I WILL BE A SICILIAN BRIDE

The season has changed me,
has aged me in this position:
I have said within my reflection, Youth! I have
sacrificed my olden age for when I had made those decisions
I was young!
I laugh at myself already laughing
at myself
and what I have already grown out of.

Culture is the most wonderful thing in the world.

The Guru's of the East, the Adventurers gone West
And strength everywhere.
In the commoners and simple minded
there is the richest beauty of Earth.

I think of corruption.
I think of the underlining world
that seems to be only
corruption.

First there was art, then there was war.

First there was creation, then there was paranoid leadership.
I stop the wind of my thoughts, the overture
of the next swallowing war will let rest Old Man Europe.
Those people are exhausted of it.
Let them plant fruit trees.
Let their skin leather in the sun.
I learned this night that my mother's family
came forth and lived
under the coincidence of language.
That my Great Grandfather was plucked
out of infantry in the First World War
for his penmanship was so beautiful and delicate
he was far better used behind a desk
with ink, pen, and lettering wrist
than behind a firearm.

For being born you will die with a story.

Hello Earth.
So, this is the way you will age me.
By taking my tenderness and sheltering it deep
within yourself. I am the fountain of youth.
I am the Philosophers Stone, and you
have known the secret
forever.

I have seen you at your passing
in the eyes of a newborn child.

I watch, now, the setting of the moon.
It is dawn and my curious mind is lit.
Sunlight stretches out over my hands that have just done.
There is colour.
There is perplexity.
I grew within the body
of a kind woman born
within the womb of night
and my thoughts
deep and uncovering
will linger, there, at that moment, in darkness.
I will seek the corruption of the world at slumber under the sun
and bask comfortably with peace
in the shadows of Everything.
I will humor myself with the traditions of humankind.
One day, I will marry.
Before then, probably, I will birth myself, and give birth.
What season of day will my child be born into?

Mother. The concept often startles me...

THE ORGANIC MOTHERLAND

in the fishbowl: I stare out at my virtual world
fishing virtually for good concept.

it's as if i'm vibbing, somehow, to some beat
through the air which is my ground
for there is unmistakable ether
being made in the exterior.

think of beautiful as beautiful;
i feel the hit
but i will get to thinking back
as beautiful.

wow.

the fishbowl became bright.
(from outside i can see the continuous picturesque thing,
always in perfect composition)

what of creatures who are just
at explore? who obviously startle who
obviously swim through
some kind of imagination.

think of outer space as being water.

my senses find fever and lust among themselves,
though, it is curious, isolating consciousnesses
and being born but returning to the
world after death, and at death
which is birth understanding
because it is a higher place
though really
coming here is stepping forth.
placing isolation in a setting and time,
having watched, having conceived,
though unusually lingering long enough
in the womb for this life.

am i a life junky?

good Finished Thought,
down, thing.

my mind is a monster; these are the most turbulous days since birth.

with a throat so bloated
and a most hideous face, swollen, about to burst,
I did not sleep for three nights
unable to swallow, spit!
unable, even, to let close my mouth, spit, spit!

forget it all, the flesh bruised behind my skull
is pathetic.

I have learned this [weak] that through sickness
one may learn of their darknesses.
dwelt, I:
myself in the overcast of my spirituality.
myself lost in the thickest, most delirious and taunting
wood of shadow: I have lain uninspired and useless.
I have been unable to pick my rotting skin up, plunk!
and at the attempt for creation, the only energy to surface
was an angry, deep basin of drawspeak inability.

I only regained consciousness at the pain of my clenched jaw,
out of place with the aid of my malnourished strength
in the destruction of a drying canvas, twisted 'round
my aching limbs, painted all over I, reversed expression.

what happened to me?

I am capable of this anger?

I could not let myself rest, and rest well
to heal and return to myself
and let creation come to me, like it usually does.
I needed it. I forced myself to it, attack!

suffering may be the elation of the soul when passed
for the lessons instilled.

earth is a mirror and within us there is a sun.

or am i cluttered?
the sound is crawling
on my skin, man,
all over.

i see the direction
in the perplexity
of my mind.
that box i've been thinking in,
it's an actual cube of energy
in the most outskirted of space.

am i showing myself
what my soul
really looks like?
or am i now
in thirdpsyche dreaming.

is it spacious?

i know because i used to be scared
i used to--
nevermind,
the world all
just spun
in the same, gorgeous direction.

i forgot almost about the sound
and the exact profile of an old man
hung as a shadow on my wall.

i guess i figure
there is a deep baseline
between people who must know each other.
you see,
i am in desire of people
and i do mean
a huge, human family.

these are the things that i think
though thought never goes down on paper.

though

i send them to you in folds.
it's a colour effect.
the way senses may meet;
the way senses collaborate.
if my world and my body is simulation
why should i fear?

i think on mad
i think on mad
deep into the future,
not for fortune or pathetic telling,
but for the discovery of a personal
Brave New World,
a contemplation of thought
or a question of thought?
something that seems natural
but perverse.

an empty, nearly glowing thing.

this box of energy, and it itself
being comprised of energy
though at a slightly denser glow.
it is the form of all communication,
is every kind of transportation.
it sits at my bedside.
in my room,
with a plain, simple bed,
no pillow, windowless,
and all gray.

that box is everything.

i may still step outside
in the heartache of day
and touch my fellow world,
that being,
on all counts,
a great mystery.

that is my Brave New World.

what would i conceptualize
to give gratitudes to the laws of beauty?

every meet of pen and paper
and every sketch marked down failure and celebrated
is the creation of a dimensional universe.
a dimension may be flat in theory.
stackable.
the ancients still knew.
earth is a canvas
at paint.
the page is opportunity,
union of the Tao in my thoughts.
at peace it is stunning
though sometimes i shake,
sometimes i shake horribly
and the waves get uneasy.
but the page is extraordinary.

how is both projection and manifestation energy?

if i cannot speak clearly,
or discover a world of censorship, freedom of thought,
i will think EVERYWHERE.
i am a solider dropped in a mind
for a world
and there is all
and there is open
without restriction
or unnatural danger.
the total free.

what if the way we believed our future
and the future of the world to be
was what we got.
and all those people moreso thinking
of that other path
got that.
people just loose touch sometimes.

but in this change of world,
in this manipulative connected world
people are easy.

do i perceive upcoming world devastation,
erupting earth with sorrow and a sovereign
of corruption to blitz the planet over with war
and famine and creativity or
will these good vibrations procreate
and adopt a new world of peace
and just peace.

can art and passion live in a world of peace?
i am unsure of what I perceive.

The Tao of language: the WORD is the destination, the definition the journey.

Each observer carries different waves
which, keep in mind, are abstract.
We therefore, output different wave-function
which I would interpret not scientifically
but as the quality of will,
the child of perception.

With "reality" as a foundation,
I question the Scientist.
As this quanta suggests, there is place
for alternate universes, which,
perhaps, accept every collapse?
In the search for understanding
of the GREAT EXPANSE,
the unlimited wave of Everything-beyond-Time,
reality will never be a concrete vessel.

Reality is your consciousness.
And your consciousness is of easy influence.

I'm a little bit frightened
to think of boredom,
and the on-going struggle, and chastity,
even, and those other things.

I let my experience absorb me
and I dabble, literally,
through the puddles of memory
and think myself a child.
Except that now
I can recall my childhood.
I trace every era,
every secret,
that has put me here
beneath this moon.

Do you know how a poor person
may be rich?
Language is not a prefix
to the depth of thought.

I think of the latitude
of our galaxy
and the longitude
of our galaxy
as a layer
of galaxy-product
in the parallel of universes.
they are interconnected
but still
logically stacked.
I think of dimension now,
piercing through every
collective wave
but gently,
subtly,
as the string of height
and, co-operative together
I can envision the particle whole.

Is there a concept
in the developers mind
adjacent to Time?

I think of the trinity: emotional, physical, mental.
Writing this now, as incarnation I am Being
the physical aspect of my soul.
Though, the "soul" I am thinking of,
actually,
is the mental aspect of my soul.
You see, that energy itself goes beyond.
And emotion is what?
That undefined wave?
In this life I may think
and I may feel
but I AM.
When I am thought
how do feelings change?
Do they become temples?
They are aesthetic, they are colour.
When I am thought
what is touch?
Something I know about
though it remains a mysterious reality.

How far out must I be to encompass emotion?
Must I be the moon?
When I am thoughtful,
I may still myself in place
and lend myself to the physical world
as I
in this state of flesh
may sit herself down
and think.

Yes.

The mind is a higher place.
It has no body.
It is breathless.
When the time comes for me
to accept conclusion and release
myself from this somatic home
at death in my wise-age
so is the pain of mind at human birth.
There is a thought process involved,
allowing death and especially
latching onto fetus.
I wonder, the trauma that a soul
may inherit by sudden death,
is there also a trap to impregnate
a soul to earth?
Thrust into a bleak life
starved in a purgatory?

I do know I AM THE UNIVERSE, but
our souls are individual for a long time.
There are paths, like strings,
like pure, pulsating energy.
I feel as if I have watched earth
since her astro-birth.
And was there, in spiritual community,
discussing which constellations should be
involved for the personalities of this planet.
Let's make this world ironic. Challenging,
but so beautifully serene.
Now, who wants to go first?
And who will be their children?

I want to live at the turn of Pisces to Aquarius, I think,
that will do my soul good.

I was able to find an image of a city from the second dimension!

12.03.08:

Steve says:
your city from the second dimension is a minipci 10/100 ethernet controller
we've all come looking for America says:
hahah
we've all come looking for America says:
im just trying to illustrate using a picture somebody else took to say that we have been the creators of a system. godLIKE in theory, and we have noo idea what kind of world it is that actually lives there.
Steve says:
oh we will totally destroy ourselves, we have no clue what we are doing.
we've all come looking for America says:
Ahh im not saying that. these primitive modern times may carry some proof of that
we've all come looking for America says:
but with knowledge, i guess, comes the good judgment of kowledge
we've all come looking for America says:
and spelling errors
Steve says:
and system access fees