The active activity of “coming together as-a-form-of-layered-reflection” is a statue for the weathered intoxication as a romance symbol not previously felt in the space creation vehicle. At the point of harrowing result, the curious examiner of the felt vibes of the decay situation is careful not to attract the listening party away from the violence.
At the purpose of examining the cause of felt miracles (and much more) the prompting coagulation of contemplation brings the examiner the peace allowed for resuming non-self examination.
Remember, you, you, you and all (you) beings are the participators (or rebellious ‘anti goers’ of the participation if you wish too) of the universal study of unity.
In this piece, we already have documented the elements that seem to be un-doubted and allowed the words to fit for awhile…but we’ll be turning them soon so that the honest junctures can be a cause (that) whomever may notice may authoritatively manage.
If you look at (or more precisely- “listen to”) a soundtrack album containing coming-togethers of artist compositions, the focus is mainly on an examination and a unity. The listener is the examiner and the compositions themselves display a unity.
When one previews the examination of the limitlessness, that one can let the self dissolve, but be as it is as an art of some kind. And because there are no words at that point, it would be understood that the variety of expansiveness is a vacation from the used mechanics (which don’t exist).
In the least most relative way, it could be said that temporarily understanding the supposed nature of self violates the ignorant nature of pre-cognition. Also, once self is afraid, it is not of that unity. Everything except for himself is unity. That is the modular pocket of the depressive artist.
But this levitation also assumes that without self is unity. That is not the nature of the depressive person. Everything except for the repetition of slave listeners in numeric value is overwhelmed with contemplation, and that it is…a such. The kind of such that lists the space-age object as an informational competitor in local volumes of squirmy data (written on booklets of hemp and organized crime)… markets of devalued process, vortexes of base literature that throws roses on the city streets of mayhem and self-indulgence.
Call me crazy but I like the crass model of directional peace.
Where it goes with the music is a contradictory museum of ready made non-agenda.
And that is the suit we’re wearing for the rebellion…it’s an inflation intellect but most importantly, intention.
Examination and disappearance.
Refused, functionless, borrowed.
These are the discordant philosophies of thoughtless thinkers. The social color that draws in promiscuous thinkers outside the line, while it is notable to think so- this cannot be achieved with a snail’s pace.
Neither organization nor disorganization may outnumber the iconic adoration familial poles will have for one another. In this recognition, it is perilous for agreements to start where misunderstandings deepen around the inner object of totality, broadening the scope of ephemeral contact.
And yet, once again, the organization of a lost concept is, at best, repeated for mesmerizing pleasure.
Remembered because the work was intricate
Last night I watched a televised program of thoughtful work.
Dependant upon the insurrection of a thousand worries
Maintained over night fall, I honestly don’t mind.
Its the kind of creature that you blissfully marry yourself to
In a romantic kind of gesture that you think should get clueless.
Prominent developments of the sleeping space; no right is wrong, no matter is far off base.
The quick words are calm at the taste,
Insinuations of repeated boredom
Throwing everything off like candle wax at midnight’s simmer
Everything has a circumstance and eyes of princes elucidate the percent fact
So crisp discoveries could be made in the foreword motion of greetings,
Asking of motion depicted in the subtle ground.
This is where I throw everything off because I’ve not found Christ
My hobby is to affirm slow silences with expressive percussion.
I often would rather dream my sentences into Saturn than face a boiling pot of water
Then I emerge with flow as the first choice pushes me on.
That is, after all, what I expect of you
Perform my second guess work with the frustration of a mule.
Rest returns to forgiven matrixes while a run on is mixed.
That is not so often the context of social anxiety,
Neediness is not something relative to thoughtfulness.
Assumptions go on, images start fresh.
Ive related my churning bowl to the quick desire of aspiration in the wet, poisonous hodgepodge,
The art of cleaning up.
Its now time to start that fire
There was once spaghetti here.
We are always throwing gazes around the room in search of that deepened despair that shores the incantations of limited mortification we will never attach to.
It’s as if the experience to find the welt in the early rise isn’t throwing us the core image of that space; a pause to reflect if that is sex, commerce, fame…we nod off further into deprivation….
Just as our limited abuse of the total moment cuts us off from throwing things into our rapturous local belt, the excuse broadened by the cult of classic worries eschews discomforted murmur.
First it was in the political times, the suspicion of working too frantic to keep up with the hobby of neat procession; the saw cut intuition deep.
Most people of a certain collective inquiry relate to a market of intellectual catastrophe in a source that’s got an image most will vaguely see as heat-sensitive or guided by a spacious glow, embedded into the lasting impression of recoiled dreariness.
Now, we are all too fundamental in the working design….that of [the image of] luck and past-in-anxiety. The healer throws some light on the way offerings relate to the perspective-care.
The majority of objective institution-related operational models attend to a definition of depleted masking paralysis.
It’s especially true whenever alcoholics looked for punishment through masking self-illuminative caricatures in the whimsically soul-freeing agreement with that which couldn’t be a hobby aside from the pillow throwing of intellectual escapism.
Aside from the boredom (of creational excuses built into the fantasy of whirlwind defendants), the actual escapist has to realize that deepened want is only the core note of the social program embedded in the warming practice place for restrictive modernity. Restrictive modernity in itself is a hibernating social construct.
It is all too relative to think of the disinfectant program (of the social construct) when the comma has placed itself at the punch line. Beauty comes before mystery but slowly before history.
And the only resounding note of adema is a shore away.
This is hidden,
This is obscure,
An emergence of language seems to work into a thesis with study,
The virtues of life seem to move passionately about the course of their imagining
But don’t be fooled by the imagining, it temporarily had its root in the integrated respects.
The fruit of respected living lifts the veil of ignorance,
But you cannot know respected living when it is not seen for the quality of being advantageous for those who can see the encounter of this or that benefit.
Bondage supports loneliness,
Time is something vacant,
Mirrors remain glanced through with migration
The imminence is a constructed womb from the last appearance
It remains like a play on encounter
Through vitality which is found in the unfixed
We can talk as if pondering our swells from the depths of our cognizance
A jury of our peers wont surprise the locality of words understood
Yet, we talk as if it were boredom talking,
The spokesperson is ourselves.
Motion as endless as something that is built-in, can never go away
Build and build on it
Its home life, society life, anything to do with the momentum of life
Try to understand it,
Dull it with medication
Always your constant egoic intellectual momentum, progression of laughter, how you are dead to life
This is how illusory life is.
Just a projection of what you think you’re doing, but that’s the illusory content of it all
Christ photo face, years of trippy scenery
Decoded misanthropic mysteries shrouded in mechanics sit suddenly at a distance
From the techno lovers that waltz out into space age optimism
The hope that we did say what we can
Destruction of plastic figurines,
Goody descendents tell stories of mastery
Of things relinquished and melancholy
Entropy walks with a cerebral decode
Happy hour at the end of the world
This hand sunk below the level of weakness
Carried me home, dead and the robbery worth it.
Said equal fascination, cards on the table
We’re talking about after effects of lecture after dark,
The asset of ministry is as equal as sunny loyalty under the flame of novelty.