The sorry act of pleasure

I have reasons for the person I have become today. I have changed radically so. Through all this I have grown immune to the false interpretations out there around me. I am brilliant, sexy, charming. I don't need the validation or chauvinistic discourse to people.

My life has been altered. As result my friends that use to know me, never knew the real me. I use to harness that model and hate myself for the wrong reasons. Now I realize how much I I've changed means I'm better aware of myself. Without regard for status being upheld.

I use to believe that change meant friends really never made the effort required. Now I realize it's my bad. I risked making changes even if friends decided not to recognize it. I am different now. The changes I have made no longer express who I once was.


It's made me clairvoyant. Sophisticated even. I don't own a thing in life. You do not need those things. I act as charitable. To a fault. Now the challenge is uncertain to me. I have no idea that this self discovery would enable me as it has. Now I feel a sense of added renewal.

If this side of me is not recognized I no longer deserve discredit. Unless my aims are met.

December 2018

Spying psychosis

Why forgiveness does not apply

I am the last true romantic.
All the other roles have been taken.
I sense a pattern.
One clearly debunking my most deviant of thoughts.
And seeing from such far fetched standards....
As in all my fantasies
Setting the distance between us.
Respect is not something given;
It is earned.
Respect is not something you get...,
It is what you gain in return.

As I wait for the train to pass.

Error in Tragedy

Error in Tragedy

If I am unfit to be anything I thought I could be, makes me feel guilt.
Because the talent I possess has no real value.
And also because whatever little talent I have,
actually never had any gravity to it.
This saddens me greatly.
To think selfishly....
Wondering how no one could possibly validate me.
I look back for answers,
I see the same shadows in my past.
I came last in the eyes of a greater Nemesis.
Imagine my grief thinking if how I did things differently may have been purged upon.
What would be the outcome.
Had I ignored reality.
Today, my reality is fighting sickness.
I either accept it or refuse to.
Reality has never been a friend of mine.
So, I decided to be my favorite person in the world.
I see how the world is artificially processed.
How I became this observant in it is the mystery.
This boring pastime has seen many days pass, whereas much of me has grown.
That is the key to my life.
How many times have I noticed my evil twin.
Will I make it out here, alive.
I don't know how.
I don't know about reality.
I only know these words.
Words that capture some medium that's "out there".
My picture is the story.
Look - see,  what you might find.
I hate reality!
So I fight with ambition.
To uncover my blindness.
For such horrific vanity.
From such agony and betrayal.

Empedocles

Epictetus

Epictetus

In suspense of judgment

I don't pretend to understand.
Nor do I pretend to know things.
My standard of living is really quite low....
I can hardly contain it.
My fantasies are an art,
Made up of a divine acquiescence.
Where I have no doubt about my personal
Existence.
This my heightened state of wisdom.
No distortions.
Without prejudice.

The true modern day romantic

Look the part.
Be the part.
Live the part.

No false alarm

The neurotic dimension

There are no elements to nature
In saying what is obvious.

Where people don't know class when they
See it.

Dead spots.

Brace yourself for the best
If the worst is coming.

I'll just leave it all behind me.

I'm here to judge you.
And not be judged.

Smoke & Mist

God can reveal himself
In many different forms.
She paid me a visit yesterday,
All she said was...
Let the experience
Come to you.

Rudimentary tunnel vision

Rudimentary tunnel vision

My mind is a fog off in the distance.
Sometime ago I felt lost.
The irony becomes as ripe as the weather changes.
So many different types of weather reduced
to memories.
It is difficult to recall what I took for granted...
all of it.
Even the air I breath.
So maybe oxygen is the greatest of miracles.
And everything in between are just novelties.
Between the knowledge of miracles,
are the phases I've gone through in life.
Waiting for a story to tell.
I wish none of it happened the way it did.
I wish for nothing to happen the way it must.
So I sit in protest of it all.
Just waiting for something magical to happen.
But it never does.

The Fidelity of Sounds

The Fidelity of Sounds

I can hear in my dreams, because the timing is right where it needs to be.
An echoed past.
I can say things that are auditory in nature,
where words are poorly executed on a regular basis.
It is not good practice.
To speak things you don't necessarily want to say, but looking deeper need to feel.
Thoughts can be somewhat deceiving.
That way we pay closer attention to the rules of grammar.
Grammar is an awareness built into the physical word and perceived by the external world.
So once you speak it must be internalized.
Otherwise, you are living a lie.
Living a lie is perfect to equate with everything you see around you as something meaningful.
It lives.
Like words must so.
The perfect ending to a perfect poem,
Is sweet to the lips and soft to the touch.
Thinking about life brings me joy, an
abeyance of riches....
and a life less than filled with regrets.
I paint the canvass of my dreams with inaudible sounds, only images from which my grave will be dug.
And messages then are in the safety of my mind.

Flooding the Heart

Flooding the Heart

Saudades = to be missed
Saude = Prosperity
Sorriso = Happiness
These are things subject to interpretation.
The language translates from Portuguese to English.
And in my minds eye,
I wonder how far off shore I am.
From happiness, prosperity, and feelings of a personal nature.
How fun.
How fun is that!
To redeem yourself in your own state of bewilderment accompanied with satire.
The irony becomes separate,
a split runway of personality.
And the freedom to choose if freedom
were a choice by every question you face.
Never to take the question of freedom for granted, as if you feel it leaving your body.
Wait.
Wait!
Wait?
Freedom living in your body or freedom as it leaves the body...which is which.
Which is which.
I ask this to myself as a mystic on some island.
Where happiness has no rules.
My prosperity has no boundaries.
And the soul became property of God.
Unquestionably!
How I miss you, always.

Vision in the Opposite Direction

Vision in the Opposite Direction

What is the message you get, while observing a very conscious episode through the lens of your eye.
I am not sure if it is a direct possibility,
that my hunger for the outer world -
either I possess or it possesses me.
What I see happening,
can only be happening in mind.
What I think is happening,
will only be found in unconscious.
The question.
Which is more important.
Reality.
Or an alternative reality.
Such an abstract look of the world,
can only be considered secret.
So what messages do you hide from view,
not to be confused with orders you take
known as both social cues or societal ideology.
What in the fuck is real.
REAL...
My dreams are made of mango's.
A giant fruit salad,
ingredients which have an allergic effect.
The secret hidden in a fruit salad,
making you allergic to immodesty.
Only immodest folk,
fake it.
And that fake modesty,
becomes a dead end!
Skin, this fabric of yours.
Jump starting a heart of a distressed soul.
Out of a bowl full of fruit salad.
MANGO surprise.
SPOILED fruit.
Allergic disease.

The Threat of Worship

The Threat of Worship

It is because the truth hurts, and that trust is a reconciliation so somewhere in between I've been lied to.
I am sick of being lied to.
I worship God. However,
I do not care to be worshipped.
And when it comes to these matters,
I feel the rustle of the trees as wind blows
and my sense of strength and nostalgia
consume me.
What else should I stand here and pray for.
But when I pray,
am I aware enough to know what type of
prayer.
There are two ways I pray,
it is speaking about something beyond my own
control, or I pray for some reason that I wish for.
That is the threat of worship.
I don't know what it is I am praying.
But I do believe in prayer.
So I pray.
I don't pray for a shiny new pair of shoes,
I pray for the dirt that will soil them.
I don't pray for a new job.
I pray for my employer not to fire me.
I don't pray for myself...
I pray not to be lied to.
This is my personal awareness I use worship.
God has no need to correct me for my sins.
For every minute I spend,
I spend it worshipping others.
That is a prayer God won't fix for me.
So I am continually lied too.
To a fault, maybe god's love for me,
is through some other form of life on earth.
Lost on earth like myself,
prayer and worship.
Something so rare you can feel it come through
others as I channel their lucidity.
I am not sure what else there is in living
without threats or lies - prayers or worship.
I must find it for myself.
That is how you interact in gods image.
A singularity.
This is how I transfer my aesthetic.
Through many different names,
a detection of lies, threats, prayers.
A sophisticated look from below him.

The lazy eye

What is wisdom,
Or better put....
What is wisdom made of
And what gives it meaning.
Powering through ignorance.
My name in lights.

What is it to be lazy.

Understanding makes one lazy.

To be lazy makes one transparent.

Voltage in the mask of Secrecy

Voltage in the mask of Secrecy

At this moment, where life seems to contradict the values invested in me.
And what is life but your patience wearing thin.
What have I become I have become.
I lead by faith as though a sinner,
as I only became a sinner -
as I learned how to take stronger breaths.
Powerful breaths...
of which betrayed my senses all along.
This aversion to detail,
an unconscious framework of pure intentions and of evasive qualities.
I look. I look,
everywhere.
And I feel finer granules of sand beneath my feet.
To talk is to feel these things as they are written.
To read is to perform these things as they are read.
Coffee is on the menu.
I can taste its velvety aroma lingering through the air.
So all around me is on this island,
of chance, of character, of voltage.
Languages I see.
I see more than I can hear them.
Many many many languages.
If the romance lasts, it will forever last.
Because romance is a lost art.
And I intend to find it,
buried by natural causes.
Romance is dead.
How very funny.
A sad smile if there is such a thing.
Perhaps that is what Mona Lisa was asked,
so she smiled sadly.
I inventively created a masterpiece,
sworn to secrecy.
Not when or how.
Not what or where.
Not who or why.
I don't know if this journey should it last,
be a blank page
or a wicked adventure.
Words have a power to manifest reality,
this mask I put on.

A Proper Burial

A Proper Burial

Is romance not dead. 

I feel that it might be. 

For every ounce of courage I have, 

it hurts in my mind. 

Romance never really had a proper burial. 

The property of romance should come with instructional images. 

The kind of images that keep your attention. 

Something like this is found in your head. 

You keep the search homeward. 

The solitude of an artform, 

making its way back to a nest. 

Warmth of a blanket in dark and stormy weather. 

Too often mistaken for how the company of a woman, should cure the death of romance. 

I think this as a man. 

I am a man. 

Where romance went to die. 

I am its corpse. 

I am the body, the imperfection. 

And the very reason romance is a mystery of all misery. 

I am where romance, is buried.

Celsius

I have no idea what the temperature is in here.
What comes out of the oven cold, means I am unconscious of error.
The nature of choice.
I've put a stop in pretending to use my world view,
With an amateur voice.
Stored deep in my unconscious,
That fictional sense.
I can barely hold together.
Everything moves slower.

Belief & Discontent

I feel a disconnect.
My sign of old age.
Such is in power of this persuasion.
While my ear aches.

Is the meaning of life simply to see -
What you see.
So it transforms.

Such charming device from which
Is less then is practical than in thoughts.
I judge myself on intent
As do others in my behavior.
Whereas the greatest attribute man has
Is his courage.
I'll never be able to tell.

Diameter of a lie

Diameter of a lie

Common knowledge,
Much like a quarter inserts into its slot and destinies hinge on the outcomes of strangers.
Depositing silver dimensions of a particular diameter.
Quarters - upon the hands holding onto glory,
As the quarter drops to hit that jackpot.
And that psychic ability to tell how much
fortune will be bestowed.
All the same way that coin falls,
so as it reaches to the bottomless pit of hopes and dreams,
into the pool of metal.
When cha-ching!!
Your whole life consists a curious journey,
trips to that casino and your imagination stopped determining fate.
As though zombified pretending to be sleep walkers.

Disaster relief

I feel fatally ill...
With this distance between us.
As I hear how your voice,
Sings when you talk.
The absurdity in my eyes.
The absurdity of winning.
Not over disagreement.
Because reality checks are false.
Bringing me fever.
And the lies I must forfeit to.
All in my alter ego.
All in my impressions.

Twitter August 28th 2018

Double agent zero

Allow me to give you my best impression,
Of fantasy.
As fate goes unplanned.
Placing windows over their were signs...
Of something tragic.
The lowest of my standards.
To live life as in nature,
And the discipline of thought.
Of this servile prologue.
Candid profile of mine.
My impression of you is good nor bad.
It is rooted in false judgment,
Of the highest standards.
All my actions are motivated by virtue.
All my desires are motivated by nostalgia.
As I can feel as distinct as your breath.

Epictetus

https://philosophytweet.blogspot.com/2017/10/epictetus-greatstoic-philosopher.html?m=1

Handsome Desirability

Handsome Desirability

I don't know.
I don't know if I've ever really seen my face,
if in a picture or in the mirror.
I don't know.
It should be noted,
I don't know if this face was intended for me.
(I realize the words don't make sense.)
But the concept is a real hard indication.
If is it me asking the question or if it is the answer on the outside.
It's as though nature is a painted picture
By God's hand.
And this is nature as a self portrait.
That only my eyes can see,
But what about my face?
The traces of my face are made in nature,
And that that nature is mine.
I am the tables and chairs,
The coffee as well.
So I sit here wondering,
Were I never to see the reflection of my image,
All of nature would indisputably be my own.
And there is no reflection to be had.
Only nature.

One eye open

I'll ignore you if you're trying too hard.
I'm trained in the art...
But pay me no attention.
Because I'll never turn you away.
I'm all class and a little less ass.
As I stir my coffee.
Complete.
Self aware.
Not being judged for becoming.
I don't drop hints.
When you're missing the truth.
My head on a tilt to astronomical heights.
May technique break my fall.
Without that fake evil laugh,
And all with a smile.
Dripping like honey.

Fallacious appeals to authority

https://philosophytweet.blogspot.com/2018/08/fallacious-appeals-to-authority.html?m=1

The art of living

Empower me with your first class
Civilization.
Where all victory is ours!
Of such revelation.
Like the sun after it rains...
Navigating to the edge of the universe,
With only gods voice in that space between
Your lungs.
And the hearts ability to love effortlessly.
In a wilderness where nothing is unaccountable and wisdom reigns,
With no goods to declare.
Your transcendence.
And endless alternatives.

Cheating at Poker

Out of the deep end.
A bad attitude.
As I make all the rules
Only to break them on my own.
Put into a place where I am free
To explore.
My rebellious lies and untruths,
Of circular induction.
I say jump.
You don't say how high.
And that's how to win.

The desensitization of identity

Deep in wonder,
when death becomes my fate -
how will I die.
Where will I be.
What would my last thought be.
I'd like to imagine myself in a desert,
so far away from reality,
that it feels as if I'm chasing a distant past.
I might find a giant living rock, where I find shade....
And I sit there in refuge just waiting.
Where I experience a breathlessness,
because god has made it my final destination.
A resting place to call my own only for a moment.
(Breif moment.)
And the sky hints at me,
therapeutic aroma of rain... it starts pouring.
It is unlike anything anyone can ever dream.
That metaphysical transformation,
somewhere between holy baptism; probably
never to be found except this secret
throbbing
momentary relapse.
Where I laid down in a desert all my own.
And a whisper of God drowning in my ear.

Invulnerable

Purge me into vulnerability.
School me into oblivion.
Make me a hero that you'll
Never forget.
Tell me all your dirty little
Secrets.
And I'll wait for it all.
I'm yours.
A political prisoner.
To define decency.
As you take aim at my competitive nature.
And I'll give you the territorial advantage.

Live in the Moment - Portugal. The Man

My home
Is a girl with eyes like wishing wells
I'm not alone
But I'm still lone, lonely
When I was young
Always go below the midnight sun
Those days are done
But I'm still glowing

Ooh la la la la la
Let's live in the moment
Come back Sunday morning
A lie, oh well
When you're gone
Goodbye, so long, farewell

Ooh la la la la la
Let's live in the moment
Come back Sunday morning
With that soul to sell
When you're gone
Goodbye, so long, farewell

My home
Is a girl who can't wait for time to tell
God only knows
We don't need history
When your family
Swinging from the branches of a tree
God only knows
We don't need ghost stories
Ooh la la la la la
Let's live in the moment
Come back Sunday morning
A lie, oh well
When you're gone
Goodbye, so long, farewell

Ooh la la la la la
Let's live in the moment
Come back Sunday morning
With that soul to sell
When you're gone
Goodbye, so long, farewell

Ooh I can't believe it
Nothing's gonna comfort me now

Ooh I can't believe it
Nothing's gonna comfort me now

Ooh la la la la la
Let's live in the moment
Come back Sunday morning
A lie, oh well
When you're gone
Goodbye, so long, farewell
Ooh la la la la la
Let's live in the moment
Come back Sunday morning
With that soul to sell
When you're gone
Goodbye, so long, farewell

Oh my god I can’t believe my eyes
Wake up everybody you know
Come and watch the garden grow
I’ll see you when you get there

Oh my god I can’t believe my eyes
Wake up everybody you know
Come and watch the garden grow
I’ll see you when you get there
I’ll see you when you get there
I’ll see you when you get there

Let it rain

My bellies on fire....
Let there be rain.
I just want to dance in it.
Forget the light
I just want to dance in it.
Famine is a reputation known to faith.
In my mind living in the moment
Makes you indestructible.
Living for the moment is your future
Past.
Telling us ghost stories of mankind.

Kingdom of souls

In the kingdom of souls...
I don't find myself,
Begging for forgiveness.
God would tell me otherwise.
God would see right through me and
Somehow telepathically
Ignore my sins.
It should be told another way,
That I am a lesser mortal.
A type of loser.
The kind that knows what I'm sorry for
Is only because I've been caught.
Which is scarier.
I have a bear claw.
And it tears through flesh like nothing.
That is how I imagine things.
That is how I imagine god.
It's his kingdom.

Only I'm not living in it.

Because if I was (living in the Kingdom of souls) I'd be that bear in the woods.
In no perpetual state of fear.

I'd be free in the wilderness.

That is my kingdom.
Where is gods?

Anomie and enemy rules

I'll be the judge of those eyes.
More so the color in them.
Like pavement covered in magic.
The clay shaped sculpture of your feet.
Step by step in the ground.
Just a quick glance....
And see how your movements
Trace me.
Speak to me in whispers.
Your psychological warfare
Goes against all the rules.
My appetite for you is enormous.
As in absurd concepts.
Although I'm not much of a traveller.

The art of Pretending

Allow me to demonstrate retaliation.
This far from perfect life.
And dead satisfaction.
Lies upon lies,
To rest on such mortal coil.
Where angels come.
To play.
To frolic.
To dance.
In circular formation.
It all means something.
Such false declaration.
So keep moving, sun.
Rotate around the earth.
Or the other way around.
I don't care what you do.
Simply do as you wish.

Unspecial treatment

I have an odd hunger.
Of being judged.
Because you don't understand where my magic is hiding.
Like a two headed turtle,
Sentenced to sharing the same shell.
Do you see me - in you.
The purpose is not to know your role,
But to forget about your purpose.
The role we all play is not to know
Our purpose.
 It to seek it.
Critique it.
Then to exploit it.
A maturer form in nobility.

In the reflection of signs

Rich rich rich
In color.
Where I can't believe my luck.
In my book of dreams.
Without permission.
My itch to escape.
As weight bends defying gravity.
And arrogant.
And competitive.
Women everywhere.
Amidst rain and heavy drought.
In zero gravity.

Relentless Romantic

You do you.
I'll do me.
We keep each other alive.
Breaking the stereotypical image.
To disarm ourselves of power over the other.
A heuristic experience.
So let's go underground.
No combat.
Only that.
Only that beautiful ringing voice of yours.
Over latte and dessert.

Time in high definition

I invent language.
Only because I can feel everything
About you.
Killing pretend.
Hide and seek.
You notice me.
I don't notice you - failed to care.
I must admit to feel small
Without being in your presence.
This boredom of mine.
I rarely suffer from a broken heart...
Because you do it to me every time.
And the mystery of time,
Rests in the eyes.
Where I was once lost,
Without being found.

Intellectual reputation

I spin the bottle.
Living in a vacuum without interruption.
Hidden well beneath is my tunnel vision.
I choose who are my real enemies.
And reasonably question who are my friends.
The bottle keeps spinning...
I arbitrarily carry out instructions.
In a moment of paralyzing anxiety,
My fears summon me to focus on
What task is at hand .
So, I operate in cafés over coffee spoons.
In between obscurities of ample reflection.
And the bottle stops (spinning).

My idea of judgment and authenticity

The dimensions of my mind.
I observe.
I read signs.
I revere attention.
All without demanding it.
Ideological signals,
Just keep getting worse and worse.
Stronger and stronger.
Therefore, a word of caution.
Do not use reverse psychology
To gain an upper hand.
I feel it dangerous to approach.
I'm here not to save you from your vanity.
I'm also an old soul romantic.
So lie to me all you can.
Fake the truth.
Clown.

phenomenology of singularity

Where do words unconditionally go
To die.
Will the dice stop.
How trapped must you feel.
Like a sweet sugary substance.
Who am I when nobody is watching.
What makes your intuition guide you;
Why does pride break you.
Such pety questions for such serious prayers.
When can the function of time allow us
To feel collectively alive.
Such is the truth or a Shakespearean soliloquy.
Timeless action.
The prejudice.
I'm always gentle to those that reveal themselves.

Vintage Habitat: in signals

Choices that make you go extinct
Are decisions of anonymous nature.
A psychological symbiosis.
I am in secret the most clever of
Illusionists.
A reflection of ideological impulses,
Running throughout my life.
Like my first day of Kindergarten.
How I've aged over the bond of words.
Highly unpredictable.
And the imitation flatters me.
My bare feet rooted in soil.
As my aggressor.
Someone at the door.

Navigation class (poetics)

I have a history of being rejected.
So how does one become a poet.
Where my insecurities pose as
Irrational fears.
Like the threat of a bite mark
Left on you like strardust.
And the constellation of irregular
Verbs.
Verbs that follow you.
Like a meteor crashing down to earth...
But only with a whimper.
Where magic tempting fate is non stop....

Splat!

Alas, the King is dead.
But what now.
Let's name a Comet after him.

We'll call it:
Something for another day.

Right now I'll sit here and enjoy
The copper moon.

Walking on eggshells

That engagement ring,
Like a jewel in the sky.
Please quit cramping my style.
Growing up has never been better.
Because you'll always know where to
Find me.
And you'll always know
Where I stand.
A reunion like a great big daycare
In the sky.
The scent of a long distant
Fragrance in the air.
That's the mystery about you.

Dead nature

The effect of light....
Putting out the fire.
Showering in the rain with
Nothing but my shadow.
And a shinny new rain jacket.
Before retreating deep into my cave
Of thoughts.
Such juvenile attempts at wisdom.
A parody of riches.
Diminishes the return.
It just takes the right amount of lighting,
For a dramatic affect.
As I lay myself to sleep,
A ton of hours.
The demolition of rainbows.
Painting in dreams.

Ulterior Motives

I am not so sure about
Living dangerously...
I possess a sick sense of irony
And poetic singularity.
I have nightmares symbolic
Of deep dark holes.
Wearing a black coat.
Analysis of the night sky,
In the absence of stars above.
Such ulterior motives in language,
Takes a phenomenal amount of communication.
The cold cold sun.
And a winter getaway.
My investigation is a trip
Of a transcending lie.
In morning light.

Never looked better

She never looked better,
Having her hand in mine.
Walking together.
Time after time.
You set my tongue on fire.
These lofty ideals of mine.
No finer jewelry.
Of this environment,
As I fast on Pride and Prejudice.
And her crystal eyes.

Taking objective turns

Addicts beware
I return to when the plot thickened.
Where I wanted you to like me.
And I stood there, 
With all had to do.
Was stand there.
So I changed colors like a chameleon.
You see me now,
And wonder where it a went wrong.
Then nighttime falls.
The curtain raises.
Oh, how I felt!
Whisper upon whisper.
Coming straight from the heart.
Like a frightened child.
So I took a chance.
I turned back.
I uncovered my secret.
And spoke it.
You don't know how it feels -
You don't know how it feels...
(I repeated myself.)
How addicted I feel toward you.
How I love being here.
How much I love you.
I just want to be liked.
And turn to you and say it.
Like it was yesterday I lay my head upon your lap.
These ideas are for the wild at heart.
Deep deep deep
Breaths.
Flowing in and out of my mind.
As I forgot about the one time,
You made me feel like everything
I ever wanted.
Now I die over a cup of coffee with you
The thought of you consumes me.
But releases you.

I was all all so so real.

My addiction.

Thought at wild

If you ever find yourself observing something and without wondering what it must be like to have everything you ever wanted. Then you're not me.

Testing intuition

Tease me with accusations.
Corner me with perjury.
Tell me how guilty you think I must be.
But what about feeling it.
What about game theory do you really know.
I placed myself where I would
Not cooperate.
I analyze things unchanging.
Strategic decisions follows
Predictable results.
Carrying out your evil evil
Plans.
Where fate meets its untimely death.
Like a trademarked sketch by Van Gogh.
Of such confusing behavior.

The merit of a societal vagabond

My ability to write
Is hard wired
And arms me with delight.
As I carry out some form of thought,
Like sensing how every urge,
Every curve through that picture -
Has somehow created an image.
A mental image of deformation.
As it evades everything in its path.
This pretend world.
Subjective metaphor never so pathetic -
The mask so never out of sight.

Conspiracy and double standards

Code breaking is an art.
Life's edit button of every thought you take,
And reverse its decision making ability.
What voice you have in the presence of others.
That is what matters most of all.
Keeping your private feelings - private.
Like my fear of rain.
Because when it rains....
I dance.
Maybe it's the magic.
Maybe it's more fitting if we danced
Made it rain down more often.
As I fill this void.
The vultures as they circle above.
That's when the famine hits.
Scrambling my mind.
Like a giant mound of chocolate.
My indulgences.
Sick sick indulgences.
Is ambition not a test for fools
That measure on inequality.
Where some branch of logic has formed.
Competition soars only to crash and burn
In the distant distant air.
That smokey aroma of incense.
As I scratch every inch of the surface.
Pain killers and dove tails,
As I purge upon every single word.

Bonding and the limits of intimidation

I lead by example.
I take time in seducing.
So I can taste that same fluid
Connection between us.
As you power through the darkness,
A hole in the light.
And nothing seems fair.
An anomaly between an eclipse
And telling the story.

Arcade Fire - Signs of Life

Heavy (heavy) heart

I am not what other people think of me.
I binge.
I eat up.
I binge.
A mind warp of infinite proportions.
I am lost then unhappy when being found.
When I am lost ... forever.
All made up of fabulous metaphors!
I change the way I see myself in the world.
I feel the need to change.
It's an intuitive element of surviving.
Not Darwinism.
I am made of intent and intuition.
A spectacular combination of wisdom and
The will.
My objectives are not who I really am.
In the presence that nobody cares
Who you really are.
As I wait in this present moment.

Thought for the day

Intuition so good, you're being accused of playing detective by the liars.

Heraclitus

https://m.facebook.com/story.php?story_fbid=10156752283401600&id=370600051599

City with no Children - Arcade Fire 🔥

City With No Children

Arcade Fire

The summer that I broke my arm
I waited for your letter
I have no feeling for you now
Now that I know you better

I wish that I could have loved you then
Before our age was through
And before a world war does with us
Whatever it will do

Dreamt I drove home to Houston
On a highway that was underground
There was no light that we could see
As we listened to the sound of the engine failing

I feel like I've been living in
A city with no children in it
A garden left for ruin by a millionaire inside
Of a private prison

You never trust a millionaire
Quoting the sermon on the mount
I used to think I was not like them
But I'm beginning to have my doubts
My doubts about it

When you're hiding underground
The rain can't get you wet
Do you think your righteousness
Can pay the interest on your debt?
I have my doubts about it

I feel like I've been living in
A city with no children in it
A garden left for ruin by a millionaire inside
Of a private prison

I feel like I've been living in
A city with no children in it
A garden left for ruin by and by
As I hide inside
Of my private prison

The search for mankind

I write this out of a disrespecting nature.
Nothing to do with my part time rage.
But I practice life as if I'm arguing with children.
This strange intent.
I feel like a doctor of words,
Other than these words and the way they operate.
I just keep going on and on until the madness ends.
Which it never will.
I've become a boring individual
With a bad taste in habits.
Setting a match to ruled out conformity.
So anti establishment.
And in this vision I create a madness all my own.
Just so you're aware.
Conscious is a cause between permanent
Ideation.
And my soul will always seek it.

The freedom to purge

Victims are almost never alerted.
That life is a celebration.
So it's never-ending.
That you do it to yourself.
I wouldn't change anything.
From the way I acted.
A natural animal that aims from
The heart.
To all the girls I've loved....
This emotion I have.
From songs I hear on the radio.
And whatever I believe I care
To believe.
That unpredictable urge.

Arcade Fire ♥ - Here comes the night

The Sacred - I

No one knows how it feels.
To feel that everyone has to like me.
It's a certain manner in the way my
Intuitive self exhibits my one and only
Shadow.
This addictive personality I have -
Can unmistakably create.
This ignoring aspect of mine.
What we choose to ignore
Addresses wisdom that is sacred.

Arcade Fire - Joan of Arc

Joan of Arc

Arcade Fire

You're the one that they used to hate
But they like you now
And everything that goes away
Will be returned somehow
They're the ones that spit on you
'Cause they got no heart
I'm the one that will follow you
You're my Joan of Arc

Joan of Arc

You had a vision they couldn't see so
They put you down
But everything that you said would happen
It came around
And they're the ones that put you down
'Cause they got no heart
But I'm the one that will follow you
You're my Joan of Arc

Joan of Arc (Jeanne d'Arc)
Tell the boys their time is through
Joan of Arc (Jeanne d'Arc)
Tell the boys I'll follow you
I'll follow you

Now they tell you that you're their muse
Yeah, they're so inspired
But where were they when they called your name
And they lit the fire?
When the voices came, you cut your hair
But you're still confused
But I'm the one with a heavy heart
'Cause I'll follow you

My Joan of Arc (Jeanne d'Arc)
Tell the boys their time is through
Joan of Arc (Jeanne d'Arc)
Tell the boys I'll follow you
Joan of Arc (Jeanne d'Arc)
When the boys are over you
Joan of Arc (Jeanne d'Arc)
Tell the boys I'll follow you
I'll follow you

Tu dis que tu est mon juge
Mais je ne te crois pas
Alors tu dis que je suis une sainte
Mais ce n'est pas moi
J'entends des voix
Mais ce n'est pas moi
Je ne suis pas Jeanne d'Arc
And if you shoot, you better hit your mark (Hit your mark)

Joan of Arc (Jeanne d'Arc)
Tell the boys their time is through
Joan of Arc (Jeanne d'Arc)
Tell the boys I'll follow you
Joan of Arc (Jeanne d'Arc)
When the boys are over you
Joan of Arc (Jeanne d'Arc)
Tell the boys I'll follow you
I'll follow you

Joan, it's true
I only wanna to know you
Joan, it's true
it's true, I only wanna to know you
But Joan
I only wanna to know you

And then they love you again
They love love you
Kill kill you
And then they love you again

My favorite 🎶 video for all time... ♥

Forget about the golden girl,
A lost baby in a bitter world,
Well I'm bitter and she's,
Lalala lalala lalala lalala

So what if I don't look right?
I get hit if I'm in the wrong site
Well that girl is doomed forever
Lalala lalala lalala lalala

Chorus:
Saturday night on the town
Open your arms to me
And let me dive in the waters around
Your eyes are an ocean. (x2)

She's a trigger that golden girl
And in her presence I'm a passenger
A stone wall I'm helpless and all like
Lalala lalala lalala lalala

I can't breach this bubble of life
I'm suffocating, I'm hypnotized
It looks like I'm doomed forever
Lalala lalala lalalalalala lalala lalalalalala

Chorus:
Saturday night on the town
Open your arms to me
And let me dive in the waters around
Your eyes are an ocean. (x2)

Bridge:
Forget about the golden girl (x4)

Chorus:
Saturday night on the town
Open your arms to me
And let me dive in the waters around
Your eyes are an ocean. (x2)

Saturday Night - Yukon Blonde

Bertrand Russell

https://m.facebook.com/story.php?story_fbid=10156746829141600&id=370600051599

Philosophy of History

https://www.facebook.com/370600051599/posts/10156744645941600/

Reverse Psychology in a box

The law so simply put,
In no way outwieghs
The true virtue of morality.
The law is a means to protect
The interests of  false cheaters in the world.
Only catering to those who
Are use to getting what they want.
Morality is not a vehicle from which
The laws are made.
People on average fail to realize the laws,
Are made to take candy from a baby,
So law must exhibit qualities associated to
Abeyance in individuals,
Of normative inhibition.
All without trying not to sound condescending.
In violation of the will.
An invention of satire.
With soap in thine eyes;
Your body in a box.

The ⛬ historian

Take my hand,
Because you understand my soul.
Desperado.
I am a perturbed individual,
I experience mental perversions.
More like abstract visualization.
The vision I practice.
Participating in the folly
Of falsification this refracted
Science of mind.
My own self destructive habits.
While asleep on a bed of nails.
Testing my ignoble objectivity.
My stomach turns.
This proves my irregular habits,
acting as relapse of rational attitudes.
A silent revisionist plays upon all words.
Post modernist language, it so -
came and went.

Time through nature

Talk to me in a language that defines me.
Simply speak without trying
To get a reaction.
Tell me how you feel about
Everything.
Forget saying that I've misinterpreted
The real thing.
Taunt me from the heart.
So do I have your full attention.
If something needs to be said for
The humility of attraction.
This guilty addiction I am consumed with.
These sands which lead to a dark cave.
As I turn with my personability.
As the hours upon hours of nature pass

Your objection. 

Disarmament: a triangulation

It all strikes down like lightning.
That taste of avocado in my mouth.
And the joy of living,
Ripped from you entirely.
Mostly nothing is the matter.
But as I sit here,
At this cafe.
There is a certain point -
Where everything is perfect.
I am centered from my core.
And I've never had this ability.
The thought of it never ever occurred.
Nearest to this cup of soup,
Made of Kale and Potato.
It feels like I prepared this moment.
And during this space in time,
It is just a moment.
I quickly move in and lock the door.
This place surrounds me,
I feel privileged to be.
It all came back to me.
It all comes back.
Oh, how the plot twists.!

The vulgarity of riches

I win every time.
Not all the time.
Just some of the time.
I take aim at solving abstractly.
I take pride in thinking.
I improve my immunity to vulgarity.
I keep my own attention away
From the depths of discomfort.
I add to the safety of emotion.
I uncover morality furthest from it being easy.
My intent is raw as it is real.
My virtue is messy as it is passionate.
To do without fear.
As black as night.
My favorite color is green,
Where there is no transparency to filter,
And all mental perversions are desensitized.

Tattoos & Salad

How vain.
How fake.
This abstraction on skin.
What does that ink mean to you.
The minute it intruded on your body.
The blood popping vessels.
Like the taste of a dime,
Made salad.
My skin is more precious than that.
And as I turn my head away
From your canvass as a walking
Talking form of art.
Who am I to judge
What of its content.
Its meaning.
Are you missing -
Or am I missing out.
Dressed in plain plaid.

Heavy sleeper

Is there any such a thing as
A professional poet.
How does one graft oneself for such.
There is a definite appetite
To create.
And this is where the mystic in me
Arises.
You stir.
You sip.
I dip  -
My soul.
Into cold coffee.
I retreat to the image of an undisturbing
Ritual.
Rituals in language.
Strange cohesion of words.
A woven chest of an inward map,
My psychology made up as false.
Sometimes pety virtues.
I contain a secret,
Prayer.
It consists of all these things,
Decodified, unscrambled,
Information only the brain
Has superfluously concocted.
As I take a closer look into an abyss
With my closed eyelids.

Trying too hard

Our lips preyed upon one another,
With a lust devouring the other.
Only in error,
Would we fuse together.
This strange account.
It's an interaction tuned,
Twisted together between souls.
An averse language
And poetic thoughts
Memories made desolately.
So weak.
So weak.

The Taste of Water

An untracing disability.
Policing this narrative in its distinct disguise .
I feel trained to.
Not some form of genius,
sordid inability to change the end game.
A slow wink,
Pleasing her as in my eyes.

The racial paradigm

There are two types of directives which motivate on average, methods which are acted in subconscious or unconscious efforts respectively. The Conservative on average displays its homophobic quality in desperate need of disowning those that threaten their minds. This is a subconscious aspect where Conservatives enable its very real political leaders. The unconscious aspect is in the average viewer or user of society at large. They inhibit a repressed type of prejudice or in their case a form of racist attitude. Only they don't exhibit it. In Canada these are closet racists. The more dominant of these two realms of thought are based entirely on Conservatives in this country.

Gravity of the spirit

The power of words.
To be expressed, as with
The minds eye.
It is the fabric of our universe,
And the enlightenment of time.
Do I have your attention.
My history of flight,
In the outstretched arms you see
- a shadow.
All there is.
All there is - is a shadowy figure.
Stopping the pain.
So I bleed.
As I breath my last breath.
Like a fish out of water.
I become this pedestrian.
That pedestrian of thoughts
And broken dreams.
All for the promise,
I've shown up with the fight.
As a narrative of violent winds,
Swoosh!

Culturalist

As is much of my double life. The noble lie. I am a poet in secret.

Banal strategic planning

The spirit of a city should be made of three equal parts. Diversity - culture - freedom. If everyman were to seek rather than destroy it would rarely be governed by fools such as Trump and his Republicanism.

Societal Norms

Social delinquent ...
The je ne c'est quoi,
Of my free spirit.

Neurotransmitters

Neurotransmitters

Today is the day I realize,
I am exactly the person I wanted to be.
That in the efforts that were made offered,
A very insignificant amount of detail.
And it is interesting to notice how much,
My universe has expanded.
So much in-a-way I've experienced,
Many different outcomes.
I have learned how to become a man.
And not like any other men,
They acquire goods and services
In order to survive.
I offer next to nothing.
All that's left is my soul.
I have amounted to nothing,
That - that word means nothing.
I reclaim loving women as they once were.
I formed an inertia much less
Any other.
I have been very strategic.
Mind you,
In all this mess of time that passes,
My thoughts have eluded,
Eye contact.
Making eye contact.
As she rubs my foot underneath the table.
I miss you greatly,
Great grandfather's...
And all of this emotion,
I have sorted out despite being -
Left for dead.
I will not talk about those things.
Things I despise.
They are kept secret and amount to nothing.
Like a child kicking and screaming on the floor,
For that toy on the shelf.
Bloody murder.
In a hot hot Winnipeg afternoon.
Flights to and from the city,
Cost a lot these days.
But nothing has delayed my arrival.
So I sit here at the cafe,
And wonder.
Wonder about my dog,
And about things like that.
Where my celebrity meets gossip,
Long ago.
God's ego has been questioned more than once,
Because this depends on an occasion.

She smiles at me.

I see too much and rest too little.
Dreams upon dreams,
Of orifice,
Of demons,
Of passersby.

The living nightmare never ends.
I sleep in images.
I dream in thoughts.
That those thoughts turn into nightmares.

Blast off....
Now kiss me you fool.
But don't mistake me for it.
I am dripping wet
With the air on my skin nakedly,
Replenishing.

My thoughts now end here,
Next to nowhere.
Stating how impressive the struggle has made me.

The question to answer all philosophy....

The only true philosopher is one who abides by the code. The code is: he who plays God and he who pretends God does not exist. Both are godless and god fearing. Figure that one out.

What is consciousness

True education consists in this: to feel joy and grief at the right things. Aristotle

“The anima is not the soul in the dogmatic sense . . . It is something that lives of itself, that makes us live; it is a life behind consciousness that cannot be completely integrated with it.” Jung

“Since the stars have fallen from heaven and our highest symbols have paled, a secret life holds sway in the unconscious. That is why we have a psychology today, and why we speak of the unconscious.” Jung

Intelligence is logical but not logically equivalent to consciousness. Consciousness therefore is an illogical variable but not in an illogical sense of the word, because consciousness is necessarily illogical in its entirety.  This means that if everything were logical as in linear in the universe there would be no need to renew itself. Conceptually, consciousness also helps explain why phenomenon presents itself without filter as irrefutable evidence of all causes which cannot be predicted.  We as entities have seperate causes. This also eludes us to believe in phenomenon which cannot be explained nor needs introduction. So if the brain is equipped with or without a universal filter, from which all things are examined and observed, it is exactly because of this unknown variable which consciousness is unexplainable by virtue of it. If God had only answers informed from brain matter, that those answers were if at all accurate, means that there are no filters associated with brain activity.  An inactive brain can still live in the body as comatose. So nothing in the universe can actually be questioned.

That is a metaphysical question. It cannot be answered. Truthfully, consciousness does not exist. If consciousness were a program it would be something to deceive you or I. However, because if god created brain matter to be able to diffuse us from our own actions, our own minds, our own bodies would gravitate to that eternal concept of consciousness. If we are on a journey through which we contact your consciousness or mine. God or the eternal consciousness would exactly be revealed to all of us simultaneously. God would have removed the filter we have in order to exalt the eternal mode of consciousness. Can you reach it. No. Can you touch it. No. Is it real. No.

If faith hope and love were to make all things a model of ourselves in the universe, all things rational would be either irrefutable and vaguely impossible. We don't deserve things that are plastic. We deserve things which already are.

What is a person's nature? If a person's coping mechanism shuts down for any lapse of time you read into it (thought of as guilt turned inward) leads to examine how I confuse my own feelings. Irony never expressed my true inhibition. A god fearing type not fully revealing itself.

Does this link biology as in life with the cosmos as in evolutionary theory. One could state does one codify their inorganic matter without assigning it to an intellectual basis, through channeling of inner deformity (biology) and curative elements outside our control. (cosmos)

“It is the growth of consciousness which we must thank for the existence of problems; they are the dubious gift of civilization. It is just man's turning away from instinct—his opposing himself to instinct—that creates consciousness.” Jung

The firm, the enduring, the simple, and the modest are near to virtue. Confucius

"Form is solidified energy; energy is an expression of mind; mind is the covered mirror of Eternity; and Eternity is Truth that has thrown off the mask of mind."

- Meher Baba

I have known this my whole life, yet been condemned because of it.> "It's true that nothing in this world makes us so necessary to others as the affection we have for them."

—Goethe, The Sorrows of Young Werther

“We tend to disempower ourselves. We tend to believe that we don’tmatter. And in the act of taking that idea to ourselves we give everything away to somebody else, to something else.”

– Terence McKenna

When I think of my past, my inhibitions relate to many different things attached. And the liberation I partook in is a whole other matter.

“The concept of the unconscious is an assumption for the sake of convenience. In reality I am totally unconscious of—or, in other words, I do not know at all—where the voice comes from.” Jung

Feel the sadness.
Let go of the anger.

Get back on your bullshit. #TrustTheProcess

Revel in the anarchy of love. Run amok in the heady essence of uncertain freedom.

“You do not make an intuition. On the contrary, it always comes to you; you have a hunch, it has come of itself, and you only catch it if you are clever or quick enough.” Jung

“I'm no prophet. My job is making windows where there were once walls.” Michel Foucault

Ll“Genius is the recovery of childhood at will.” Arthur Rimbaud

Expose yourself to your deepest fear; after that, fear has no power, and the fear of freedom shrinks and vanishes.

You are free.

~ Jim Morrison

“Myth is the primordial language natural to these psychic processes, and no intellectual formulation comes anywhere near the richness and expressiveness of mythical imagery.” Jung

“Condemnation without investigation is the height of ignorance” Albert Einstein

“Continuity is only a mathematical technique for approximating very finely grained things. The world is subtly discrete, not continuous.” Carlo Rovelli

“History teaches us over and over again that, contrary to rational expectation, irrational factors play the largest, indeed the decisive, role in all processes of psychic transformation.” Jung

“The entire evolution of science would suggest that the best grammar for thinking about the world is that of change, not of permanence. Not of being, but of becoming.” Carlo Rovelli

Be you, the world will adjust. 

I'm an open book written in a dead language

There’s something inside you that no one can get to. No one can touch. It’s all yours. It’s you. You’re own personal heaven. That’s sacred.

My rebuttal to the verse below: I like the thought. Once you break it down role playing vicitims will always be the same ones acting threatened by you and use reverse psychology to justify what is discriminatory or prejudice toward their alibi. Such is Trump's fledgling idiocracy. - MA 

It’s time we take a long hard look at jailing the Canadians. This threatening behavior has gone on long enough.

Skepticism is the chastity of the intellect, Santayana declared, and the metaphor is apt. The mind that seeks the deepest intellectual fulfillment does not give itself up to every passing idea. Yet what is sometimes forgotten is the larger purpose of such a virtue.~Richard Tarnas

Everything those pragmatic points lead me to is ultimately my own personal choice with chauvanism as a disconnect. My aversion to detail.  Habits that would model as only I would put forth based on one's own philosophical questions. - MA

“Rational awareness requires separation. Consciousness is only possible when the subject is set over against an object.” Charles Taylor

“Plato’s argument can sometimes be understood on this model, that is, as the discovery of contradiction in formulae which are put forward as definitions of a certain idea or standard and are then successively set aside for more adequate ones.” Charles Taylor

So forget that Plato is a philosophical disciple of thought. If I am to be a critic requires to be as vague as possible that it easily abjures contradiction. Therefore, an antithesis which becomes a model or informs us, giving birth to the new.

I

there’s no worse feeling than being so vibrantly addicted to someone who feels neutral about you

It happens only because you think it happens, so the more accurate sensation is to counter that. Why put yourself in the center of unbelievability/vulnerability. MA

I use to feel that way about myself. The wiring in me changed. I suppose I just became too weird for myself. Though in a good natured way. MA

"The ego is a fictional idea” David Hume

“Passion is a primitive existence or, if you will, a primitive mode of existence” David Hume

“Beauty is not an intrinsic quality of things. It exists only in the mind of the beholder" David Hume

Nobody is real. We are all just carefully crafted (some less carefully) manifestations of life experiences and knowledge that we’ve chosen to accept along the way.

Trust your gut. Information is great, but nothing beats intuition.

True. But some people a use their intuitive self to project themselves as abusive of privilege. In other words they make themselves scarecrows. Using your brain is a silent predator.

“A freedom rooted in our nature, and yet which can be frustrated by our own desires . . . requires a more articulated, many-levelled theory of human motivation. It is very doubtful whether any theory which recognizes only hiefficient causation can do justice to it.” Charles Taylor

Human motivation vs. Efficient causation is the definition of do you prefer yam fries over/under traditional fries.  Invocably our words are at the heart of our most basic motivation whereas language metaphysically attributes to all subjective causation.

He could always rely on to reduce those whom he wanted to impress to immediate obedience without having to retort to divine dialect.

José Saramago (2009) Cain

Eudaimonia

I just sit here.
In a quiet discomfort.
All my own.
The attempt for something greater
then my own will - will adopt.
So I search here in wonder.
I just sit there,
in my quiet discomfort.
What I want is to be found,
but I never will be between extremes.
Imagining the disappointment.
An illusion of it.
Sitting here in my discomfort.
Of what internal implications
might enter the hidden door.
I recall the things I can recall.
And as I do recall them,
answers are better asked as questions.
From what sense of discomfort?
From where might I enjoy this view....
From how incredibly ignorant I am.
From why the irony thickens.
This lost sense of discomfort in I.
As I get to the point where my birds-eye,
shapes the view of my heart.
Not distant yet so far far away.

And I speak of discomfort in me.