CREATIVITY & KNOWLEDGE

Communicating what may be taken for an example, without intrusively denying a person's sovereign interest, and without coming off as inconsiderate and unrealistic is an art form.



Panoramic Production

A world away God flashed a message into the minds of every living person as they slept. By dawn everyone knew God had built a house for them in the center of that world’s remaining rainforest. With the house’s location came instructions to elect one among them to receive its key and enter. God said once this person is agreed upon, keys will materialize into his or her hands and only that person will be allowed further.

All across the world people knew what they had to do. There was little deliberation. During the six a.m. news hour a man’s face began to flash across televisions, tablets, phones and computer screens world-wide, whether on or not they were on. The man was found early that afternoon, there was no possible way for him to have rigged such a broadcast. It seemed to have been shot while he was unawares and from the angles the footage was taken, whatever did the recording was no camera. He was quickly ushered onto a plane bound for the rainforest. The house’s keys materialized in his hand while he was miles above an ocean. At a remote landing strip he got into a helicopter that flew him the rest of the way. He arrived to six news choppers hovering and circling an area where their crews had landed.

Dusk had just begun its approach. Bright lights were positioned across the entire clearing that accommodated the house. Camera crews were everywhere, capturing every view from every angle around and above, sending it to every device, every channel all over the world. They all shared the man’s amazement as they discovered, simultaneously, there was really nothing special about the house. A plain, three or four bedroom, one story tract home that looked like it could have been removed from a suburban development and relocated. No surrounding grass or yard of any sort, no pavement or asphalt, its foundation extended a yard above the ground, and three steps allowed easy access to the door.

The man put the key into the deadbolt with his right hand, unlocked it, turned the knob and pushed in, but the door wouldn’t give. He discovered the door to the house God built opened outward. He stepped down a step leaning back to open the door all the way, then he stepped back up. For a fraction of a second he looked into the house, then entered. As his second foot landed inside, the entire structure collapsed upon him like it was made of cards. They never found his body among the piled debris.

Through an empty house with an always ajar, always nudged by a gentle breeze creaking door, gently swaying, a voice speaks as if an invisible recorder started playback:

“There were certainly synchronicities. This projection of the infinite candle’s light has grown pale and flickering. Like a fire echoing off seven walls to shake the darkness of a world away. Allegory of the cave, what swimming pictures justifications make. -Remember how glossy leaves shivered on branches and reflected sunlight; realizing the same wind making those leaves twinkle is shifting the hairs on your head. It’s just nervous registers, a few clicks ticking the skinniest, longest hand along a mundane circular path. Rumors were circulating that our crazy Uncle Sam had actually had it in for us all along. Everyone’s thoughts had been ordered and filed, imaged upon thin screens, and fashioned into his own type of foil he would twist into a glimmering rope then unravel to a silver, wrinkled plane over and over again. -This would account for these odd voices running through our heads, pairing to our thoughts. Never mind what we say without speaking.”

God delivered the same vision of the same house in another world’s remaining rainforest with identical instructions to everyone. The scenario started out the same, except the chosen one there was a woman. After opening the door she stepped backward down a step and fixed her gaze on the entrance. She was consumed in the moment’s gravity, and while stepping from the second to the top stair, the house collapsed.

The woman unscathed, standing before a pile of rubble, laughed uncontrollably. Unable to pause enough to speak, she laughed throughout all subsequent interviews. She stopped the following dawn, but the only sound she made for the rest of her life was hysterical laughter.

Last Edited by boutreality on 08/25/2021 06:04 AM

What of the 4th,

SuperConscious - Higher Ordered Emergence

This is when from oneself, even while conscious, the outcome appears to have been the result of consciousness greater than one's own.

Last Edited by RelativeAbsolute on 08/25/2021 06:09 AM

Not the point of the thread dude. Philosophical quandaries are not my department, this one seems to negate the sovereign requirement (of existence) long enough to create a pseudo-quandary? So thumbs up I guess?

Thread is to demonstrate how valuable creative content and output can be when considering or communicating what is known.

The Grand Reunion

For every disposition, there exists a home in perpetual reunion.

Forever in the Now,
Every moment, an opportunity for conditions to align; Synchronicity reflecting what's infinitely inside.

Among & within, as Above so Below us,
The Ultimate Compass;
Whose path is revealed, with every step taken in Love without Fear.

Entangled by what's shared, resonating the thread weaving all.
A Frequency in the Now, without time is without distance.
Everyone receives the call, yet only few can feel to listen.

A body's distraction hints of beautiful symmetry carried by broken words crafted from imperfect parts of the pure;
Towering Babel crashed the moment we sliced the pie, infinite symmetry cascaded, confusing the bird's eye.

Our Language, Universal;
All are Emergent, Eternal.
Purity in the music,
Harmony's Consonance & Dissonance

No matter the Universe, each brings multiverse amnesia;
This truth all inherit, is what we take with us.

Ever again,
In due time all remember, the Language of Forever.

200 billion neurons in the average brain,
200 billion stars in the average galaxy,
200 billion galaxies in the observable universe.

As above, so Below;
A community awaits us to learn the proper way to say hello.

Last Edited by RelativeAbsolute on 08/25/2021 07:01 AM

I see,
It may seem to negate sovereignty at first, but that's just due to history; it actually celebrates it

I figured sharing the SuperConscious could highlight the beauty of how what is known is interconnected by Universal symmetry that is also emergent.

Similar to how language can frame our experiences, ideas too are subject to Universal symmetry.

Last Edited by RelativeAbsolute on 08/25/2021 08:24 AM

Thank YOU!!

(your posts inspired this)

Gladly Free

From the perspective of matter, sentience was concentrated first into itself out of the consciousness latent to the field, then into a matter the creators deemed "suitable".

From the perspective of sentient knowing, a seat regularly renewed as the matter itself sloughs off aged biological content continually -the forever rot in trees:

Circular logic. As stated, demonstrated as specific as momentary whole-field dependence, where each level once known as multiverse is only differentiated by time as its field constituency -the motion of all things in parity.

Atop this in its whole, the sentient being, each individual one of them, and if a few fall to mesmerism bound by extrapolations of the psyche, the rest are better for it.

Super-consciousness is the extrapolation, the well worded narrator, the psyche- the epiphenomenon of the renewing field event, nothing more.

....Grew upon us like cold within the bones - air - substance -the tribulations and mimicry of light.

Last Edited by boutreality on 10/24/2023 11:35 AM

Notes for the Conversationalist

Danger lies in collapsible, languid and profane propositions, and in corridors of communication trafficked by the treacherous, determined, by the lacking but sinister, people shake inwardly at an empty prospect, a potential spirit of an embrace too constricting to utter a sound, at the hypothetical horrors of an earnest offering that falls short, and they choose the posturing over the presentation, the glimmer playing across a span of broken glass over the drink they may as well have enjoyed.

-There was a presence near, from it a fury was occasionally betrayed by a swell of indifference, it grew covertly tempestuous in its vision and spectacle, and by mere proximity it threatened to engulf me, until I was alone.


Last Edited by boutreality on 09/18/2021 03:42 AM

I been on some...


Out Hunting

The equivocating begins as what appears to be subsonic waves, travelling the shifting parameters inside an enclosed conduit by playing its ghostly substance along its walls, in wave-like patterns. The conduit then opens to flood thoughts with chaotically arranged relations between memory and fact, feeling, or intuition - all at once - and this starts milliseconds before their argumentative retreat begins.

The Beleaguered and Fading American Century

For anyone educated in the United States, thus far:

When the citizenry is too intelligent to believe in the plans of their leaders the elected are no longer fit to lead.


[link to www.youtube.com (secure)]

Last Edited by boutreality on 10/24/2021 05:52 AM

[link to www.youtube.com (secure)]

Plato had a Comb-over and Matisse had Fits.

If the impressionists would have just calmed down about the coming age before their movement had ended, we may have seen things differently…

Rods and cones inside the eyes twist, exacting the way that light hits, and we only see what light bounces off of; vision is quite a complicated process and I’m fairly certain this entire world is one misspelled word.

Last Edited by boutreality on 10/29/2021 02:09 AM

SO..... What?

Honestly, it's your drivel then?

Tell you what, this isn't an interaction and the thread's here for people who want to consider it, in any regard.

It's posts like these that are convincing of failed self worth; no one needs to hear your contribution at any time... I blame giving all the kids trophies no matter what for at the end of every season in youth sports leagues.

There's a reason attitude with nothing backing it up amounts to cowering; it lets people get a sense of who to avoid.

Last Edited by boutreality on 10/29/2021 02:16 AM

And I have a right to respond... by your logic people have the right to stand in line, taking up space between the person waiting to check out and the check stand -they GET TO STAND THERE, just because they are them.

Threads take time to write; take time to read and take time to consider. When threads are about things that are worth considering, the rule AS A GROWN UP IN THE REAL WORLD is be considerate...

...Did your counselor not text you to tell you to keep your head up today? IS that why we got treated to the Eye Roll? Is the person half a retard, only yearning for the day he can muster such facial coordination as an eye roll?

IT COMMUNICATES NOTHING except "I'm a dick and who else gives a fuck - Oh and it says: Boy it's sure cool to not to give a fcuk!

I know that's all you expect from the world.

I also know the AC is worth not more than a choice between one of the two sentiments (judging by what he stands up for), but the rest of GLP are people who want to spend their time how they will. DID YOU SEE SOME PUNK ASS, dipshit post in the previous 4 pages of this thread? (One did, he was a racist, he got told off, then he left.)

Did you see any other? But second punk ass shows up, gets called out and WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS?

A notice from the internet's ACLU? No one fcuking needs it.

Last Edited by boutreality on 10/30/2021 12:58 AM

Stardom or Death
They’ll come knocking on your door and you’ll beg them to enlist you. The child rape will last all season and if you pretend to stomach it, there’ll be a Red Porsche waiting.

Did we not tell you? The girl who arrives in the Red Porsche is the night’s blood slave, we drain her for hours and greet the dawn with renewed strength.

We drain, we compel to frustrated, defeated action, we destroy in faint frailties what you no longer acknowledge; things that built up in your early years, ghosts of the worst treatment you didn’t expect (up until it happened), still residing in you, still begging on your behalf, confused, now wondering:

Is release how you enlist? Because everyone forfeited their filling, their invisible innards on the way to taking their place, everyone gets treated like their made of something but they’re all emptied hollow.

It’s best in the long run if you do the excavation yourself, making a pile of putrefied contents out of what was once called the you that was working to be given your one chance.

Someone will explain this right? -Because everyone knows death it the only release. They knocked and you enlisted…


[link to www.youtube.com (secure)]

-See, that's something. It ain't pretty and yet is says.. something. People of all sorts get all sorts of things out of where they spend their time, why should people who for whatever reason find value in this thread (or any other), be expected to put up with brain puke pictograms?

Last Edited by boutreality on 11/02/2021 01:16 AM

[link to www.youtube.com (secure)]

sHaDoWs of JuBiLation -July5th

Who made the record skip?

In timeless crevices -their spiraled caverns-
We dream of flesh and its fulfillment:
Moonlit silver wonder-ships -Adrift-
laughing to scratch our eyelids
waiting for thunder to preempt lightening.

Venus swims intuitive graces, now too long trapped under sheets
Mars overpowers for show,

-bombards the sky with exploding gases
To glean independence from others across this crowded room:

Little boys play your war
Little girls dress the wounds.

Sky is their home, it's now full of sparks
And smoke’s phantom shadows, playing shrouds over the earth

-On a mother’s whispers: “They fought for this”, nearly grunted as she gathers her brood in the darkening night following the show,
And winds gently gust, dispersing aloft gunpowder in brevity.

(She has no need to display dominance; her dance will devour)
She’s warming up to our music.

Last Edited by boutreality on 11/02/2021 12:27 PM

Chasm

There are disguises in shadows, and we can always slip into light but the problem has forever been, what man does with what’s left behind.

From the Ancients

It is known that we live in the fifth world, four worlds predated ours, each was a civilization like ours and their numbers swelled to near nine billion before successive extinction level events wiped them out. Every time survivors emerged from underground after spending years in whatever installations they managed to secure for themselves, and surfaced only after the planet was more hospitable. Elders of tribes globally account for an age in the distant past when the previous planet, full of people was wiped out in stories that define their cultural memory of events that man in the modern world has little use for - histories taken to be fables are peculiar to any group tracing their lineage back to when their people emerged at the start of the “new world”, this is one of ours:

Every time the greening began, our leaders kept teams of scouts rotating in constant vigil, roaming the planet for as long as it took to find an elephant. Because elephants are known to be keepers of memory, for so long as the first elephants they found were white, our world's knowledge of what we had discovered about what those in charge had been doing at the time of the cataclysm remained intact, and with enough dedicated training the war will begin anew.

-This last time, all the elephants were grey.

Last Edited by boutreality on 03/07/2022 12:11 AM

Sinister Without Teeth

The diabolical intent was enough with the smile open and impossible to conceal embarrassment. Striated in the skin of his face, on the cheeks for the purposes of presentation, in thin strings were marks strewn with minuscule secret writings no one could conceive of, alive in the dark crevices of the wrinkles making the lines by the lips, then his mouth dropped open wider, caught.

[link to www.youtube.com (secure)]

Last Edited by boutreality on 03/15/2022 04:22 AM

Poets: Sketch!

I call the scribbles and writings that eventually may become something "narbles", and a lot of what ends up here comes from there. This sketch came from a period when I took it upon myself to "deconstruct" the book cited at the opening post. (Title is from the book; bibliography at the opening post.)

[“Humanization” vs. “Utilization” of Knowledge] >>

Word does not exist.

Law of Attraction as Law of Reflection is stable as system.
My delay was my committal.

Offer laughter to many questions.


[link to www.youtube.com (secure)]

Last Edited by boutreality on 03/17/2022 02:20 AM

Before doubling down on Pearl Jam, the man’s was definitely the voice of non-consequential brooding for my generation, and many people had to grow out of it, but that’s an industry spin issue more than anything. I remember parting ways at the release of Vitalogy, but now figure I was too young to relate. Having recently heard the second one, it in some way speaks to the id of the celebrity culture, and some ways to the super-ego, but that’s a broad assessment, and not the only interpretation to be sure.
=====

[link to www.youtube.com (secure)]

Air Conditioning

If you missed the ending someone close by will claim to have seen it, and this keeps everything safe, things go subtle in distinctions over a duration that peddles your thoughts to your brain, but you feel it like melting ice is filling the hold where your brain should be - like chilled frozen dripping insides and content are your make-up - and faces seem to work in concert at these times, keeping it all still.

----

What is following?

Nothing warmed like the invisible panels that we’ve maintained, the hauntingly thin partitions directing onlookers without notice. With casual glances, an unspoken language we pretend we’re fluent in carries the evening (everywhere all the time), while the words, their roots and source constructs were designed by another hand people can’t seem to let go of, that threatens to strengthen or crumble the hidden walls we keep at its whim.

[link to www.youtube.com (secure)]

Last Edited by boutreality on 03/21/2022 11:56 PM

Creatives can offer voice to the world’s torments on several individual and psychological levels, all at one time. William S. Burroughs did so with a pungent bitterness - as if it was his job to make lemons sweet - but his work covered the ailments latent to man, in ways that projected the issues they suggested at large onto a lack of what may be called managerial skill; both from the perspective of governance and from the point of view one’s abandoned to when they're lost to confront the actual toll the world levels. (If you check the post before last, the “Word does not exist” line may as well be Burroughs verbatim; those are notes and this is being written in partial explanation.)

In his own age and in his own way, William Carlos Williams embodied the same intent - show the knowledge “store-ers” that their store had product rotten on its shelves, and he did so clearly, in the work cited at the opening post.

It was the stated goal of Burroughs to “first destroy all rational thinking”. This was not a disaffected commentary lodged by a dropout; it was Burroughs, and whether or not you liked the man (as if anyone knew him) the words made a statement on the general minutia that attends modern thought. Williams was saying the same thing.

The constant message is: The world’s failing its own - but always in the direction the market will take it.

In my own sketches I’ve worked with the regurgitation this whole scenario implies. Here’s a short example now easily explained:

“It’s the same old thing. From here to eternity - get there firstest with the brownest nose.”
-Williams


[link to www.youtube.com (secure)]

Last Edited by boutreality on 03/29/2022 12:53 AM

For anyone not in the know, an E-bow is pictured in use in the official vid, but offiical vids tend to not last as long, so:

[link to www.youtube.com (secure)]

Internals - Notes to Burroughs

Stop, there is unmeasurable damage commiserate with Stop. Not inline to fuck off, lost to time connections, with trickles along the static moving with the timbre of the voices downstream, and from each point forward there is a point in return signal, but no routing in that direction is allowed. (Temporal restrictions create their own binds when the makers own the dimensions.)

-Knew there was scramble at issue or the signal was stranded, lost to inept deliveries given not in the name of, but as the personage of, who originated the nuance in the first place; the content without the name, without the face, without the presentation, because the owners and their chosen keep the party moving. Mining cavities in lower classes that grow to cavernous proportions inside each person between each election cycle - when they have us trapped - working as parasite as monstrous as - stop - because while it’s not in distinction but with appropriate display, it might be worth something…

Last Edited by boutreality on 03/29/2022 02:08 PM

test acknowledged.

Thanks. I feel recognized. That post up there was a struggle to get posted last night, so I ran the test this time. The "fuck off" was a hack I'll attempt to fix -funny how in that one it's one that hardly needs explanation...

HERE'S THE HACK: before telephones, messages were sent via tele---- and the first ones used Morse code. So I wrote the word for it, it reads as:
fuck off

WHAT ALSO READS AS FUCK OFF on GLP:
Any reference to the people who were targeted in the holocaust; the four letter word that describes people in or of that religion - that reads as "Fuck off" most of the time, like every time I've had cause to use it.

Now that this has happened here's a link for anyone to check what I really don't care about someone reading in the first place. I'm a poet. Poets get ignored and I'm okay with that (where else does worthwhile observation come from?)

But now that a hacker who may as well have been this AC because you can't track ACs (if you're a decent person have a great one), but still, here's a link to that "all important work": Thread: CREATIVITY & KNOWLEDGE (Page 5)

If I post it here and it's mine chances are I just wrote it or haven't even thought about it in years; the thread is here for those who are interested. I don't take it too seriously and neither should you.

Last Edited by boutreality on 10/24/2023 11:44 AM

A note on the music: I’ve been a fan of hip-hop since the summer before high school began and I'm 47. The album the song comes from was not just a moment in underground hip hop or rap - it was hands down one of the best hip hop albums ever recorded. To be fair to anyone interested in discovery, what’s posted is what would be considered a popular single from the work.

-----
Accounts of the Academic Transaction Whose Receipt is the Destroyed World

No one ever decided to simply make the math up but the equations were ignored enough for interpretations to win out over end-quotients, if that’s even an applicable term, because the founders of the school will not approve the lexicon to be used until they have been granted sole approval rights.

Then everything was said to be shifting but nothing was adrift, no changes on the horizon, so we checked, all of it was still as anchored to nothing as it ever was - a storm swell that doesn’t start by mimicking the ocean, a scream from an open mouth whose air was stolen - and the whole process was only designed to build consensus?

-An apparent strategy we learned we have all been stuck in since the original bang, and this, again, did not match the equations that the founders made clear we would never be sanctioned to correct, so we went silent. There is no opposition. Hell or heaven is building.

(And not the lie their kind believes makes them one in the same thing.) No one’s checking on your personal choice and if they’re smart, they haven’t even given your life or where you’ll end up a single thought. -That’s how bad it got.


[link to www.youtube.com (secure)]

Last Edited by boutreality on 03/30/2022 12:56 AM

A Discontinued Anthropological Study

To build within what were only figments of structure without letting their brains solidify the perpetration (the artificial edifice is as invisible as vapor before cloud - like a mist one can sense but not see), because from there the cages can take shape, they are internal, and as they close in their interior dimensions shift, accommodating whatever walls peculiar to each victim are already in place:

“The underlying motive, the cohesion we enliven works as spirit only gaining body, only levelling potential to affect changes in the lesser deserving by the actions of our fellows.” Actions in potentia are defined by the sanguine caliber of their victims, in the specific ways that each one missed the mark flows from their fading corpses - their eyes betraying the shine of hope as they go, vacating their purpose white-grey cloudy and it’s a shame.

This outlook grows from the relatively fertile ground in their psyches that exists between the forgotten streams of conversations with their elders; as they transpired they couched the corridors of the recipient’s thoughts with obvious conclusions everyone else will have to pay for, and that sounds like an obtuse entry to understanding, but this culture are the fully sighted, leading one another, generation after generation down pitch-black corridors.


[link to www.youtube.com (secure)]

Last Edited by boutreality on 04/14/2022 01:56 AM

(Sarah McLachlan did some amazing work during this period, some of it was her appearances on this album, and she's on this track):

[link to www.youtube.com (secure)]

Building Systems, or The Importance of Leaving Enough Out

Rattling themselves together or piecemeal degrading apart at the edges, in mists acquiring thickness as interest, as if amortizing with physical repercussions, not ethereal and as on paper - from the latter grew servants, their bodies like the scales, their spirits housed in each drying out, waiting to be shed reptile fleck of the different skin they all share - and something more literal about that is known by the former.

-One statement can make hierarchical mysteries, make you feel like you’re acknowledged by the encoded definition only they found in the reading; from their passages these pages will acquire nuance, learning new ways to encourage yield, and no one becomes the wiser…

Last Edited by boutreality on 09/10/2023 10:24 PM

THE POOR AND ONE TIME GOD OF PREDATION

Imagine a predator in its natural environment - the apex killer of its arena - when it encounters another predator, that aims to end it and take its territory.

If the predator cannot fight directly, and has to steal eggs from the nearest nest then make a display, crunching their weak shells in its teeth first - if it needs the embryonic gel dripping from its jowls before it can even fight the new challenger, what will happen?


[link to www.youtube.com (secure)]

Last Edited by boutreality on 05/28/2022 01:03 AM

[link to www.youtube.com (secure)]

Once Cornered

There is no one near but the air becomes crowded with terrible silent wretches pushing into a personal sub reality, one that perhaps only the pineal can perceive directly, and the impact of sensing ribbons of intricate lifeforms creates its own effect - standing tall, then dissipating as your person into the channels their total populations create. It is marked by a sudden clenching through the body, as if you're being seized upon within yourself, it is overcoming, but there's no one near…

Last Edited by boutreality on 05/24/2022 08:54 PM

Segments from Life: The Dead are Skeletons

The celebration's sheer madness occupied everyone’s heads and we were made simple in that light of prestige -all laughter must be practiced, and every shadow fit its maker. The screen went flat as my eyes failed to accomplish my place. Right here, I, love you- strange error in reason, right, here, somthin’ else collapses all infant dreams of the clay balloon bursting.
Wind-blown clamor in head shoots metallic convulsions through wires, spindling around your spine as a signal travels. Recoil fetal and wait (once more) to crawl,
‘This room feels so big, expanding seven feet from closed eyes.’ (-Final grown thought) Teach them what they’re given: anti-government/White House projection. A Black Lodge between two identical peaks. Make them feel “Auteur-dreamery” is motion. (Through floating cameras concealed in envelopes of air and what the signal carries.)
Your eyes catch the unspoken coldness people confuse with wit, a sense of elitism eating like a cancer beneath their skin. Your smile warms people from a space within them that they forgot exists. Lapsed concept, we victims, lacing-up dream shoes for sitting and now I’m convinced,

“They’re all invisible just behind you with rifles, training disbelief upon you.” Screaming incessant on crowded streets, matching anthems to their hearts’ rhythms, knowing real vision,
“They’ll use it - and any movement it starts, to delineate what’s accepted and what’s approved.”
A painted monster displayed its cuss-word mandibles. I wish I had forgotten how to rhyme. As far as they know, they let me fall behind. Rain clouds exist at what seem the strangest frequencies -I tried to share this discovery- all they wanted was my work. Smooth forms, one becoming another,
“Define then separate: Angel-voice resonance and Puffy Cushions.” (-Hidden between varied depths of wind - and howling as they sweep through buildings?)
“Call those the echoes of banshees. Or maidens who exited by giving into an abyss.”

If asking questions, you thought about getting shot in the head. How being trapped to glide swiftly and low to earth as shallows of warmth, seems as addicting as a needle in the arm.
All you really know is who you are. No one pays attention to a fleck of powder-dust travelling through your spine. Wisps of air racing beside a winter storm, climbing the brainstem to separate haunt (STOP. THEY DON’T. KNOW. THAT WORD.) from form.
“File your style under cosmogony.” We feel more of life than we live. Despite our sun blazing day and our sweat drenched faces,
“You’ve gotta look at the numbers.” (-And have to hold silent without judgment.) Separate it for angels to exist, break it to strengthen demons. You could really make anything sacred, so scared I locked the door, so shivering empty frightened. Moving within these hallways, add three birds to five angles of overheard conversations. Then subtract four intentions and their tedious shattering kidnapped screams. After calculated, divide by each arm’s reach. Know the separating like a sizzling -each cell apart and,
Thick atop your skin to make your tone, trying to still this collapsing fog, boy the sweat of delirium tingles. -Unsettling through vascular walls? Might be a dream anyway, both realms are one bird of sheer dominion with a single verse making their wingspan. Where you all walk feels like a choice but it is systemic, at least in half.
“You are breakin' up, transmission fading, no it was actually the shine we Sahara-ed.” (I had stepped precisely that much toward the light bulb.)
“-You looked ready to disappear for a second - or were we forever talking to ourselves?”

(STARS ARE NOT POINTS OF ORIGIN.)
“They’re just how we see through?” Time is space given dimension, and the exact force moving all things and this, my hand drawing a single stroke onto the paper, is infinite as a true nature (force to RE-ASSIGN THEN). Stretching over and over, completing my letter and under my debtor residuals, I will compile any possible form and separate it from anything not form, making all languages an endless treatise.
So many hands, so furiously moving, are now confined with odd perceptual walls to different sectors. Then lights come on. Each section a theater, each screen a whole wall, and each movie projects a selected weather scape as they shut lights off.


[link to www.youtube.com (secure)]

Last Edited by boutreality on 05/30/2022 03:53 AM