totally an unknown super power

Monday, November 18, 2013

silent motives part 2

more words here

When I die, will I go to a passive existence or will my soul be forever torn into a dramatic torture that halts all growth and harms my entire substance? I suppose I will probably exist as I always have, just as happy and harmonious as I want to be. I know that I want sobriety, I want peace that only that happiness of my own interests can defeat. I want this heart to quit lying to me. I want to know that there is only one way.

I cannot explain the suffering that I have caused in any fine point. I have nobody more temperate than you are to discover the simple peace that comes with truthful reflection. I am sure that I can live without meditation, but I cannot continue to exist within it without looking at it directly. Will the passivity that watches the peaceful heart and the hopeful sorts of sudden movements clear your mind? I hope so. It is it that haunts me.

I want to do something for you. I am a blue man, hurt from the disagreement. I was rude to a person that I didn’t know, I watched the letters that haunted me. I was very sad without the rude sort of bettering, so I am better now for it. But still the man will one day come get me, and I want to be able to make up for my rudeness, but I didn’t kill him. I didn’t exist with the silent sort of motives, I was just part of the gang. I sure hurt myself more that I hurt him. It still hurts me when I sit and think about the bad I have and have not done.

We are pacifists, but I am the lonely type of person who at times watched the just wars take the hope and although I am now alright and learning. I have no reason to be blessed and it is just because I didn’t speak up against the ruining of my future. I did not know that then. I sat there and did the stuff, I drank the kool-aid and got the better lighter (as I know it will light a brighter fire) and I can more or less go home to be happy for a little while, high or whatever. It wasn’t like that for everyone, that is the supposed curse. These are two people who these days need some sort of good luck sent towards them, and that is surprising because we never know how hard the future is going to be on some people.

We want to be happy. Such are the limits of the human mind. These are the people who took over New York, never looking back and only learning the numbers that really long to be heard over the radio, in every small town all across the world. The silent water is that the man watches from the road, making sure that I am dying of guilt that is not mine - because I am the worrying type and you are the reader. So what sort of prayer do you have for me? I do not have the disturbing sorts of speeches that watch for the name. I cannot confess to things that I know are resistance delusions. They are the mocking of a pained blind recess. There, there, shadow person, I am alone without the temporary peace.

Anyone who is the boss takes the fall for his employees, so there must be some assurance that lights the watches, and waters the bettering of the silent yells that haunt my minds hallow walls, marked by paintings etched is stone and blood. I cannot watch without some kind of ill and sheltered psychology. These are the shapes that remain here while I leave. I cannot be without the written word, so I suppose one happy day I will be free.

Perhaps this perception of stress is just the deletion of silence for painters and writers, and she watches for the shelter and needs earl grey tea. I have a real reason to be impatient. She wants to move forward, and there further futures lay, so as the world sets itself a sort of solace she knows that the written work is shelter and the sanity will peer through, without the shadow or the leader. I knew that sort of thought because I cannot believe the little ones. I watch the other sordid detail, soul on a wire, knowing that the only way we have smart failures is through deeply desperate mortals, shunned by society for watching the kinds of Nazi resisters that watch the little savage people for kindness and stubborn war rooms.

We are desperate and lucid, still under the breathe, waiting for the sinister leavings that took the silent watchman - we have to believe in the human spirit, and the “so be it” leanings of all these people only hinder that sort of laughing mind. I wanted to believe in some sort of good thing. I wanted to live with some drugs, but not with others. Like this, the young man died, and it was not my fault, there was a better reason for his shame. He had to fight back. The only hurt came from his guilt for things that he had not done, initially, but it was then learned that it was just hidden guilt about some distant thing the protagonist had done. This always caused deep silence. There is nothing he can do now to fix it.

If the world was fair, the nicest people would have all the coolest stuff, right? That is not the way it is. These worlds are far from something as fair as that, the nightly duel was withheld with lighters stopped that. These are the bright futures that I see, the kind of place that watches the head, that needs the silent better man to act. That sounds like silence, but in minds as grey with regrets as the clouds that haunt this week it is a beautiful sound. It may not make sense but it allows for escape. I can be alone, and the others will watch wrathfully from the wings.

Happiness is a salve sent from the letter to me, like a patient rookie walked towards the leader and needed me to watch the future without hesitation. We watch the future with silent suffering, separating the minds from the leaders. These people watch from the wind, ready for their passive altering, high above the white month of life magazine. I just want to be happy and avoid jail. That seems to be a simple human emotion, I want to keep away from that place.

These silent motives watch from the wings, ha ha! Watch me because I know the man moves as he cries out for the safety of a warm home and a happy cat. That is what we all want, without influencing real world violence. In your own way, you want your hot cup of tea on a cold winters morning. You want your warm home and a happy cat.

Sunday, April 29, 2012

- the journey of the still around turtle.

hope finds our hero is a daze, lighting the fires of cannons and shining weapons made to tomato the crops.  the man did not want crops, so caleb, wise turtle as he is, knew the best weapons were cigarettes as people will smoke whatever you give them to. this is why he got the man hooked on them.

"the morrigan" by jessica galberth