No Hero

I remember a time when daffodils flourished in rain, in the graveyard, nary a care for the wind or spring air. I remember further down, along the stonewall, the desperate crying of kittens for mother. And I know they'll be found, though it has to be me--a hero, a savior, discoverer to be praised--for those kittens then did i care? The vole lays dead on the stone in the graveyard, its insides consumed be insects, recycling, new meaning, no meaning at all to the corpse, the shell of a vole. Disgust I feel, and with hate and revulsion I violently flick away the beetle bearing its offspring, its children it wishes to place in a good home, nourishment, shelter, and life.... I came not to grips, I accept not this life out of death, for a memory I never had--I cling to. Let is free! It desires to live, not to lie, and lie to all it is not dead. For death in this world is a window of freedom, where beauty, infinity, haecceity meet.

Shadows of the Soul

Swing.
Swing.
Swing.
What is swinging, the thought or the thinker, the pendulum triumph of life? Why? Why must we be selfish, why must we be hateful and cruel? Is it possible fro us to step out beside ourselves, our own imperfections as clear as those blemishes we so quickly spot in others. Know thyself, and know that thou art a wicked thing: evil.
Consume me evil, but leave some for me.
Devour me Jesus, but I want a taste--my fists are clenched. I ravenously devour myself, tearing at my flesh. The pain I administer to myself, yet not respect others enough to rent at their spirits, I want to rip them to pieces, yet advice even I'll not give. Darkness, I will be one with you.... If I see no light in light, the darkness I'll find in the Sun, yes the shadow of the sun, a façade it is, and always will be, in this rivering madness of wayside life in a jungle where Everyone's mad, incapable of connection, relating; incommensurate beings, step outside yourselves! Shead that putrid skin and shagging self. Be of yourself to others; improve in the dark pool you'll cleanse and be free.

Chaos Means More

Construct. Build in the rigid format of life, following laws of physics, chemistry, astronomy, mathematics, and life. Only these, within these we must construct our lives or they'll collapse.

A house in a tree
Is something to be
Ever and only in books and in me....

What if chaos leads to order? DO you think this all began, established itself in and abiding by the set rules of science? Is God limited to our understanding? Is he merely what he is to ourselves? Could not one of his rules be chaos? An agent of this is so much more meaningful than she who neatly places her life all in sets, in rows that already exist. But the agent of chaos--oh, wondrous Agent of Chaos!--brings to the world a new life, an new order. Limitation precedes transcendence, but bring yourself to find what the limitation should be, or all else is a meaningless, purposeless flop. We all fall head first, believing this appearance of intentionality, presumptuously assigned as the way it should be done, into the stream of Styx; but he dives with his heart, so that what follows is not the natural sequence of physical self, but an endless abundance of soul and perception. The complexity of it, for and instant, only an instant, is seen to me as me eye opens, opens, my eyeball is free-floating and more, I see more, and I see meaning in this muddle.

Rise

Fall, Movement II

Fall, Movement I

A Cry for Resignation

I shed two tears for you--
The rain, the dark, the solitude
Were welcomed as they grew
A desperate tremor overtook
Lest sorrow dissipate
I feel I must in grief have share
The Lord I gave no weight

I give to Him what pains my most
But not to Him your pain entrust

I wish to hand you o'er to God
But for fear that I should fail
I plead you give yourself to Him
And peace He will unveil

My tears are spilt in vain
His healing tears will never wane

My Life's Motifs

• relationships and interrelatedness
• relativity
• balance
• conviction
• identity, personal and corporate
• paradox
• chaos
• authenticity
• intentionality; lifestyle
• expectations; influential power thereof

Macbeth Act V, sc. v (as recalled form memory)

Tomorrow, tomorrow and tomorrow
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day
To the last syllable of recorded time,
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out! Brief candle.
Life’s but a walking shadow; A poor player
Who struts and frets his hour upon the stage
And then is heard no more. It is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury—

Signifying nothing.

The Child's Fickle Love

The earth has just been saturated by a quenching spring rain, and little _____ is playing apparently by herself, crouching close to the grass-water-mud. She never considers herself to be alone when outside, and here the earthworms wriggling to the surface in escape from their water-logged homes serve the role of companions quite satisfactorily. She gingerly lifts them from their watery fates, and strokes them, speaking to them as a mother soothes a tear-soaked child. However her tenderness is soon to be forgotten, as a few robins touch down before her. Now, not only does she immediately turn her attention to the more appealing guests, but holds their potential friendship in such high esteem she is willing to forgo her relationship with her little wormy friends, and quickly decide to provides the robins with an enticement into amity. In this hope, she tosses her cradled crawlers, now transformed to tasty treats, almost frantically to the birds, calling all the while, “Here, robins! I have food for you!”.

This may be interpreted in a number of ways as I apply it to my life today, and hopefully now I give more worth to worms than as my entertainers and would commit no such despicable equivalent act. But what I will point out that I believe resounds in my life today is that I am ever catering to higher --
-worms in the leaves, saved
-major crisis
-newt

An Inward Musing

Only in the inmost recesses of my mind is the clandestine communion with the other made. The alternate entity will never concede to leave the confines of the mental cell even for an instant, for in doing so its existence would become sullied, and mortality would reign in It as it does in me. No, It will never venture out and give the external world the corrupting hold. However, the immortality of its nature is premised by the necessary intermediation of It, through me, to the outer realm, and likewise I live forever because of the piece of my person I have stowed with It, pure; experience and eternity wed.

E x i s t e n s i o n of the Yellow Subterranean: A Pensive, of Sorts

Unearthing the Foundations:

The one truth to the rebellion is dissent; blind dissent which challenges the sight of the faction as a whole. What can I say but that I have been made guilty in the face of this travesty. The trajectory of truth no longer runs to the sun, but instead the patron is allured by the deceiving light from a rock which possesses no virtue of its own. This ‘Moon’ is inherently devoid of all truth, and the reflected beam is not the truth itself, rather a mere veil. The lie exists only as imitation of truth, and without it there is nothingness.


Verified Ultima
The only way to describe the terror of the utmost is to determine the order of the universe. If this is somehow inhibited, then to enthrall would be suicide.


Delegates Gone Amiss
The only way to the turmound (termite mound) is through the occiferous vein.

Conductive Evangelion
The morbid attire as associated with the underground phalanx was used in conjunction with the conventional corporates of the orthodox cortex.


(1) The Only constructive way to begin a sentence is by obstructive spontaneity. [(1) is false]


Tholkeed and the angels. to corruption. {More lies!} -chesset-


Horrendous Attribute
To take the way of the unborn and twist it into a conundrum of peevish thought would be considered all but disastrous to the Houyhnhnms’ cultural Selkies.


Verisimilitude
The first unknown is under the bucket: the second is the bucket.


Keyholed
Laugher in the light and the languidity of the lagoonic cesspool.


tangible variance of evidence
Hey there to the others of the men in the park. Away! And avast....


Candice and the Monkey Charms
The last thing to be afraid of is the unskinning of a horesen waterloo.
There is none to exhume in the plexor of contemplation. Outside it has become no different in the purple haze of a mixture in the overwhelmed centrifuge of art, handled with curious finger-tips the th the the the the the fallen piece of fruit with ; maybe it is not the only way to become left for dead. The ultimate escape, I dream to fall, to slip, to slough this off, and I want to sleep; to die; to run. Transcribed form underneath; I will repeat, again I say repeat.


A Tampered Ponning
It is quite corruptible that one would distinguish a pear from that chipped circus-red stand upon which it rests.


I hS RO-- I JUST HAD TO!


I like my heart on this medicine, for I had no heart before.


The Plaintiff's Golden Whimsicle
The bacterial sequence is indefinite and indiscriminate, constitution the larger percentage of unfamiliar heroin addicts. From the 1950s to the present, the guava gum-gum population has declines, reaching near heights of utter suicide. An inside perspective grants that no damage will ensue, and provides an alternate interpretation of the ambiguity-laden lexicon which is all the antiquated predecessors have become in this less-than-palpable stance on manuscript’s hermeneutic. The conspiracy, not being limited to the above concatenate arguments, can be seen to express itself even in the field of modern theatrics. The stage has been known to draw upon a number of talents, from visually artistic, to emotionally expressive, and even to musically psychotic, but it the degree to, and manner in which it would advantage the last is shocking and unpredicted. Congenital mutations, made evident in the West Harmer Hospital’s patients by successions of RAT scans in series of nine, have been experimentally proven to have an adverse correlation to endogenous disruptions of the endocrine system, resulting in the carcinogenic growth of hemoglobin templates and thereby transformation of gray matter into an instrumental morphology of the cerebral cortex, which some might consider as tragic.

this is not the only way to be alive
In the livelihood of the forth falling downcast whims in turgid negative instruction and the development of transcendental discovering coalesce in the delving of a new and adoptable day without the surface structure and the daunting of the gauntlet trial-runs through chalice grounds of chains and bones made red in glow and hued, imbued with tendril sweep in the silent swig of life.

Intoduction to a Nondisambiguation

Basically, if this web log takes flight, it will consist of evidence of my struggles through some of my personal conflictions in thought, praxis, and emotions as applied to and/or derived from philosophy, society, and inter-personal relations. Much of this blog may be out of context and therefor rather unintelligible, but this will be more accurate a portrayal of my thoughts and ideas: I do not understand them either (although Nobody understands me perfectly well). There will also be a few other components of this blog which might include random and seemingly meaningless sentences which type themselves out before me (typically identifiable by "The only" at the beginning), stream of consciousness writings, poetry, lists, and missions either in the blueprint stage or already accomplished.

WARNING: You are entering an nonconventional reality zone; use of surrealist spectacles are recommended.