Life isn’t about
Waiting for the
Storm to pass.
Its about learning
How to dance
In the rain…

Vivian Greene
Wanting to Listen to Somethings

Excuse me,

I read your palm the other day,

excuse me,

thinking about about what to say I read your palm but ended up reading my own.

all by myself

Wanting to listen to somethings

the next lie was approaching but it was truth and it hummed loudly of the truth

it was false it was from the truth that it came it was loud, and it could not be escaped it was thought, inside it was loud it yelled so loud it was silent, but it meant no harm and so it was deadly like so many things, it was natural- Blinded by its power, my malice was exposed- ecumenically dull with intent and blinding with brightness, the strength of its exposure was pain.

Loud piercing sting of pain it relieves the void.

Balance is like a childhood ballet played out in the symphony of past memories-

long since youth was over yet still over and over the reoccurring thoughts recycle the happiness of over

and over

in rhythm and harmony an artificial world creates imperfections

the sweet ending sleep of reality.

THE GREATEST MISTAKE YOU CAN MAKE IN LIFE IS TO BE CONTINUALLY FEARING YOU WILL MAKE ONE.

Elbert Hubbard
death storm

She walked into the room- slowly the silence blanketed the space, and the noise was deafening, and my ears began to bleed. Her fingernails wore the color, racing down my earlobes- and it felt cool running down my cheek. You didn’t see my emotions, my face, cold with expressions of hate, you didn’t notice my heart was pounding, pumping blood- making me nervous, making me hard to deal with others. Constantly evading your encounter- she started to look me in the eyes, and my mind was driven crazy blinding me with a light that parallels looking into the sun.

Bringing her gaze closer my mind was mesmerized, touched by the infinite flames of a rising phoenix, the rebirth caused me ecstasy. Things got sticky and my skin was wet with perspiration, my nerves weren’t doing me justice.

Leaning closer a meeting between you and I was the only resolution- in the beginning there were no places to be met at no where to go but now- we were too much for one time and place, too much tension…

I waited and then when we met again- she drew first blood, she leaned in closer and with out a word attracted me, with all my strength resistance was futile- her bite was soft and then dug deeper, piercing my skin imprinting me with a desire to feel her pain- it was the only way to satisfy my urges to punish her torture, inflicted on me. I would live forever I would be young forever with her bite i would never feel the same in my days to come.

find life experiences
and swallow them
whole. travel.
meet many people.
go down some
dead ends and
explore dark alleys.
try everything.
exhaust yourself
in the glorious
pursuit of life.

-lawrence k. fish
Wild Oat

Bromus ramosus

helps you to determine what

to do with your life, when you

are undecided about which

path to takewild

Running slow-

this is what it had to be, no other way than the way it was

the equation,

he interrupted everyone all the time, just to blurt out the one thought inspired from what he had just heard, it’s just a story put into a situation

it was told he was the man that didn’t care, but all his resolve and the heart he wore on his shoulder showed his doubters his hate was his love,

to be known and to be remembered

to forget and not to remember,

being here has been so long,

the time has been passing me, never can you fall

and in the beginning the stature was tall but now it’s nothing at all,

the approach was much different but the landing was three points steady

remember to forget

when the idea escaped me, when time moved faster it was easier and now its slower

your wrong, that’s not the way it is- that’s backwards

control the effect not the cause and the result is mirrored,

dream endings~

She made the wrong choice,

seeing the end was part of the traits possessed by others

worried about the past, worried about the future,

don’t worry it all isn’t what you think and a little bit of the unknown,

the stage is set she muttered in thoughts

“-is the improper motive of self denial a self deliverance?”

* * *

-its mine and you can ask why but, it doesn’t make sense

it was a joke

she didn’t mean anything she said

time has to be spent alone in one place,

caring is just a sentiment and time! has no room for sentimental regards

talking to the sky the clouds have little to-say

responding from inside themselves the smile was upon my face-

To create to have love, to raise to nurture, protect-

the holy grail of death

in life

passing on death and when

hot and cold this and that 1 & 2

1 and one and none

done for some the end of none and then some

super and amazing are fear, and death

to choose and be chosen

poetic fear

for justice, for the flag that unites all of mankind with retribution,

for liberty the facade of a utopian idealist,

for reasoning- dictates absurdity

its been a long time since the first time

a long time since the second-

it’s still not the end, but it makes more sense now

Then if you see a man resentful that
he is going to die, isn’t this proof enough
for you that he’s no lover of wisdom after
all, but what we may call a lover of the body?

Socrates

via

Plato

they say it and mean it

In BF-

"Life is (SO) good."

-KRE

living with others

-death must not come and get me- looking for death was better than waiting for it to find someone-

death and more death, the details of littered peoples, filled the ground and even though you could see the sidewalk it was covered in mere places by greater things- bodies.

You are alone when no one is alive,

you are alone when you are dead.

Death was an illusion, a mirage of sorts in the epic scene of life, the panorama of reality.

the philosophical life is the art of death-

Socrates,

via

Plato

opposites come to be only from their opposites.

Socrates

What is hard today is to censor one’s own thoughts—-
To sit by and see the blind man
On the sightless horse, riding into the bottomless
abyss.

Arthur Waley

1889-1966

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