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!