“Were a person to take hatred as a neutral definition, it would merely reveal the definition of ‘change’. To change, is to first be discontent. It is because that was, and still is, the mindset behind every revolutionary, every inventor, and every creator ever known to the world. Even of the husband and wife who make love beneath bed sheets, and create a child, had acted out of the essence of hatred; and such means, to change, because such a child could indeed spark change, and would not be a mere stone to see as stagnant. There is a wisdom that says to live a perfect life, one must be a vegetable, incapable of moving to create fright, or to create harm. To step, and to step upon an insect, created change, or rather, was an act of hatred; and by seeing hatred, in that sense, is to see hatred in a neutral definition. For of all the colors to life, they each represent change, an individual change, and not ever contentment. To be content, is to be in love, or to be loved; and this would mean to never belong to color, or never to belong to change or discontent. To be discontented, is to be feeling the world of hatred, that which life is born upon, to continually change and create ever-more color; and this would make the two black entities between life as the only way life can attain equality. That is, to be in love, or to be dead.”
“There is no comprehension resonating from Woman’s mind to what Man speaks, so she is forced to turned to belief. She is forced to turn to trust, and she will trust what has been said from his mouth, even if he’s deceived her. Therefore, in love, Man must be as truthful as possible. Nothing should be detailed with deception. For she will build herself on pride, through deception, and she will build herself on love, through truth.
Loneliness makes Woman proud, to be able to conquer all, on her own. Though, offer her naked shoulder a hand of warmth, and she will crash to the Earth in a thousand splintered fragments. She had not wanted loneliness, and only dwelt on it, because it was all she experienced. Woman’s body is first a meadow, the home for all life; though, Woman’s body will turn to be the scarred battlefield, should all she have experienced is betrayal. As the soldiers battling upon that field, for what are they devoted to, besides the land back home they are to protect? And the land they fight upon, is a land still sympathetic to Woman, as women are sympathetic to other women. Because, as women stand together with themselves, and believe in equality, it is equivalent to when land, itself, joins together in held hands.
When Woman ‘claims rights to her body’, it is equivalent to when that ‘field’ is abandoned, and left to repair itself. However, it will one day find life walking atop it, and will one day find Man to race across it.”
There is nothing so gentle, As the woman claiming to be The certainty for herself. I offer condolence, And she falls on her hands And knees, to kiss the toes, Of a man who has allowed her to escape From a pain, from a fate that was calling Her, to come away. From her eyes, rained many tears.
Only a ruined soul, to this one woman, Could be harmed further by a delicate pride. She would stand with toes curled, And eyes upon her hands to the sky. I would offer what is needed, So that she calls herself to collapse, And she begins to wither in my arms, Now raining petals, To be counted. What a love I have for this child.
There is much to admire, In your vulnerability. Much to smile over, and to call beautiful, In that vulnerability.
There is much to adore, In your trembling. Much to find comfortable, in your tears, And from your trembling arms.
For beauty is only beautiful, When admired by love. I would not burn the tree, But keep it embraced, As I love her, I will keep her rooted.
I walk beneath, the shower, of your eyes, And cast above, strong gazes, towards the skies. I make Heaven, bleak, And myself, turn weak. “I found love, as a treasure,” Said the man, as the welder, A man, of no purpose, No fate, of any design. But with, all turmoil, I’ve rearranged, what is mine.
“There is no shame, in this curse,” Spoke the fool, idle and worse. There is much pain, to behold, and to hold, For a woman, in blue eyes, nestled bold. She whimpers, in an alley. She begs, to be found, Huge eyes, of great sound, A blue soul, without mercy.
Love tolerates no one, to console herself, Death has found, a conscience, We deal in takes, of bonds, and merry selfish Findings, within science. And a woman, named a whore, Has seen torment, forced to adore. Of wings shattered, and faces battered, No trust, in reach, But a man’s, leech, Will swim in ruined flesh, clinging safely.
“There is no logical explanation on how a woman desires the same level of achievement gained by a man. Does she desire the same feeling of guilt? Does she perhaps yearn to become a rapist?
It is not ‘opportunity for the sake of opportunity’ offered to a man, strictly by a rule written in some book. Once more, his desire to achieve comes through compensation. His own personal compensation, that is, and such money that he gains holds the same definition of ‘compensation’. A woman, if not able to comprehend, then at least see a man’s torment in such guilt that has afflicted him since birth.
Once more, a man doesn’t receive opportunity through a right. He receives opportunity through relief. He is punished by guilt, and it is no secret that his brutality has turned him into a war or power hungry fool, and his innate ambition has brought on the territorial and land-marking crime organizations.
We should say also that his ‘love of gain’ becomes immediately simplified upon receiving the love from a woman. For he creates cycles within beginnings, through an injected seed into a womb. And why had it been a custom for him to want a son, over a daughter? Once more, it was not a rule, but an instinct of a man to continue this cycle, of this cycle of pride and achievement, and then, forgiveness.
Continuation, that is, and life must continue, and thus, comes the continuation and non-stop creationism, among numerous achievements. He is achieving for his own relief, to have an orgasm, perhaps, and continue the barbarism, and the brutality.
Forgiveness is displayed through the glassy eyes of a woman.
He was not willing to see himself.
Of all he has gained, now the guilt has turned into a oneness. A woman, and now his guilt has been erased. She offers him comfort, not further distress. She offers him silence, not further loudness from gunfire.
Keep the man locked up, and his thoughts are his only company.
Keep him alone, in the dark, and the monster sees all his wounds from those who’ve repeatedly tried to slay him.”
“The flow of humanity takes itself wherever power and dominance leads it. Why call power a wrong? It should be named an inevitability. To say it must be erased, altogether, is to accept denial as one’s own power. To keep a population in denial, makes the population powerless. To accept personal irresponsibility as a good token, makes one as well, powerless. Responsibility is the tool of the leader. Although, his hands can only extend so far, and for such power, he needs his limits. What is the result of power? It is definitely not stagnation. In terms of ‘development’, power does not simply stand still. It moves and guides a population wherever a leader points his finger. It throws soldiers into battles and sends a mother’s or wife’s tears to the soil of a grave. These are all inevitable. And what is the use of power? As power moves, it also grows. As power does not stand still, it directs and most of all, it is used against, to divide and to conquer. For once more, this is all inevitable and very human.”
Face our turmoil, And rend the world apart! See where we have felt the stinging pain, The toil to what has been called love.
Never love and only the survival bought from danger, I am a man of guilt who is asked to be strong. I am a man of pain who is asked to be painless. I am a man of shame who is asked to show himself.
The love from a woman has made a mark, I show weakness, and it’s seen to be dark. We both, as lovers, walk upon death In each’s arms, in failure and desertion.
What am I but the man called misery? I am not uncertain about the want, Though, uncertain about the gain, To what I want, to what will spell paradise.
Oh, my love, walk upon death, There is no Heaven in this Hell. There is barely a life to say is a treasure, I’ve become numb against my sorrow.
And from death, and in life, All has become black and white. Strange minutes resort to unbidden strife. As I seek to make you my wife.
Life, in all its stalking upon death’s ground, Do we stand upon someone’s grave, On the street, where we wave To taxis and workers in their frenzy?
Face me, dear one, and see my pain, See how it soaks me down, See how the future faces the West, And the past falls to the East, Backwards in confusion harmonic, In what I am destined to be.
How can weeping be a benefit, During when hope lies fruitful and hale? You continue to see tears like raining sapphires, Like raining blood, like raining rubies. Like the emerald between your fingers, Like grass that has been taken.
Oh, when you’ve begun to weep in the sickness Of your unending pain. What embrace can I offer, Different from the last? What kiss may I give, More compassionate than the former?
You have tears still hanging loosely On that forlorn stare of yours. It burns holes in my mountain of pride, And makes the forests crumble to ash. Love holds its doors open, For us to walk through its gates, And you’ll weep, merely weep, Despite our hopes, despite our wishes.
Has faith been lost in you? Under the many doubtful turns, Have you come to quake In the fear, Because of my doings, Of my lack of them?
Upon the floor, you crawl with eyes streaming such sadness, Above my arms, I attempt to let you see, the Heavens for their blue, And you stream sadness, Upon Hell and its washed hues to make shades.
I feel strong, only when faith is an occurrence, Never weak, and never faltering, when there’s no doubt, From you, my wicked beauty.
Make me want you, more than the highest angels, I am no monster, my love, no devil of danger.
Animals are where Egyptians stared, into the ground, for that is what we notice of all their works. A slight downward stare into the sands that were so infertile. Nothing could be born from sand.
Creation is never met with satisfaction, until the Christian God shows the gift of love to represent to Mankind its need for rest. To change, is to plummet, and never soar where one feels at peace.
The beauty of seduction is in the pulling down of God, who sits upon His throne with a lonely stare. Change is the aspect of division. The more we change, the more we’re unsatisfied. The more we’re unsatisfied, the less unity ever has a way of revealing to us the value of rest.
Love is that rest, and rest is in the comfort of love.
Change is most related to hatred, because hatred is closest to discontent.
The Egyptians had worshiped the sun. Warmth was all they felt, and the sun shined so bright upon their darkened flesh, that it darkened it all the more. As dark, they were the ones who were fertile, not the sand.
To belong to “Trans-” is in belonging to change, and Egyptians studied animals, through a studious gaze, because animals walk upon four legs, especially when they bowed before their pharaohs. This is in contrast to gods who walk upon two legs. We study animals today, in the same respect. Mammals, that is, that are equivalent to humans, are those who walk on four legs. Exception for the kangaroo, and perhaps something else, that would enjoy matching up to a human’s ferocity of competition.
To belong to “Trans-” is in belonging to change, is in belonging to hatred, because hatred is close to discontent, and discontent is close to life, and life is close to change. It is an arrogance, to continually change, because in the effort of that plummet or decline, we eventually become Satanists, worship politicians, and soon believe that ashes, or sand is where we will grow crops. That is a gullibility, and a greater arrogance, to believe that a human will last forever, even when everything is torn apart.
Immortality is a human’s desire, not through love that would make a human always immortal, in acceptance of death of flesh; but immortal in the realm of hatred, in acceptance of the death of love.
Change and immortality were the studies of the Egyptians and the Greeks, studying Alchemy to turn sand into gold. The turn the plenty into the rare. To turn the least valued, into the most valued. That is, to turn the animal into the human, because to change into an animal is to reflect discontent and hatred, because hatred abides by instinct. Our minds control our hearts, a man governs a woman, not the heart controlling the mind, or a woman governing a man.
The sands reflect the infinite, though are representative of “infinite death”. Gold represents the flesh, and the changes we are meant to endure, though not enough to tear the flesh apart, so that it becomes sand, once again.
A vampire or a werewolf will tear flesh, will release blood, and we admire these creatures, today. As humans, we are meant to love and be kind, not promote change and more change, until we are sand, not golden flesh.
The colored rainbow possesses each of the following colors: red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, and violet. The missing colors are black, white, and pink.
Between life, is birth and death. They each represent the color of black. Black is the color of fertility. A woman’s body is land. Land is fertile when dark. Land is infertile when light, akin to the desert, or the pale skin of a dead person. A volcano’s lava will create dark earth, and will be fertile for new vegetation. During childbirth, a woman’s rapid contractions is the same for symbolism, among fertility. A volcano’s rumbling, that is. Life begins in fertility and ends in fertility. That is to say that life begins upon the color black and ends on the color black. Life is an array of colors, and the limited discontent and hatred. Through the volcano, and during eruption, such “red waters” are released from a woman’s body, alike to lava, blackening, and her body becomes once more, fertile.
Of white, there is where love exists. A woman wears white on her wedding to reveal not only purity, but the possession of love that a man knows will be his rest. For he has worked, and has stressed, until coming to the point where his possession of a wife, will be his ultimate achievement. He is reminded, until death creates the parting, that love is the achievement he should not lose. It is only lost, when not only death through the physical body is manifested, but also disloyalty. When a man is loyal, a woman is loyal, and the words “till death do us part” as the wedding vows, reflect this, as well. It is also because “black”, which is what a man wears, is there to remind him of death, and of his potential mistakes. Destruction takes places among the burned form, and through ashes, as is what a human turns to when dead, destruction may indeed be the thing a man controls. To turn a marriage to dust, through disloyalty.
Of pink, there is virginity and the newness of anything. It is the first sign of discontent. After pink, there is white; and after white, there is black. Pink never returns, because youth, as well as virginity, can never return, soon as it passes. The infant is pink. The hymen is pink. This all translates to, “After pink or newness, there is white or love; and after white or love, there is death or discontent”. And this translates to “discontent challenges love”, or “discontent challenges loyalty”. Newness of life, creates the love of life, and the death of life, is death of loyalty to life. That is, Man should remain loyal to Woman, and if Man is ever disloyal to Woman, then Woman will be disloyal to life. It is because Woman will act as Man, through being disloyal, as well. As the reflection is where love is defined, and one discovers their “other half” in a beloved husband or wife, that which begins life will be the Man to warm a woman’s heart. And should he be disloyal to make her heart cold, then she will become selfish in her loneliness, and betray life. That is, the abortion of infants will become the norm, when love is gone. A man’s actions inevitably create a woman’s reactions, as the mind will always be the influence to the heart, as a thought creates an emotion.
