1.4.17

  1. throbbing filled pitter patter sound of the heart beat fills the finger tips with thoughts of spilling out with rhythmic parts to the drum beat of a beating heart pumping blood to distant parts of the sounds back to the start of the fact the pacts made with the heart in pain claiming to never feel this way again confusion abounding in the thoughts that fall apart on diagnosis to the problem of the doctors who spoke too soon to listen to their patients cries screaming in pain at the moment the needle hits the arm to cure the pain that only exists in the mind of the crying pain unwilling to deal with realities tests trying to make you a better sound in the groove of the orchestra playing your specific parts ignoring the rest not to be lost in details but the bigger picture where everything sounds good when played together in symphony orchestrated by the fumes of gloom pouring through the city streets to kill infested heat and make sure cleanliness abounds in the mind of man who controls his environment that is controlling his adaptation to evolve into a better being than the ones who came before and died off refusing to change their ways no longer needed by the band but voted of the isle of man who wants to know the end from the start but no one can predict the markets apart from the one who created the machine that began us on this journey
  2. how do we begin to see beyond what we know or have experienced in clouds breaking the silence of the skies as the gods cry when they look upon their brethren who forgot to be alive to enjoy the mysteries of life lost in the sands of time who began to envelop all who started to ask questions with their curiosity curiously questioning what is seen or unknown killing messengers for delivering bad news that causes us to think clearly about problems that abound to push us further than we were before we started on the journey to the stars align to point us down a path of discovery of the self who exists only in illusive illusory illusions peering behind the torn veil of the mysterious show put on by one who has spent more time on the trick than we so we pay to play the game of deceptive descriptions that design the system pushing us into unseen delusions we forget we have or the why that causes us to defends decisions we made thinking of right steps to take us to the goal of being closer to where we want escaping the pain that is an unremarkable life for we all of us want to be special because we are not the same as the other guy capable of extraordinary feats or acts that blow everyone’s minds
  3. no one teaches a child ownership but sharing we have to remind of over and over and over again forgetting that adults are just children with bigger bodies who learned the unnatural ways of sharing that are thought by anomalous spiritual leaders who no longer exist but in our minds teaching us to share all we have with all who will take freely so we must give and forsake our ownership space but ownership feels so good that feeling of control we crave that creation of envy in our fellow man showing off what is ours to play with and to hold and to have and to cherish till we are old and decrepit forgetting the annoyances that come with having to maintain what you own or feeding to watch it grow nothing owned autonomously grows without the aid of its owner who forgets the price of ownership comes with duties unanticipated raising the price of what is bought beyond what the seller taught to all suckers who thought they were smarter than the average fraudulent act on street corners of hustlers shuffling cards too fast to see the sleight of hand distracting from the real trick that the moment you observed you already had been had eating out the palm of the masters hands who spent enough time on his craft to make it look easy make it look good tricking you into believing that you too could do if you spend the next 10 years of your life for 8 hours a day perfecting a little monkey jungle act for the world to see in awe and applaud at how much taller you stand than the next ape who is forever hunched over
  4. i miss the sun every time she goes away her warm caress leaving me with a glowless depression on my face where once her touched warmed every part of me left alone in this cold dark dungeon pining for her love stick reminiscing of better days when crying was a distant memory all we had was joy as we ran together through any obstacles that came our way for we were together building a future now lost waiting for her return for she is gone too long her memory starting to fade behind clouds that hide lies of where she’s gone never giving the full story or painting the full picture leaving me in my gloomy dark dungeon depressed looking for hope in the bottom of a barrel where none exists and craving connections in mysterious mists that evaporate in foggy traps that hold no substantial evidence of that which is real annoyed at the pain that exists within my breasts when I reach for help no response or return of phone calls laid on deaf ears praying to gods that don’t hear or see no evil to speak off yet the sun has left but a memory of her warm embrace caressing my face
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