Wondering why I'm still doing this posting stuff seeing as the last post made one cent...
Image by Andrian Valentino from Pixabay
WHO AM I?
I used to try to live up to my own legend told to me by others that saw me through what they wanted me to be, until I found myself digging through garbage to find some worth in my life.
It was around about then or much later that I realised I had another appointment with somewhere else, and so I ran away to find myself running to somewhere else. It’s not easy being what they want you to be; sometimes you just have to be yourself.
Well if I’m not me then who am I?
This quandary is the one that takes some getting used to down in the deeps of the coal mine where all is black, and if you get lost in one of the tunnels down there, then you may never find your way out.
5 WORDS AND ELEVEN MONTHS LATER
5 words came by and brought a green bottle full of dead soldiers to pray for heaven where we have never gone before, so it was said. I took a back foot on this as I was saving up my pennies and cleared the third word before my age-page caught up to me in the behind and got me where it doesn’t show.
God is an old boot, but watch out for the government and the strychnine in the lead where we lose our huge to become small.
I think we must all make up our own prayer to combat all that comes at us to make us slaves.
The original take on this was scarcity that threw up false flags everywhere to deceive us into what we didn’t know to become insane.
But now we know better, don’t we?
It has been said that the skinny soul is the preacher that comes for us at midnight to take us from our happy place down into hell; but I think it was the sisters who kept our soul in a jar and worshiped the devil that were the real evil ones that came for us in the daylight to whip us and call us dark and stupid.
It has been said that the broken die faster.
Satan has many followers, and most of them live on the top of their hill.
Crumbling now into dust that dream of the darkness where we all turn away from it and create our own expectations of how it is and how we want it to be.
A truth comes to be known, and those that see it shout it from the rooftops, but those that don’t carry on making it: so un-pure.
Those that see: know, and those that don’t see: don’t know…
Number eleven: if you’re waiting for something and it’s taking too long: then give it up, life is a missed opportunity if it’s not grabbed in the now.
PACING THE TIME
Time, when it’s painting, has a lot of fools to play with; and some of them come from under the mountain, and some of them come from up top, but most of them came from the slave ship: that dream that came to us when we were unknowing in the perceptions of all we were to entangle us in time, that place where the fools dance, and all is one and where time is not here yet enough to matter.
I think though that this perception is full of blind men come to pray wherever their feet take them
My feet though were getting cold out the back of this so I pressed on into the dawn
Many thoughts later there came an idea that the suicide wasteland of an old soul was too cold to contemplate; and so saving this until later and with my freezing fingers I typed on…
Outside, in the rain and the frost of the dark night, the dream was slipping into solitude as our fingers became tired of holding on so long to the movement that was going nowhere.
This, we said to ourselves as we lost ourselves over and over again until there was nothing left and we had to start over, all over again.
Just because we can; that we can get up, again and again, to carry on; because we are not dead yet.
Can we arise beyond here, where we have fallen, to make this whole thing a better place for all of us, without pacing the time in the hope of something better coming along?
SOMETHING THAT DOESN’T BREAK ME OPEN
I think: that up to this point…hmm, funny; I have now stopped thinking…
Which is how I find my breath talking to me; and that is when I stop looking around looking for my birthday or some such other that can satisfy me and begin the come-down of another day, lost on the ranch of despair that grovels out of my guts of honey and hate to eat itself back up into some academic love thing.
Am I here for despair?
I think not.
But now, on this edge of the night I want to hear something nice that doesn’t break me open…
Are these the bits and pieces of some cruel tale come to bite us, you say?
Are we that deceived?
Is it time to howl now?
No, it is now time for coffee.
BEYOND ALL REASON
Where do we come from? Where do we go from here?
The trembling heart of all we can believe, without a stitch on, dashed from the bushes and was a joy to behold as she raced to freedom, away from the hounds of hell and the masters who would hold her until she was quite dead and unlovely.
The hunt: laughing their heads off they came for her to chase her down.
And where could she go, in that moment; who could protect her?
So she ran for her life, to the bushes and the trees and passed beyond all reason…
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