perhaps the module was less willful

Festive, retinal sarcasm. Beaten between the glance of odd stuff. The public vacancy upon a shower of red rings and deposits of cold upbringings. The breeze of this bliss throws the whole thing to its timely descent.

unless for merchants, out there the sky would be gray, cold. Thank heavens for Zwan. An afternoon was spent in mindful awareness. Good thing to think. Mind overflowing with intangible characters, many whom resemble priceless scaffolding, a night of intent and vaccination. The ice cream parlor, the boy, the pretention in the right mood. You can excise the hunting philosophy, can’t tame the dead.

Dead is dead.

night by an ocean side

and if you were intending to do so, would you fit prospect into relativity or this and that into finite terms? The meetings of the subject, you. A gloss of the marker which is to be seen as a quirk of such a philanthropy. No higher order exists than the meeting of selves.

Says the mouse

just is to sit. And however it was a credence of intentional spares, the mind changed and so the afternoon remained unquestionable. The mind retained and unbuttoned. This would be not a time for the estuary of macabre collectivism. Just to sit, take note of the hemispheres. It’s flowing, but not too fast.

Fast is the murmur of the aquarium. The seer of shaded scars. The fast click of every run down ultimatum. Allegiance to the recovered mortality. The thick pairing of documents. I will do my writing like this once, and then I would recover traditional as it may be. But as the mechanism of alteration goes, and sure that its much simpler a method of explanation for human, walking leaf, animal or mineral, I shall just Sit with feelings conveyed here.

the discourse of ideas is far better left to the throws of psychic jams and loving places; parallels where loving hearts share the dynamic experience some have told us to forget. And in. And out. A subtle rewriting of synaptic journey.

And see, I’ve already played on an unconventional order. Now, further from recognizable. Looming in the tangents of what may be healthy, the iteration of disposable essence conditions a good heart. We may be seeing far from our infant selves, coaxed to understand something which is less moderate than our contextual cosmos can relate to.  From the messiah side of things, correlations between this world and others is the ability to clarify strengths and weaknesses so that uniform predestinations are solemn in the hour glass of time.

Shapes of entanglement bring no unity.

The Yoga of Things

things in the abstract are multi dimensional, welcome to be manipulated and know nothing of themselves. One walks through yoga like they do not take authority as af mature fenestration. The use of maturity in an art form decimates expected outcomes as long as the priority is on the loud speaker of self expression. Fundamental congruencies in individuation mask a true vaccination.

so how does art and yoga then take on liberation? In a society that believes conclusively in something which is a fantasy of a dream of nothing which is terminally called the psychosis dream….thats where you get what is not got. The yoga this creates then is a collective consciousness in the midst of a creative fantasy of determined madness that has embraced eternity.

Realization of an overwhelming wrongdoing

Punch, bang, neglect this temple. I still think it was the right thing to do. Now you’re coming undone because you’ve seen the dimension of dementia. Lament over how brutal you’ve been. Breakdown and terror. Lean over the counter, press upon the fertility. Question and prepare. Life’s got a meaning, collective self is non dual and transient.

Start up the furnace. We’re going to test our awareness. Life bubbles and cute toys. A perception full of screaming cellars. Autonomy in regards to varicose expansiveness. Learn to love on your feet.

and love is not like that of breathlessness. Ancient, old, barren opportunities for men and women like you. Peculiar that it is adorned with nomads. Parlance of silence.

you, from here

and the less I guess, the more it punishes her. She’s written as a fair space of entropy neglected for my warfare. I am no child, okay, out of that cluster. Because for sure it looks like avalanche on the sea.

these guesses are right. Nobody’s listening through the speakers but from here, you might presume I was elated.

stuff of pure fiction in a way. But its not over yet.