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Finished June 29, 2008
From the holes in the ceiling small suns shone through
I reached up with one hand and there grew a peach tree rooted in carpet
Beside me another sprouted in a gentler, much deeper wood
We blocked the shine with our fingers, little eclipses
A sprung umbrage that fluttered against those equidistant stars
Fluorescence melted us into complacency, a legacy
Existence pure organic artificial
And we coalesced into one milky, silvery pool
An ocean into ourselves, a drying flooded stairwell
A breathing sage on a cellophane stage
With no where left to grow but upward
As this miniature Mediterranean seeped into the ground
I thought of the terrazzo plane, that iffy grain
Under our rosaceous, watery faces, leaves as headpieces
Self-assembling mosaics laying cool to the cheek
Contour of warmth ever keeping the fabric impress
A jigsaw gesture, we cook and break,
Boil and harden into a puzzlement lake
We are a fluid mixture, though dissembled and cracked
Sovereign FruitIt sounds a little foolish but sometimes I see love as a multi-sided, geometric figure made from blown glass. Covered in different textures and colors that overlap one another, love seems like a looking glass that does not willingly mirror. Because the light of day does hand off and transfer into darkness, shining in every angle, we are able to see through this figure and perceive a certain beauty that varies, exceeding its physical form. A kaleidoscope of multifaceted abstraction, love matches with everything, applicable to all objects and mannerisms alike. However, its the integrity one pairs with love that makes it true. To believe in the truth of love is to deny that over time fruit will rot. Our minds cannot wrap around this idea without difficulty, but its fresh taste is willingly welcomed.
PalpitateI was here since dawn and dusk held hands, listening
I witnessed their muddy embrace of pinks and grey
They gave into each other in gyrating swirls, dusty whorls
Cradling hands, caked in a matutinal glow and dappled with ink-drop gulls
Traces of the forbearing night were fed spoonfuls of silver splatter
And fingers ran through some honeyed, tenuous strands of sun
At the sight, the sound, my mind welled over blades of grass in a more awkward rendition;
I pulled closer
imagining the sky without a center and lying parallel to clouds
Moving hands without choice to dangle a frameless yellow yoke,
A cynosural pulse, where the determined never cease and the poor were just as rich
Changing days palpitate inside us
He held me as I listened
Words love to garnish, they serve no meat
And those days are what we make them
The Top of the WorldThe Top of the World
Last edited December 14, 2007
A mere visit to the top of the world served us sights in generous proportions.
Namely, were the cottoned lilies, with tatting frills and skies of open arms,
the glassy water and walking trees some strolled in great alarm.
These sights were so vividly imagined that we wayfarers pondered them upon return.
When we climbed to the heights, our faces met with the freshness of palm fronds.
We witnessed their ticklish fingers brush against some oddly placed pastures.
Pastures that were set atop mountains and powdered with song,
those songs that smolder in white-white puffs, twice at a time
All this was thought whilst breathing clearly.
Assuredly, we did not measure with disposability
For then unequal measure in value due.
But how veneration did respire from this alabaster mold
That was so lavishly dipped in starry form.
We met the top of the world with arms outstretched
To sense whatever bliss that filled ou
Currency :revisited:Nukes, bombs, airplanes going down
Theyre things at home the television talks about.
But this big bird isn't going down.
Its greeting ground with engines, meeting road with landing.
The van chucks forward. It coughs and spits and somersaults forward.
Onward, ahead. My father mutters, his lips flap in quivers and I cant hear.
My thoughts they talk too much, and chew his tongue.
I imagine words for movement but his mouth moves in squares.
We ease our heap onto another lane and my airplane disappears behind some trees.
With all its passengers, all its fright, the terror of flight
and blue sky, blue sky. Red light.
Theres a man on our windshield. His eyes on our windshield.
To my left, on the drivers side. Toes glued together, knees bending inward.
Hes sweating a little. Cripple.
An orange juice box. Who needs an orange juice box around their neck?
He does. Well, he does.
To carry his change, his bills its empty. Dingy shoelaces h
CurrencyNukes, bombs, airplanes going down.
Things at home the television talks about.
But this plane isn't going down.
It's greeting ground with engines.
Meeting road with landing.
This van chucks forward. it coughs and spits and rolls forward.
Onward. Onward, my father mutters. Though I cant hear.
My thoughts talk too much, and chew his tongue.
Imagine words for movement. His mouth moves in squares.
We ease into the lane. And my airplane disappears behind some trees.
With all its passengers, all its fright. The terror of flight.
And blue sky, blue sky. Red light.
There's a man on our windshield. His eyes on our windshield.
To my left, to my left. Toes glued together, knees bending inward. He's sweating a little. Cripple.
An orange juice box. Who needs an orange juice box? Around their neck?
He does. He does.
To carry his coins. His bills, it's empty. Shoelaces help him hold it up.
He's still looking at us.
Stop looking at us. At wealth. At hope.
Another meal, just oh, about four steps forwar
IdentityBend hearts in rhythmic motion, at the swagger of drunken pots.
I am the artist's tendon, guiding brush and thought.
We eat words myself and I, it builds our appetite.
And though we walk but with two feet, our hands refuse to fight.
I'm made of stripes, a nose of wax but zebra far I be.
A girlish crown and piano sound is much more close to me.
Beginlove is love
remember thy pledge
if love be love
so willingly said
then so be wealth, so be health
for love lived creation dead
Stalin Was No Savior
Stalin Was No Savior
insecure fascists tighten their seatbelts
once they know the war is over
tightly now, don't worry dear
circulation isn't necessary
here we go, once again
the same scene reappearing
you kiss him. now there's an akward circle.
of you and him, the worst sight, match made in lust
the world was made for you
he is your bride, yes its true
well aren't we an accepting nation?
the ones who speak for adoration
of screening and censorship; the lack of all, of right and which?
we have our hearts tucked in our jeans
my dear no fear! the pleasure is more tantilizing
more skin more sin! circulation isn't necessary
is it hurting now? you're a size too small.
insecure fascists tighten their seatbelts
once they know the war is over
euphoria bestown upon me, the unworthy, the fabulous atrocity
that once was me, this once was me
now, there's still a trace, it's nothing i can change
but lets prevent--
there are no saints in a place a called ea
Have You Ever?Have You Ever?
Have you ever just wondered what goes through someone's mind when they hear your beliefs and opinions? Maybe when they agree with you, they really just don't want to start an argument? Or maybe they start a fight to see how you handle yourself, to learn who you are on the inside?
Have you ever wondered what they were really thinking when they respond to you? Maybe their compliment was really a disguised insult? Or maybe what came off offensive was really just them trying to find a way to say something nice?
Have you ever wondered if when someone argues with you they are really arguing with themselves? Maybe they are using you as a deflector, a way to argue on the outside, a way to make their inner struggle tangible? Or maybe they are so bound up with frustration and stress that they snap at any chance to hurt someone else or vent their own negativity?
Have you ever just wondered? Have you?
Do you ever think about what someone else's journey may be? What problems they may
Gebilde 30Die Zufriedenheit, die manche Leute bisweilen ausstrahlen, resultiert schlicht daraus, dass ihr eigener Tod bezahlbar geworden ist, und ist dementsprechend zu bewerten.
Alles verboten außer Waffenbesitz.
Naiv ist, wer glaubt, man könne sich auch auf andere Weise zur Gesellschaft positionieren als radikal.
Den autoritären Staat erkennt man daran, dass er sich am leichtesten mit der Mehrheit seiner Einwohner gleichsetzen lässt.
Rebellion richtet sich rein definitorisch gegen Autoritäten. Die Frage ist nicht, was den einen dazu bewegt, gegen den jeweils anderen zu streiten. Die Frage ist, weshalb er den jeweils anderen als AUTORITÄT wahrnimmt.
Die beste Freundin aller konservativen Kräfte ist die Lethargie, ihr unehelicher Bruder der blinde Fleck.
Ignoranz heißt nicht nur, den eigenen Tellerrand nicht überschreiten zu können, sondern auch, außerhalb dieses Tellerrandes nur noch Hierarchien zu sehen.
Das Hier und Jetzt ist immer rea
An old memoryI walked in, after I told myself it wasn’t necessary: I can take the pain. I took the pain for a week – the muscle in my leg that I couldn’t identify, the name I never learned because it wasn’t relevant or useful. The first thing that hit me was the smell: the scent of aerosols, scentless aerosols detectable after they’ve been used so many countless times that their scent has faded into the wall itself. The room is filled with tales, and on each is an athlete, some stretching, some with ice, some being attended by a student practitioner no older than they. The sound of tape stretching mingles with the toneless chatter of a doctor’s office, and the muffled crack of the pistol as another event begins and the runners strain against one another, fight themselves, push to be the fastest, the best.
I stand, not knowing what to do, unfamiliar with this setting, Doc’s office of miracles just a few steps from the red rubber of the track. His assistant a
The bible and countering homo/transphobic crap.Out of curiosity, have you considered the following passages in your research?
Romans 3:23 - "we ALL fall short of the glory of God."
Galatians 3:28 - "There is neither Jew nor Gentile, neither slave nor free, nor is there MALE and FEMALE, for you are all one in Christ Jesus."
John 8:1-7 (where the UNREPENTANT Mary Magdalene was brought before Jesus and culminates in "He without sin may cast the first stone." Now you may try to argue that he wanted to follow the Mosaic Law while still showing compassion, but this kinda debunks your notion that he only loved repentant sinners. Truthfully he shows that in loving a sinner anyway, they will learn compassion and THEN repent.
Now. Stepping away from the Bible. Let's look at something more modern: science. How is it possible that non-LGBTQ scientists have found sound evidence of this being BIOLOGICAL -- being born that way -- and therefore (stepping back to the bible) MADE BY GOD.
God knows everything about us. Think about it.
Blindly Accepted FaithThey strive to learn more of their believe. Trying to convince themselves of its teachings even if evidence is little. But I cannot judge them. I cannot argue. For I know as little as them. But my mind is not convinced. I require more than just spoken words from the mouth of a blind follower. Yet as I watch, so do I hear. I hear as they speak words of paradise, love and hope. Maybe that is the reason for their blindness. For them it is their guiding light. And without it,they are lost. Oh how fragile the human mind is.
Complimentary Conundrum T26I have a confession to make:
Compliments confound me.
A good enough compliment can disarm me of all social refinement. I carve a living from this world largely through the power of my voice and presence. But, just give me a compliment. Suddenly, I don’t know where to look. I stutter. My heart fills with the paralyzing compound of dread and desire that only adulterers and remorseful conmen can ever know.
I love the compliment, but I can’t honestly accept it, nor can I explain why. Nobody will hold still long enough for an explanation. They always seem to be tapping their toes, waiting for me to get on with filling in the next part of the social contract.
Here’s the truth: I’ve never done a single thing alone that was worth a compliment.
I’ve never drawn well alone. I’ve never written well alone. I’ve never carved, sculpted, fought, taught or counseled well alone. I’ve tried. I’ve tried to go out on my own, tried to
(Democratic Social Communism)
Jacksonism also known as Democratic Social Communism is a Hybrid Ideology taking Democratic socialism and most ideas from Revised Communism created by Kane F. Schlichting.
The core Idea is Socialism through A democratic Government, Also a classless society so there’s no upper or lower class.
There are more individual rights than in traditional Marxism-Leninism such as the freedom of religion and the right to own small private enterprises such as restaurants, shops, cafes, bars, small - mid sized farms, etc. but the biggest firms, factories and large farms are owned by the government.
The Key parts of Jacksonism.
Economy: the Ideal economy is a mix between a market and planned economy, this will allow the people of any nation to create a business but t
The greatest debating fallacy...It has been almost surreal to see that when two parties get into a debate about something, both will almost always disregard the others experience which has led that person to fight against the evidence that has been presented in the debate.
If a debate exists for the purpose of debating, it is useless--if not harmful. Contention is no way to bring about positive change in anyone elses life. Unless there is an ideology that is actively combative against the opposing ideology or claim, then it is always possible to practice some sort of empathy toward the opposing party.
I see this problem in virtually every single controversial subject that I've witnessed. I'll use one such subject as an example and draw this example from personal experience.
In this example, I'm referring to a man I once served with in Afghanistan in the U.S. Army. He stated specifically that he did not believe in God and that the burden of proof was on me to prove otherwise.
On DreamsDreams are powerful. Dreams often act as inter-dimensional gateways of human experience. Last night I had a dream I can now merely hold up its torn, detached, unmatched pieces to the light and, in some attempt of seeing my dream more clearly, go blind. There were people perched in trees, swaying to music; some had hair in all different colors, their bodies resembling the Egyptian Ka. They blew rings of smoke into the air and some turned their human eyes with a birdlike quickness to watch me. Only I was not me. I was someone else and everyone else; weve had those experiences havent we? Zooming in and out of faces, feeling what they feel, doing what they do. Sometimes all those faces in dreams become you, and all those actions, that somehow dwindle for hour upon hour until that alarm clock rings, are you. It seems as if an uncoordinated essence is pondered on, then shaken up with all the fears and loves imaginable, each different and the same to the sleeping circle. But there
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Bluefley has a gallery filled with artwork that whisks you off in to a Sci-fi daydream, and keeps you captivated for hours. Marc has been a member of our community for over a decade and has achieved nothing but success with his astounding commitment to interacting with the community, sharing a prolific amount of video tutorials and generally being an all round rockstar deviant. It is no joke that we are absolutely delighted to award the Deviousness Award for April 2014 to ... Read More