“Among the many colors to the rainbow, there are also the shades and the hues that people deny for its meaning in black and white. When one describes their own personality as a red, or a blue, here is me to question whether the red is dark or light, as a red, and the blue, the same. Does one desire proof? Then, refer to the coastal cities, near the ocean, where during the evening, as the ocean turns from a light blue to a dark blue, there you’ll see the moods of the people changing, due to such a heightening melancholy atmosphere. There are other places, too, that reveal this, but as to personalities, polarities exist so that one does not become monochrome. For to merely be red, is to be gray. To merely be blue, is to be gray. One must know in which direction they lean, so that clarity is met.”
“There is nothing so despicable as being the one who craves the apology enough to display sexual arousal from hearing one. An apology is the comfort of dishonesty in its direct definition. For why else does one who shouts become shocked at their own words, enough to state that they ‘didn’t mean’ what was said? It is because even the speakers of truth are shocked by what they’ve said, which was the truth, which was what they had meant to say. Denial falters the saying of truth, and one will always deny what will make them vulnerable. People deny their own weaknesses. People believe themselves indestructible, to infinitely gain success, though such a mindset displays the greatest weakness: the denial that there is one. People are pathetic in this regard, and so an apology merely becomes the excuse that reverts what was said back to a man’s heart, after he’s silenced a woman from his own honesty. For honesty cannot at all be kind, without it being disguised, and this is factual. Without honesty as the solid color, and never the collection of colors, honesty becomes only a fragment of its wholeness, and this, as well, is factual.”
“Among work, no equality. Among work, only competition and the endless discontent that is in life. It is not to say that work should be extinguished, for then life would be extinguished. Take away work, and one can only fall or wish to rise; and that means, wishing to rise, makes the pauper the one with the broken wings. Life is beautiful, as it is said, and this is true. Although, as life, and like truth, both can be shaped, through deceit or the truth that is the same as deceit, into anything.
Among love, and among death, there is vulnerability. There is the only equality a human has ever known. Upon the lowest end, one can see where one has leveled themselves; closest to the grave, that is, and one is indeed at the same height as another, close to death. When one is in love, this is a vulnerability also at the same height. An infinite height.
The infinite height of love is where truth has been lifted.
We yearn to rise, as paupers, or die, as paupers.
We yearn for more and more, as discontented people of life.
And we should yearn for nothing else when dead, or when in love.”
Beauty has marked my way, By dismembered flesh. This is a tale of remembrance, To one loss, that pined my heart. One that left me aching, One that left me wanting.
Oh, father. When shall you return? Grief has left me with stains Of the countless struggles beneath swaying grass, And petals that fall to my hands, Leave me to count the steps, if you may. Leave me, for you’ve felt not the need to stay.
No blame, upon not even the sickness, I am only in mere longing, from your absence, Your guidance, a shelter that was so aware, To the shadows I cast from myself. To the faces that seem to forget, I hold upon my throne a note that I’ve kept:
One note that reads, “There is much challenge to overcome, Much to see, and much not to believe, There is much wisdom to know, And much more not to show, Nor to share, nor to care.”
I had believed until now, that the world deserves promise, I had believed that the many smiles were true, And until I grew to know, that there’s deceit, Among faces swollen with pride, Among hearts said to be alive. And, among the rest, there we have infant apples.
Few would dare to show themselves, In a world so unkind, as kind. Few would dare to realize the waking tension That bellows the flames around their mark, Into the forests or meadows Of either Heaven or Hell.
We live, as we are, under skies gray and barren, With a wilderness as our hearts, Solid and strewn in the world’s deceit. And I have lost the guidance. I’ve become among it, the deceit and the swelling tension; Fires and waters, making the earth spark and shimmer.
Go well with it, we have faced kingdoms and death. Of grief and pangs of anger, of emperors beheaded. Of despair, confusion, and the overcoming Of a manufactured fame. We were never the ones to earn the world’s trust, As like anyone, whose purpose is it.
We were organic in our compelling, And makeshift in our failings. As humans, we felt the urge to bereave Over that which we hold close To bosoms and hearts, When the latter may never start.
It is winter, and upon this season, Cold compels me to draw close The numbness. The havoc winter brings, to others, Shall bring comfort, upon me. And never will I find beauty to be a cause.
You surround yourself in an ebony shield, An ebony garb, made by your loathing. It feels to me like a weight upon my palms, For I am the one who holds it close, Like a man without the groping tension Of one perpetual shame.
Disease and wine swim well with the other, How famous we are, when in love, But never so graceful as when we are drowning In a current of pain and denial.
Have we love to behold? Have we the moment captured? Oh, beauty. Among you, there are flowers to rain The petals and their thorns, on the soil At my feet.
There’s much that is missing, From your stagnant heart, that does not beat. There’s much that is needed, Beneath this moon that is full of color Belonging to glaciers from the North, And sorrow from a mother.
Find our way to love, we will do, Of daylight and nighttime, as both become The celestial landscape, upon plains of ivory, now. Love, with your eyes under lashes, And a pair of nostrils that breathe the fragrance Of death and its eternal playground. I shall come to love, and love, for eternity.
With desire, feed me wine, Among pain, make yourself as mine Beneath sheets that fade away thy purest form, As all angels weep above in their enclosure.
For I have destined myself, To wed myself, With yourself, a queen of a night, A desire and a might.
You have felt the sin, To which we ran the waters Over our palms, And over the soils. When thou did, Thou filled baskets, with ripest apples, And filled thy mouth, with words of praise. Make this kindest moment last.
The moment when we dance, Before an altar so lit with wonder, An altar adorned with petals, I see thee, a face of finest beauty.
I see lips as strips of scarlet, And cheeks with rose attached, And eyes that beam out the wishful note, “Never to leave, never to depart,” As you rightfully say.
And when I see thy graceful form, Kept in my palm, I find nothing else to Create a qualm.
Face me, dear thing, You have beauty roaring out, To the furthest shores, So mighty that you are, needing to see, How much I love thee, And all of thee. We are now united, with faces to breathe.
“Among the many monoliths, where they occupy territories that will be ‘beneficial’ for life, they are representative of the egotism to our species. The skyscraper is the truest representation of the large ego, the largest arrogance, and when the ruler of one stands at its top, they may see the rest of the world, save for the other skyscraper that’s but an inch taller. Competition is a place for humans to fight. Where once humans climbed mountains, and now, humans climb man-made mountains. The height of a human would relate to our obsession with pride, in contrast to the Simian that stooped low, in contrast to the arches of the cathedral.
Love and lust; with the former being to stoop low to see who one had ignored, and we are no longer Simians. As an evolved species, the latter would make us see the stars, as ‘realities’ over seeing God, who was never a physical reality to begin with. We stand tall, though are not God, who is said to walk without limbs. What is sin? It is water, the looseness of water, as Christ stands atop it, humans cannot stand atop it; though, we can stand atop the ground, while the water is the thing that destroys land, and fire that can only burn things found upon land.
The fish of the sea represent the ‘individual order’ which is to say that among humans who live as water, are those who live as looseness, are those who live as truest individuals. What else during the 1960’s had Americans promoted besides looseness among morals? They were, by themselves, playing into the Bible’s words. All creatures that live upon land, are able to see height, while the creatures that live in the water, may see depth.
And this is to say that ‘sin’ is indeed the birth of a human. The ‘waters of birth’ as they are called, to the ‘blood of Christ’ is, as the latter, a forgiveness for Mankind’s existence.
Upon 9/11, wind had fractured pride; during the 1960’s, water had fractured pride; and upon the day when nothing else matters, fire burns all earth, leaving the ‘South’ for nothing else to be heated.”
“Are we all alone with our thoughts? I’d believe it to be true, considering one’s thoughts are merely an echo to what the eyes had seen, formed to be a memory. One’s memories, and a memory is the only thing that can be titled a ‘perception’. What one had seen, and then, what one had thought upon, creates a perception, or a memory that could haunt the individual to their grave.
Isolation is a word that defined the ‘asylum’. Asylum refers to be alienated away from society. They were buildings, as physical and literal structures, made to house the maddened and depraved. They were people no one wished to be associated with; and it was said that they were ‘physical and literal structures’, but what do we make of the skull that houses the mind? This is a metaphysical and metaphorical example. Isolation. It is repeated here, for one is indeed alone with one’s thoughts. It should be said here that a ‘law’ or a ‘betterment’ only goes so far before Nature overwrites it. Madness, among any illness of the mind, is the most lonely mixture of emotions.
It is for this reason that the artist will repeatedly state that no one will comprehend the work of the artist. This is the reason why many artists of genius will commit suicide, due to those of lesser intelligence throwing glances in the artist’s direction, and enforcing this lonely feeling.
And what overwrites illness? Companionship, for if love does not cure the madness from the diseased mind, then nothing else will ever replace the nurses and doctors among a so-called ‘psychiatric center’ with one goal to ‘never show tears’ or ‘form attachments’ with the patients.”
“An internal or external choice, breeds either the individual or the slave, and nothing else, by the choice being of oneself or from another. We are all Nature’s slave, and no one seems to have fallen in love with the word. We are all our parent’s slave, our home’s slave, and our employer’s slave, and still, no one seems to have fallen in love with the word. The word ‘slave’ is a neutral word. Only emotions of either positive or negative turn a word into something else, other than how it’s defined. The choice of the murderer to slay his wife and children, was indeed a choice created by himself. Responsibility was not of him, to allow himself to be so corrupted in mind and heart. And he was the only one to have raised the gun to slay his family. Choice. It is a pathetic word, as loose as ‘slave’.”