when 6 becomes 9. that’s when 3 can be eaten from the vine. when life reverses the usual in favor of something more eloquent – the 3 becomes everything and me.
Without our collective memories of life – aren’t we all sort of dead? The meaning of life comes from our recollection of thoughts of our existence which is then transformed into dreams – which can inspire us to live a life that is a visionary metropolis. The mental picture fades away in proper time – once it does, was it even there to begin with? Was the picture ever really captured or only imagined like a painter, paints what they want us to see.
the moon is a waxing crescent – this means that the moon is on its way to be full. KEEP IT MOVING. but if you decide not to, it will carry along regardless.
c o n t i n g e n c y – a future event or circumstance which is possible but cannot be predicted with certainty.
- being awake
- memory and recall
- analyzing and predicting
now we needn’t boast to have all conclusions but we should analyze based off patterns. again i say – picking up pieces… it ain’t about you “doing anything” necessarily. but being responsible to where the conversation is going…we mustn’t get sidetracked but then again, i’ve already had at least 99 thoughts randomly make their entry while writing/reading this.
will we ever make room for the things that truly do MATTER!? yes, for true as the writing is on the wall. the floor is the stage, providing company to the miscellaneous droppings from our pockets and tables. anything hanging HIGH – is doomed to be fallen.
nickels, pens, and crumbs all feast in fellowship with dust bunnies and a field of, etc etc. quite specific is the nature of anything when examined further. we often glance over the deeper context. but if you dare to revive the unending..(FOUND IN REPETITION/CYCLES)..you will see that you are already fully beginning. everyday. restart. reload….returning to the everlasting web of…A VORTEXT!
Programmed Animations are tricked by prolonged observance. Pixels are dilated through shifted numerous additions. What you see in front of you, may require close attention to the curve and exogenous details.
The last note is present as soon as the first note is registered. The sound is already established but like lightning, what you see is whats first visualized onto the canvas.
Life is more when there’s a written memory of it being recalled. Details get lost in the space and by the time you catch up, there are only the shadows. When hidden in the darkness, the light becomes a threat. You’re only comforted by what you can tolerate. If you refuse the taste, the food is better not being served from the start. Lines and lines again, I’m listening to Duke by taking The A Train and Rocking in Rhythm!
Memories recall in strange places almost as foreign is my reaction to them. For all that I’m consuming – I steadily wish to create. I am a broken shell longing to be repaired or broken up some more of the grind. It’s not that bad but how can one swim in an ocean of brokenness? There is no attempt to be whole when my being is fragmented on the oceans of what was said to hurt me.
Life is spinning and so I’m reminded that the end is not yet? I felt locked up before now I’m suddenly free. But to what end shall I meet? Must I face the music and own up to the reality? Perhaps, I should speak in fragments and isolated attempts, maybe that’ll prepare me for looking at the beast!
The beast has become my friend although once a stranger. I invited its greeting into my life. One wing at a time, one potato fry at a time. My body fat will reduce as to expose my abs – but then what? Appeal? We have to switch the light bulb with precision, as to not stumble anymore in darkness.
What you see is supported by invisible bones. A structure is rarely given proper examination because gravity falls victim to fleeting attention spans.
On The Express Train. Cause – I’m rejuvenated. By a sense of revival. I feel it deep in my toes. I’m curling up again. Beginning to blush. Feeling the rush but I’m shy by the awakening. I feel like a young boy at the altar. I feel the fans sweeping against my face. I’m sweating. Through a sense of revival, I have become the reviver. I have renewed again by the steps set before me. I know I have to keep pushing and going after what awaits me.
I feel goosebumps crawling over me; it’s making me weep. Now I’m feeling weak. My eyes are closed yet my eyes see very bright lights. Tongues are likened to fire. Many of them are speaking; I recognize some of them but many of them sound misguided.
When looking around – I hear voices of change intending to manifest a revolution. Everyone is fierce with fire to bring about a realm of difference. A change is gonna come, a new way of living. Curiously, I wonder how will anything ever happen? Seeds are being planted, but the gardeners take a vacation soon afterward. People are not always responsible for the seeds they plant. They trust too easily in the unknown process. They hope it will rain and hope the sun will shine but have no clear knowledge of whether the soil is fertile enough.
Everywhere you go, people are saying this and saying that. A lot of them are saying it because they heard someone else say the same or similar things.
People usually reflect the environment they are raised to believe as valid. People are usually just believing until they experience a difference. People have to understand themselves before they can understand others. People like to do things then do nothing at all. People like to stand silent while someone else talks. People are kept with their traditions and are stubborn to believe otherwise. People want change but fail to acknowledge the mirror. People consume a lot of toxic things and believe they are being informed by those toxic things. People forget people remember. People are always doing something and nothing at all.
When I turn the knob, a room full of mystery awaits me. The unknown is carried with a promise of greater and lesser. The signal is clear and my understanding has been renewed.
Being brought back to life – I’m the reviver of chance. Words are translating into symbols – interpretation is gaining awareness of the game. A game that involves worthy cards which are shuffled at the will of the joke. I’m still the Jester – and with witticisms, I am free to possess the cards of chance. I know what is about to happen, no need to explain – only to perform. If I was to tell myself the very thing my dreams made clear – I’d have to lucidly experience my waking point.
To experience the very things I see as symbols. To encrypt the door of mystery is to decode all of the steps in a blur. The veil of the unknown is all I can see. I only know what has been invisibly sent out. Clues have become the aroma of my disappearance. Within the cancellation of presence is only a renewal of vision. My spirit is not limited by gravity – for I can not come down.
I’m seeing 7 – no matter where I look. I am finding the recurring seven.