonder, as well as in between;
Spaceless and Timeless, 'I' am the Light within.


Neither am I born, nor shall I expire
Not from Adam and Eve did I transpire.
Neither words nor intellect could ever describe;
I am not the one from God's forsaken tribe!


In the cacophony of life, which is another delusion
My ****** existence is mere illusion.
Where is my life source and where does it end?
A Supreme Consciousness manifestation, I do comprehend.


I am the Gita, the Bible and Koran,
The twilight sky, The early Dawn.
I am the God Particle, the vibration of an atom;
I am the Lightning in the Thunderstorm;
I am the supernovae and the penetrating Black Hole;
I am  Infinite- an extension of The Whole.


Wordly attachments bind us to the cycle of rebirth;
The soul is hence born on this earth.
In stillness and silence, find the real 'I'
Extinguish the manacles of the menacing 'My'.
Solve the eternal question- Who am I;
and there shall the foundation of our Enlightenment lie!

Tanaya
10/10/2020
This is a daring attempt to understand the concept of the soul's origin and manifestation of all living and non living entities that come from one source- The Light, which is The Supreme Consciousness that we all call God. With the ultimate salvation of the soul shall we again merge into the Whole ( The Universe). My take on the Hindu Holy  Book- The Gita

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