blessings // buttons y'all ~ here is where you can push the buttons of meaning and poetic interpretations of angel & angle windows of insight. peek around, there's a lot to see. (you may discover a key) For me? To sew is bestow! (buttons are like seeds) my aim is to frame THAT name : my sight is to ignite and thus write N2 PARADISE CLARITY. (for what is understanding if not for the s3arch & struggle to get there?)
this poem is an exchange between and Sylina and I! her writing is of elephant magnitude – in terms of the weight in how it compels me to carry through. you can find many more of her writings here: http://www.4eyesopened.wordpress.com/
All change ain’t good change, and boy have you changed From the inside out you’ve transformed, Not much remained the same. Sure you still look good, you’ve kept yourself up… But some of your inner beauty has faded, could it be because you lie so much? Could the change have come about because your principles and morals have gone bad? Because you’ve cast away the good memories, the good times that you’ve had? Because I’ve noticed that you focus on the negative, spinning narratives into a new light. A new light that turns things darker rather than highlighting the bright. The pessimism doesn’t help to brighten up your smile. The old one that I truly loved, I haven’t seen it in a while. This new one exposes jagged teeth and a crooked tongue that flickers when you lie. Stupid things you wouldn’t need to say, it always leaves me wondering why. Why do you feel the need to lie to someone who loves you so? I say loves, not loved because my love for you would never go. Not away at least It’s tried to stray, for peace To get away from the beast you’ve become. But I know who you really are I know that change comes again, and that you’re transformation isn’t done. I’m holding out hope that this next change reminds you of who you are, And that this transformation is beautification and doesn’t leave any scars. All change ain’t good change, and boy have you changed, but then again so have I.
i used to think washing clothes from the outside in – would be the sure way to win? if threads can be exposed from the inside – the crush of the waves would forgive the sin. at this exact moment it’s hard to know when to play with wrong or right. we can both take the courage to board this complex flight. but by then – how could your memory ever forget or know when to remember? there’s been a disgrace at the surface – all knots have not been tied by the end. which ways we fold – creates a fairytale or mystery untold. when the message came through in a dream, i denied ever living a life full of lies. eventually, the separated waves birth a crush and brush – these jewels professed such lush! the magic of this shine – inspired me to reflect this fiery light. this was only right – to turn outside right from the inside out – it fully occurred to me, the duty of the wind blew me into its invisible but real state.
this is a revolutionized change which bakes the cake without a signature model or make.
– as the truth of this emotion comes around with verifying reflection times window makes known the view from the outside in, which comes from within.
when I dream of the yo-yo, I’m 1sprung up emotionally. my middle finger looped in a hole which like a BOOMERANG – is destined to be returned and thrown into gravity.one must hold on”…for the sacred is molded in ritual care and delicate caresses.when your memory savors the undefinable – this taste requires a devouring. a dissecting of each flavor carefully and considerably – taking notes as to what works and what can be taken out.
2sprung up cuz the recall of this truth can’t be denied or traded in for justifiable pretense. the dance has begun and my emotions are the alter in which I falter. i’ve been musically lifted. the sounds of crunchy melodies and syrupy grooves got me out and in the funk. a revival of sounds await for me through the changing beats and 808’s.
so many emotions. they be swirling, twirling, and orbiting. my feelings be
3sprung up emotionally cuz my feelings are in a wave attempting to reach the shore. what can be done about the reactive state of affairs one is forced to deal with? how do we climb the ladder to safety ensuring the legs do not crumble? shaky foundations certainly make it difficult to stand stable. I suppose my hands are able but the intention is not willing.
4sprung up high up into the mountainous galaxies where the stars laugh at my decisions. looking into them // i see the past. memories which were stained by depraved action. my surroundings perplexed by desert dancers serving me bottled up mirages. i drank of their elixir then, while attempting to make sense out of this perilous advent.
5sprung up cuz i hung up, all my closing demands. i distanced myself like a pariah and the prey – tossing with the wind and never staying. trying to be the pretender and the joker cuz the absurd made life a folly. like a bullet strain locked and loaded, only needing a pull of the trigger. fear like this begins to grow bigger and BIGGER. when life invites you into a fetus like position – so that others can swallow you more safely // that’s when things really start looking shady.
6sprung up cuz i leaped too high. i wanted to meet my ancestors in heaven. some of which decided to come down instead to meet me in the shadows. they never scared me but they never made themselves known to me. even in the still of the night – they never dared to open a jar or fall off the hedges. i think they slept a lot instead of playing poltergeist. i knew they were here with me cuz i sleep and remember too.
7sprung up cuz i’ve been driven mad, glad, sad, and totally RAD. for as much as i wander i squander. time spilled into another day. pages left open but unread. dreams left unspoken but somehow said. this is why I say I’m sprung up! because i’ve been pressed and pushed down into the ground. WHAT has become WHEN. Because WHEN springs forth the map of promise! The restlessness is eventually awakened, as I pick up the pen. *Sew to Bestow* SPRUNG UP EMOTIONALLY ENOUGH TO TRANSMIT ALL SEVEN OF THESE FIBONACCI RINGS. ALL OF WHICH WERE RANDOM PROCESSES BAKING INTO MY MIND. The sound of love and the dream of the yo-yo does not have to return void.
Who should I call? Is someone still awake? ‘Is Anybody Out There’ proclaims the cry that echoes the deepest caves of living. Maybe I could call my best friend or my sister who understood the story from the middle towards the end and backward at the beginning. After all, such a surprise of unannounced alerts beckons at my heart.
Once it is all said, and done; eye envisions a ghost with a weapon. With the last bullets in their machine, they could indeed annihilate my insecurity. But the question has to be asked: Are these the same bullets, of what killed the physical life, to begin with, and created the ghost?
I’ve seen it in the blame and discourse of planted dreams, which sought to arouse a response. Ever so closely, desiring an explanation that fits what was perceived. I’m speaking about ‘Spies Of Pattern’, those things which looked into the corner of expression, which detects the motion of cheating.
They really care, and the care alone; prompts an even more subtle and daring taunt. IF the spies care, shouldn’t you grant the mere eloquence of your ‘Once Known Youthfulness and Honesty?’ Remember now, “the way you once were, before the DARKNESS of DOUBTS and INSECURITIES arrested you”. Says The Spy!
The blessings and confidence that motivates the spy’s heart, to reckon with the magnitude of negativity, really astounds me. As I read the lines of what is presented ‘Frank’ to me, I can’t help but think of my once owned pattern.
My words are addressed to YOU ‘Spy Of Pattern.‘ When was the last time you felt the texture and groove scope your very feet and fingers? I remember when I danced upon its detail. I became so annoyed at its combination of acts and tendencies. I had to respond, and when I did, I made sure I reflected on how sorry and hurt I was that it happen again! DAMNED, repetition, it qualified in me the character of apologetic functions that missed the foundation.
DON’T YOU REMEMBER? JUNE, NOVEMBER, THOSE RETURNING DAYS OF RECOGNITION? WHAT IS SO WRONG WITH SORRY ANYWAYS?
SO here you are, in the same position; I’ve had my turn, now you have given your rendition. God who created the universe has an amazing class, we all belong to; some of us are still sleep in the egg of unconsciousness, but I am a part of a rebirth now.This writing started exactly, a week ago. I had no idea at the time what I was writing, but in light of what just happen; I am indeed aware! AND Am able to finish it.
I’m no longer hanging on the edges of a proposition. Surely; I have heard your dreams, and have tasted the words of your honest emotions. They came in a very late time over here, I responded once, to what appeared to be your Father. Soon after; messages came to me, back to back, begging the notion of ‘If I dare’.
“It should not take a series of weeping therapy sessions, to arrange the need for counsel.” I would say! We have been here; more commonly in the ghost state of our existence. When our life was physical only a couple of months ago, we looked into our own eyes and started the quest for logic and place of love and understanding. The difference? Well, this last time, was indeed the last time.
I’m passed the intimidation of a video, recurring dreams, or even a message that exemplified the honest feeling of your heart. We had our closure, and I’ll save your time and my will to explain your careful accusations against me. I’ve already explained who I am, In fact; the nature of my being seemed unable for you to accept; which explains the reason I left. If you rather hunt and track me because of a dream, maybe you are the one who is still truly sleeping? I could answer the various lines which are corrupted and seemingly used to catch me in the snare of the pattern.
I could make another video and explain this message, and I could simply start where you left off. I’m choosing to send out this writing as it testifies of what my eyes have seen before. Words are the HOPE which motivates our silence, that they there are indeed many characters out there enough to fill the space and void.
LOVE INTERRUPTION
I want love
To roll me over slowly
stick a knife inside me,
and twist it all around.I want love to
grab my fingers gently
slam them in a doorway
put my face into the ground.I want love to
murder my own mother
and take her off to somewhere
like hell or up above.I want love to
change my friends to enemies,
change my friends to enemies
and show me how it’s all my fault.
I won’t let love disrupt, corrupt or interrupt me x 2
Yeah, I won’t let love disrupt, corrupt, or interrupt me anymore.
I want love to
walk right up and bite me
grab a hold of me and fight me
leave me dying on the ground.
And I want love to
split my mouth wide open and
cover up my ears,
and never let me hear a sound.
I want love to,
forget that you offended me
or how you have defended me,
when everybody tore me down.
Yeah I want love to
change my friends to enemies,
change my friends to enemies
and show me how it’s all my fault.
Yeah I won’t let love disrupt, corrupt or interrupt me
I won’t let love disrupt, corrupt or interrupt me
I won’t let love disrupt, corrupt, or interrupt me anymore.
When Jack White wrote these lyrics, he explained it summarized what love made people do. It was the idea of love getting in itself, Love is not as simple as girl meets boy, and how boy loves a girl. OR even the purpose behind two individuals. If we are going to think about love. We need to look at how we sabotage ourselves and hurt ourselves. If we want love so much, why do we do what we do to hurt each other? Since love has been mentioned for since the dawning of time; our beings are attracted to it. AND, to Jack White, (AND myself I might add) This song answers it. He goes on to say, PEOPLE who are hurting you, there is love behind it. Whether it is a love of themselves, or they don’t know how to express it, it could be unrecorded love. BUT it’s love behind it…I need not answer the accusation of insecurity. doubt, disparity, or anything of the sort. Since it does not matter whether I delete the messages, or even reply to every medium that was given to me…I find the bait of its detail to be very charming but so surprising at the same time. It’s amazing how I was picked up on this before it even began, I really thank God for purpose and a song that could not be a better voice to what was spoken.
The last lines of this song are my answer.
As for the unknown, what was uniformly known, NOW is the woe of remembrance! These selective slices of infinity, uniformly seek a position. I’ve given it rest.
Shifting tiles of distance are traveled in light of destiny and purpose.
The framework of time entertains the calculated movements which are believed by setting priorities.
The reconciliation of reality and intention celebrates the feast of faith.
In my honest silence of occurrence, I evaluate the abstract details of companionship.
I am withdrawn from the repetitive steps of expression I observed and walked before.
Longing to ponder the extreme callings of existential moldings; are shown through conversations of interest. I have given myself my own absorbance in substitute of the usual medium of functions.
I am instead given to a place of study in submission to alien perimeters.
I was not meant to be alone, but to share a faithful relationship with one who could reach for the same ground I desire.
Happily enjoying those moments that captivate the joys of withering charms which youth gravitates to.
Enslavement begins at the dawn of quest and digest.
When Processing fully; space, creates and unfolds a map of renewal and newness.
Behold: The mark of gain and the mask of its enemy makes clear doubt in the minds of inspired ambition.
The steps declare loyalty as feet are driven by determination.
If You can relate to being reborn, this is for you!
When trust is given to a boundless measure with no beginning or end, living in its domain can interrogate its influence.
Knowing that the leap into a full space of limitless equations juxtaposes a judicial merit of love.
You’re surrounded by the marvels of human struggle.
You smile at rebellion as it motivates you to create the will to break free.
I never meant to translate that a future was inconceivable.
I just want more than meets the eyes.
“A depth into sensation wherein the glances of glory; transforms our hearts.”
Seeing the sunset of your character frozen into imagination; inspires me to break the ice and warm you through appending realizations of fire.
As time regurgitates itself, we can then move into a new transition.
The dictum of love; pronounces the authority; wherein the expression of its value is made known.
When we glance at the marvels and mystery of human struggle, we often are propelled to create. Often times, I have seen so many smiles at those who turn the wheel in another direction, those who don’t mind to STAND UP, when everyone says SIT DOWN! To keep talking, although they are threatened to be silent! There is a need to keep going in the midst of the war when love is truly pronounced; we can, by all means, continue with a motion that is welcoming! COLOR is a sensation. It is brighter than the odds of what is invisible. The deeper we go there, we will be able to see more clearly.
Then, there is the question of time. AND who hasn’t had something to say about it? We can look at Albert Einstein, and his theory on time or even other great philosophers and artists, who ponder at its measure. Can it be measured at all? IF it’s non-existent why do we program ourselves to its design? There is so much involved in the magic of LOVE, and I just want to encourage everyone to grab hold to it!
As we see those frozen into imagination, it is by the reality of fire we can warm those closest to us!
You indeed have the authority, to bring about a change!
writing until the pen runs N2 paradise clarity! (by uniform & random means) 