Theres a first for everything and let it be known this was my best time to be edgy.
dont mistake lyrics for empathy.
im sad but dont leave me be.
theres nothing else but constant
transposition
be proud of
rest. Duality.

What kind of soup?

presentally id really wish for a good noodle soup

presently, can honey be a soup?

presently, tomatos

Presently, the view...

its weird right now but i think its still soup.

soup

Lil B is a local.

The tape was ran many times, blueprints for good words and an even greater gift.
the more you know the more chance you have and potential your available too and are revealed with-
All of it will come by as radioactive, volatile
explosive or warming, reactive.
a catalyst or an energy well
so as the same power equal to creation as
Any good boys and girl :3 not god cause they are freaky~
So as so many other ones can be, not all need offerings.
:forgetmenot:
in small form scales and society the arcane may truly exist within them,
where art may exist to form ties and encourage those that all is not lost,
that famine will succumb like all things,
that the plague was fatal. that trades were made.
Slaves were treasured.
farms were helped.
time was here.
death had fear.
Sleep held dear.
:fireflies:
after the fame of mozart and more others, they lost their jobs
in order to witness what they've brought on to their world and so forth
i only know it by legend that it takes ten years for any effect of your art to show itself to the world by action, warning, or otherwise- after 20 years, this is true.
by then why knows how much you've really settled in peoples hearts as worthy enough to be held in their heavens nor hells, each is still something tied here to this world kept along;
a new-form blessing made from curse to concrete to consecration.
so being dead isnt much a worry as a new medium to bleed to bled
:fireflies:
haha, when i was a baby a cabinet fell on me for climbing it while it was empty.
I. too, lived to the top, you see?
:SpiritCandle:
The gift of addendums after epilogues & eulogy.

in my personal reaccountment of the ways of seeing tv adaption black and white print copy of the book-
:fireflies:
in an pictorial essay, it had started them both equal with boarders met with boundaries
A gift a discoveries
:fireflies:
You are different from i, see how the world made you instead of me? and with the pearl and gravel... etc...

it was famine and failure of tradition to the farmhand & fatal allure with the aristocratic ambition untested that brought them to overestimate their pain, allowing panic to weigh the chains from race to workhorse to concluding commentary to the day...

such a consumption... but, the effort to prove what you've collected worthy is laudable (The word usage is satire here, we're are left under the illusion of a constant golden age. Is it a good thing to exclude or left to wonder- those with access to a digital thesaurus? jokes are qualia this way, i think- what you think is commendable could be the bare minimum felt. Consider how you stop thinking after i had said i thought of "you". )

-
laud·a·ble
/ˈlôdəb(ə)l,ˈlädəb(ə)l/
adjective
adjective: laudable

(of an action, idea, or goal) deserving praise and commendation.
-

Old world magic was knowing the world could bend,
For us, that depends. Local governances and risk management are bodies of management but lack of correspondence within conversation remain the bottle neck between interpersonal enchantment & forgetting the intercom # again . speaking from mind.
:fireflies:
at the ends of the essay the light of photography was made
:fireflies:
Alot is to be said here as quickly half of the new age fancy were put to test what was beauty

Too caught up to pay proper participant of how photography's early age- never had good exposure control for skin to scare society to worry


that why what had saved them off with their own altruism and acclaimed pictures of health, were made satire within paintings of mortal material wealth, made tolerable by abundance the name of pan was then; Disarmed. Black water.

The pictorial essays are meant to move what is ran on the screen, it was never meant to be sourced; but how much you prescribe the depth of actual knowledge contained in any body of knowledge at any time, only grows as you do.

/<Stylus grounded
↖#< IDCHK.shk
↖#< Import.Pop
↖#< Fringe Communications drawn in the sands on opposite ends of the desert sea & sand.
↖#< Stylus's connected to #<-grainbin1439836.shk ↖/<-An immaculate piece of Driftwood. ↖/<-A thumb of Black Agate. /↖/<-1460-ZILCH.Pop Null Entities waiting...
s adly most of my dream a re di sease
but there 's needle in the oc ean
s o when you again find this n eedle in the des ert
Be s ure to have cloth es t o sow with or else wise
if your bare o n w ish es ther es no much need o f its epo c h of metalu rgy in yo ur ha n ds..
Kno wl edge i s too a refi ned grai n of sa nd
is the les son at hand h ere that you are what you wear
to th e seam stress; a thimb le and rapier- a ro man ce of lov e and death
we've only too, have just gotte n aw are
Cons der ing it pr otected them fro m th e sand s, us
only tra de in t he la nd s
only st ory
th e drea m to ha ve c reated some thing i n the admi d s t sa nd and s ea
They ha d the whole dese rt to di sa gr ee
Tell Me Are the for ests also as muted with this thoug ht i w onder now?
/< Dune sesmicphonographic minute-man emissions inefficient...
↖#< Export.pop
↖#< IDCHK.shk
/> please insert stylus...

last minute: a raven's helping hand. A tarot booster pack of 5(?). A new familiar to help adjust to modern inflections. If they should ever greet you with their nuance. Providing real enchantment and play to the narrative of nature into every other bird that fly by your eyes.
one thing reclaimed back from nature, please pass this on for me. Fly free!

nostalgia for the “computer room” is often sentimentalism, but I do think the core dynamic it embodies - making the digital a discrete realm; something voluntary; partitioned from the ones rest of life, rather than intruding into every waking moment - is laudable

"How do you do laundry?"
was one of the questions i had to ask my best friend to show me.
My mom owns a dry cleaner, it was done for me; In that turn i never knew what it was like.
Her career was everyone's elses bled-in sweaters; while i slept in the hampers as her kid.
My best friend showed me this, was one of the questions.

When im reading at her store in the back, i catch a man that comes in with their passed away mother name for word as a hat, he pays. But not for the bags of clothes that's his own. Its scares me sometimes as i help process & tags some bags of the clothes.

She does not tell me of the blood.
I do not exactly know the police.
So, we dont ask.

i wonder if a farmer knew exactly who their crops fed; does it do the difference to their peace?

Luckily we plan to close out for the sum within the next year or so so. But still alot of it is grounded and will be left behind- names names machines and ledgers included. Hopefully we move along- but its gonna be a new world for her, less so for me.

Ive reckon we only come to say yes cause every little bee out with less mouth has better sense to pass them by. So they keep coming by, no fault to them for trying- i guess.

When your doing this alongside the uniforms of air attendants and captains, minor leagues and bands. You notice economy, everywhere.

all dancing in suits with cultures half appreciated; maybe this is why i like the public transports and saunas.
waiting rooms and triage.
last of the line graveyards & schoolyards
yes, those will wash fine-

And what happens to the clothing never claimed
After being left to be cleaned?

hmmm, little Bee?

to the thrifty! or mine to keep! we'll see!

HEY IM NO BEE

But i and this he (and he) make ghosts of i and all the hes there would be, wont be.
Because by now i am he, we are i, i am we

We're not the completion of myself.
not the completion of myself, but myself through the whole long universe.

Believe here when i say...
There is no truth worth hiding,
There is no time wasted,
There is no pocket change looking,

There can be no wither,
and there can be only blossom,

Without you all this, will become overdue.

As deadlines often stick longer than praise.
keep to remember that both are similar.

We can all vanish when we're older,
We can vanish in just a simple choice;
Alone...
To stone, to sand, to dust.
Remember...
We were once a mountain.

-of Soul & Weather; Roots & Erosion

A growing giga of dreams, nightmare & magic.
An epitaph to divinity, desperation & destruction.
And mortal rifled barrels with its basset hounds.
Afterwards? The death & dissolute. Be careful.
There's no goodbye from this point on. Beauty beware.
In this incantation we’ll survive the waves of the shore.
Brothers bound from mountains to stones to sand-
To dust, to dust, to dust…
Beware the primal preludes its rule with pride here, its feast will be on your Soul.

Biting down on its choice, Can you really change fate by chance alone?

By the time you find this letter-
You better have already, alright?

Cheers you dear, dear fool.
-Citrum & co
The magician. The rumor as your son. Goodmorning.

As If i could read to understand any of this…
I move on, Yawn & lay down.

The embers are eating away at the edges of the pages.
My fire is warm.
Fire. Ember

Fire.
.

Letter to myself
Dear me, Hi

Here I am, once again, navigating the labyrinth of my thoughts, where the walls shift and shimmer like a mirage. Each day, I wake up in a world that feels both familiar and alien, colors too bright, sounds too loud, like a symphony playing just beyond my grasp. Sometimes I wonder if I’m a starlet or just a shadow dancing in the spotlight, forever out of reach.

I feel everything so deeply, yet it often feels like I’m behind glass, watching life unfold rather than participating. “You’re too much” they say, but how can I be anything less? My emotions swirl, a tempest in a teacup, sometimes bursting forth in wild colors that others can’t seem to see. Joy can turn to despair in a heartbeat, laughter to tears; it’s all tangled in a dance I can’t control.

“stay grounded” I tell myself, but grounding feels like trying to catch smoke. The voices whisper, sometimes comforting, sometimes cruel. “You’re not living” They echo, and I fight back. Shouting into the void. “But I am, im present and poor and most yet im kind! I exist!” In this space where thoughts collide, I find fragments of myself- pieces of a puzzle that never seems to quite fit…

My art helps- brush in hand, colors splashed across the board. It’s where I breathe, where I can express the chaos, give shape to the ungraspable. Each impression a release... a way to shout into the silence. Look at me screaming... im here, im real…

But in the quiet moments, I wonder if I truly belong anywhere here in this world. “Am I too much or not enough?” The question hangs heavy, the answers elusive. My thoughts scatter like stars across the night sky, brilliant yet distant, sometimes falling but never fully connecting.

Im learning, though. Learning to embrace the entropic tangled mess that I am, the way I feel so intensely, the way my mind spins stories like silk. There’s power here in the vulnerable, Strength to be found in your authenticity. So here I am, a starlet you brought me burning in my own right… navigating the edges between your reality and mine, lets craft a narrative one letter at a time to call ours. again.

As I write, promise to hold space for yourself- the contradictions, the beauty, chaos.
your are enough. I am becoming.

With all my colors,
Us.

as the sun rises over the firefly giant as it falls into it’s turn for slumber, they would be blanketed with the stars, shimmering of individual billion little suns the sunrise would leave warm amber stones...
the wash of the city riding on its sunrise warm the surrounding air with my people's golden existence, as after their day around the globe they would all routinely manifest a pebble of the sun that held condensed magic that tasted like electric amber sugar, warm to the touch the firefly giant laid over a bed of these amber pebbles that would washed over them every crown to the new day.

a flash of green sparks in the sky as the sun sets preparing to hand over the night to the giant that moved mountain’s while out of sight, roaming as mirages and murmurations of fireflies would follow their presence…

being as large as the crest of the mountains that they laid on, as well with a lifespan to match, it would be a very odd night when the sun came late with its blanket of warmth.

As even the ancient world has too pass, the city of fire files will find the giant’s fall a calling too shelter under a new civilization born in the night, between the cage of the bones of a giant’s life that forever huddled in slumber with the city under their loving arms protecting whatever's under to flourish even after we're both long gone.
Each Bloopy that came their way had a new part too share cause dear Mote could never tell it in one go! We tried! You were simply too big for words to contain!

Humbled with nature as the giant’s metropolis thrived too be a capital of fire flies that upheld many ideals, the city would never sleep glowing in the dark night; remnants of both of us holding us up too the sky.

With a bright and curious tolerant population, the capital of fireflies would be one of the world's first steps and opportune chances off-world and into the cosmos.

using the amber stones under their feet from centuries built up that was the foundation and bed that cradles your skeleton and it’s city that danced of progress. Potentiality exploded feverishly as many frontier’s were founded now having tapped into the ancient treasury of the sun, once slept on by giants.

It would take the people years to have a taste of the metallic ozone of the atmosphere; static in their fur as the stars were in their grasps- generations of failures and decades of brave spirits built the first robust inter-system engine
it would take just as many years for them too see the mountain dirt under them... The rarity of amber at the end of the century urged the mortals of the world too establish themselves other sustainable resources as they would find rudimentary fuel scoops for the sun, eventually achieving perpetual fission within the ship’s reactor; igniting a soul within the cold metal, as the fossil fuel made of two legends of the old world’s simple care for each-other would prove to be an ever important lesson.

free from any sort of struggle for power beyond opulence, letting the individual play with the powers of magic through the artificing of the amber stones, inviting invention and innovation with no lack of ideas.

Every space-faring ship would be running on a their own perpetual energy now- designed to still all have a redundancy little slot left for those amber stones; should they ever find themselves out of power with a little magic on-board. A symbol for discovery and hope, even in the most furthest of reaches.
"they think about you, you know? they say many things... i think my favorite is where one said you helped pull the sun with your size and slumber, is this true? how beautiful too meet you!!... once again finally... formally...I don't know exactly it would've been a different time and body. again for the first time again, its nice too meet you...really!"

As the shift starts and Bloopy hands you his book, you remember Mote well as you stare at the fox still catching up with the wonders of a PDA- Mote would open for you, turning to a page of you laying on the crest of the mountain hills, little shimmers remind you of the amber that cradled you; when the sunrise would play through washing over the page, it put a glow on your smile. Knowing this was far from the duo’s peak magical aptitude- there wasn't much use for card tricks on a space faring vessel; even Mote realized their magic now grossly ancient in their paper-view glided margins.
still buzzing with his PDA and letting out a sigh, catching you staring into the pages he continued to figured out his PDA accepting his new reality in his own ways... The faring fox left Mote at the curator's library for them too share in the lives of other books, hopefully giving the chance for new eyes to dream of fireflies.

The people's phenomenon attributed us too legend as you pulled the sun out from sleep, technology would take after your spirit and likeliness in large; where each space-faring vessel would be equipped with its own blanket filled with redundancies in their fail-safes that would put the entire ship under stasis if should their safety be compromised or threatened.

From the perspective from third party emergency response team, the sight would be described as supernatural, the crew under a gentle green glow, suspended in zero gravity with their eyes still open and whited out. The crew still having their lunch chewing between their sentences as the response team wade through the floating statues.
With the emergency response team making their way to the ruptured core, inclined to get the ship under functional parameters again. Evacuation was a last resort needing a considerable amount of extra manpower to aid in such efforts.

Sometimes it would take months for a full repair living between their lives like ghosts, sticky notes left absolutely everywhere as even the food wouldn’t rot; the response team equipped with temporal fields allowing them to keep their metabolic processes.
when our response team would find us still in our likeliness in our sleep in the library, books, paper airplanes, floated alongside us still pressed against each-other under stasis. The run away reaction and fail-safe triggering so quick it even caught the tranquility of their shared nap- careful not too touch us as Mote struggles against the stasis as one of the response crew approaches, its mod-suit peels back its face plate; Shooks would be standing in-front both of us- Mote remembering the progenitor to their ink like yesterday eons ago, appreciating the sight of the rare company as he takes his time reading through the world's best photo-book reminiscing with Mote- catching up with the small world they found themselves in... Rifling their pockets as Shooks thumbs the amber in his palms, enjoying the shimmer of the stone as through careful decision he leaves it back in the fox’s hands wrapped tightly around it.
Shooks knew using the stone to restart the reactor would mean an easy days work and the week’s paycheck, but he secretly looked forward to the two weeks of repair- respecting the gift of a mere amber pebble. Sharing in their unbeknownst company of old friends and legends...

For then, intimacy held the giant and the sun, one to one, where by the end of the second week fireflies would've rumored to appear fluttering seemingly unaffected by the stasis field as it was free too fly. As Shooks and the rest of the emergency response team were ready to debark and return the ship to its normal routine; the recruit would say they saw your eyes slightly open and staring back at them, Will they know the giant would've be immune to their own stasis? That they had been enjoying their week’s slumber; reliving their legend warmed by the last kind from the old sunrise they once knew.

ive done two of these without knowing how nice to have a coin for it.

An egregore (pronounced egg’ gree gore) is a group thought-form. It can be created either intentionally or unintentionally, and becomes an autonomous entity with the power to influence. A group with a common purpose like a family, a club, a political party, a church, or a country can create an egregore, for better or worse depending upon the type of thought that created it.

Every thought so evolved with energy from the brain, creates nolens volens [willingly or unwillingly] a shape. [This shape is] perfectly unconscious unless it is the creation of an adept, who has a pre-conceived object in giving it consciousness, or rather in sending along with it enough of his will and intelligence to cause it to appear conscious. This ought to make us more cautious about our thoughts.
Elementals have a tendency to be attracted towards others of a similar kind—aggregating together in classes, being, in a sense, gregarious on their own account—and when a man sends out a thought-form it not only keeps up a magnetic link with him, but is drawn towards other thought-forms of a similar type, and these congregating together on the astral plane form a good or evil force, as the case may be, embodied in a kind of collective entity.

The life-period of these ensouled thought-forms depends first on their initial intensity, on the energy bestowed upon them by their human progenitor; and secondly on the nutriment supplied to them after their generation, by the repetition of the thought either by him or by others. Their life may be continually reinforced by this repetition, and a thought which is brooded over, which forms the subject of repeated meditation, acquires great stability of form on the psychic plane. So again thought-forms of a similar character are attracted to each other and mutually strengthen each other, making a form of great energy and intensity, active in this astral world

Process theologians thus stress that God’s power is relational; rather than being unaffected and unchanged by the world, God is the being most affected by every other being in the universe. As process theologian C. Robert Mesle puts it:

Relational power takes great strength. In stark contrast to unilateral power, the radical manifestations of relational power are found in people like Martin Luther King Jr., Mahatma Gandhi, and Jesus. It requires the willingness to endure tremendous suffering while refusing to hate. It demands that we keep our hearts open to those who wish to slam them shut. It means offering to open up a relationship with people who hate us, despise us, and wish to destroy us.

In summation, then, process theologians argue that their conception of God’s power does not diminish God, but just the opposite. Rather than see God as one who unilaterally coerces other beings, judges and punishes them, and is completely unaffected by the joys and sorrows of others, process theologians see God as the one who persuades the universe to love and peace, is supremely affected by even the tiniest of joys and the smallest of sorrows, and is able to love all beings despite the most heinous acts they may commit. God is, as Whitehead says, "the fellow sufferer who understands."

Science says that energy cannot be created or destroyed – it can only change form. This brings to mind the question whether an egregore can be destroyed or must the energy of it be transformed? In Dion Fortune’s exercise she called on the egregore to defend England from invasion – not to destroy Nazism. Unity Church often calls for a day of prayer for world peace, not for the end of those who disrupt the peace.

Dion Fortune discussed the phenomenon of the group mind when it is in a frenzy typical of a Hitler speech:

But however potent the personality, however vast the resources, however popular the catch-phrases, if the movement is contrary to cosmic law it is only a matter of time till the whole group rushes madly down a steep slope into the sea. For in such a case it is the very momentum that is worked up which is the cause of its destruction. Give a false movement enough rope and it will always hang itself, falling by its own weight when that has grown sufficiently top-heavy to overbalance it.

As Albert Amao states in Healing Without Medicine, “After Germany was defeated the Nazi egregore gradually faded away because there were no more masses feeding it. Thus, in time, when the emotions and feelings that were feeding an egregore disappear, the egregore slowly dissolves.”

Magnetism between two persons is certainly a wonderful
discovery, but the magnetising of a person by himself
accomplishing his own lucidity and directing himself at
will, is the perfection of magical art. The secret of this
great work does not rest for discovery; it has been known
and practised by a great number of initiates, above all by
the celebrated Apollonius of Tyana, who has left a theory
concerning it, as we shall see in the Ritual. The secret of
magnetic lucidity, and the direction of the phenomena of
magnetism depend on two things—the agreement of minds
and the complete union of wills, in a direction which is
possible and determined by science. This is for the opera¬
tion of magnetism between two or more persons. Solitary
magnetism requires preparations of, which we have spoken
in our initial chapter, when enumerating and establishing
in all their difficulty the essential qualities of a veritable
adept. In the following chapters we shall further elucidate
this important and fundamental point.
TRANSCENDENTAL MAGIC 65
The empire of the will over the astral light, which is the
physical soul of the four elements, is represented in magic
by the pentagram, which we have set at the head of this
chapter. The elementary spirits are subservient to this
sign when employed with understanding, and, by placing it
in the circle or on the table of evocations, they can be
rendered tractable, which is magically called to imprison
them. Let us briefly explain this marvel. All created
beings communicate with one another by signs, and all ad¬
here to a certain number of truths expressed by deter¬
minate forms. The perfection of forms increases in pro¬
portion to the detachment of spirits, and those that are not
overweighted by the chains of matter, recognise by intuition
out of hand whether a sign is the expression of a real power
or of a precipitate will. The intelligence of the wise man
therefore gives value to his pantacle, as science gives weight
to his will, and spirits comprehend this power immediately.
Thus, by means of the pentagram, spirits can be forced to
appear in vision, whether in the waking or sleeping state,
*by themselves leading before our diaphane their reflection,
which exists in the astral light, if they have lived, or a reflection analogous
to their spiritual logos if they have not lived on earth.
This explains all visions, and accounts for the dead invariably
appearing to seers, either such as they were upon earth,
or such as they are in the grave, never as they subsist in
a condition which escapes the perceptions of
our actual organism
TRANSCENDENTAL MAGIC 66
who the fuck starts a conversation like this i just woke up :gourdmorning:
Pregnant women are influenced more than others by the
astral light, which concurs in the formation of the child,
and perpetually offers them reminiscences of the forms
which abound therein. This explains how it is that women
of the highest virtue deceive the malignity of observers by
equivocal resemblances. On the fruit of their marriage
they impress frequently an image which has struck them
in dream, and it is thus that the same physiognomies are
perpetuated from generation to generation. The Kabbalistic
usage of the pentagram can therefore determine the appear¬
ance of unborn children, and an initiated woman might
endow her son with the characteristics of Nero or Achilles
as much as with those of Louis XIV. or Napoleon. We
shall indicate the method in our Ritual

What, further, is intellectual light? It is speech. What is revelation? It is also speech; being is the principle, speech is the means, and the plenitude or development and perfection of being is the end. To speak is to create. But to say: ‘ ‘ I think, therefore I exist,” is to argue from consequence to principle, and certain contradictions which have been adduced by a great writer, Lamennais, have abundantly proved the philosophical imperfection of this method.
<27>
What can be affirmed of the soul in its totality may be affirmed of each faculty of the soul. The intelligence and will of man are instruments of incalculable power and capacity. But intelligence and will possess as their help-mate and instrument a faculty which is too imperfectly known, the omnipotence of which belongs exclusively to the domain of magic. I speak of the imagination, which the Kabbalists term the Diaphane, or the Translucid. Imagination, in effect, is like the souls eye; therein forms are outlined and preserved;thereby we behold the reflections of the invisible world;
<34>

The Goddess who created this passing world
Said Let there be lightbulbs & liquefaction
Life spilled out onto the street, colors whirled
Cars & the variously shod feet were born
And the past & future & I born too
Light as airmail paper away she flew
To Annapurna or Mt. McKinley
Or both but instantly
Clarified, composed, forever was I
Meant by her to recognize a painting
As beautiful or a movie stunning
And to adore the finitude of words
And understand as surfaces my dreams
Know the eye the organ of affection
And depths to be inflections
Of her voice & wrist & smile

[/color=transparent
]https://youtu.be/c6IL8WVyMMs?si=9TE.....QW7ihU[/color]

So it'll kill you, so it'll save you. I recommend you take a good look around you and what others built before you and this void we will leave behind before saying nothing else. what good is it to you?

sorry
"addiction as an attempt for solution; search for understanding, an intimate exodus from ignorance." This has been said a couple times throughout but when people talk of love i wonder if their continuing their studies of it at the time- or back to comfortable to when've meet. Both depth and discovery are both worthy of empathy. Both backed with smiles that both don't have to think to see.

Next time when your traveling, if conversation finds you, ask; are you coming or going from home? Will you be further or closer, this question covers the distance
the ticket and price point isnt the game; if where your going stays the same, does that defeat you too? then this, will be a surprize after all.

Even without trying we will create something that will inherit. Even without children we must ready to teach a world we knew till 50, once after their generation may choose to forget us diving for those that were just welcomed into death
There on after we learn from our children- those we've cursed with life. it'll be our wish to dream for them to be kind in shiping their story forth for our ears; it will become quiet then.
We must ensure their motivation wont squander to tell how their own mother inspired her through another role of a despair
Most old buried while walking are left expecting this from their foresight
Most old refuse
A parents burden is slept pregnant in the mind; everywhere.
Is it the sky that scares us; if our eyes never flipped the sea- where we wouldve fallen out of the sky.
gravity makes sense this way.

˙ʇᴉnɹɟ ɟo ʇɯɐǝɹp ᴉ
˙ʍols ʇuǝʍ ʎɐp ʇɐɥʇ
˙ʍouʞ p,oɥʍ 'lɐoɔ ǝɥʇ ɹo sǝɹnʇɐǝɹɔ ǝɥʇ ǝɹ,ǝʍ ɟI

,,˙ǝsɐǝld 'ʍou dn ʇᴉɟ ˙ɥƃnoɔ lɐoɔ ǝɥʇ sǝɯoɔ ǝɹǝH,,
,,˙˙˙,,
,,˙sn ˙ǝuoʇs uɐɥʇ ɹǝƃuol ʎpɐǝɹ ǝq llᴉʍ˙˙˙,,
,,˙˙˙uᴉɐɹʇ sᴉɥʇ ɟo spǝǝds ǝɥʇ uo uʍoɹƃ ǝǝɹʇ sᴉɥʇ,,
,,˙˙˙os ʎllɐᴉɔǝdsǝ,,
,,¿ɹǝƃuᴉɟ ǝɥʇ ɟo ssǝuᴉʞɔᴉʇs ǝɥʇ uǝʌǝ,,
˙˙˙ouɐᴉd ɐ ɟo ɥʇɐǝɹq ǝɥʇ ssǝnƃ ǝɯ sǝʞɐW ˙ʇolɐ ˙ʇɐɥʇ ssᴉɯ ᴉ 'ƃuᴉʇɟᴉl sʎǝʞ ǝɥʇ ɟo punos ǝɥʇ ɹɐǝɥ uǝʌǝ uɐɔ noʎ,,
˙˙˙ǝlqqoʍ uoᴉsuǝdsns ǝlqɯnɹ ǝlqɯnɹ
pǝʇdǝɔɔɐ ǝʇᴉq ʎǝʞ>/
uǝllɐɟ ǝʌᴉ

So we've come together again my friend
i expected this to be the end, then
when this was all knee scrapes of just a means to an end
ive sung but yet have won, my mom thinks its just for fun
that you can see better than anyone, my one and only son
But what do i say, to the sun that went, and suicide wrought the day away
blazing this neighbor to neighborhood drought. the sun stayed
as we draw our sorrow and styles, twisted tongues taut
of how a sword & shield may bow to borrow
of how twisted metal and ferrous steel, defy essential
of how thorns that take time to heal... roaring lions awake.

so we've come together again my mother
from the womb of a dynasty no other
with doldrums & debauchery as sir
singing of demons & delegates as her
a sing along to forget as one could promise
i'll be the one that wrote about how deep it went
"i'll be her son, i'll be his daughter" that we dreamt
I'll be here until we've won. i've kept to bed.

So we've then comes to my father
from a lily pad that does not bother
that does not ask for favors
cause he's never learnt the feathers
but his heart learnt to wrestle
hour to hour throwing hands
he will drive into any weather to hustle
to our horses and reigns we wrung
i'll start singing to the ashes of the day we met
i'll start reading in the smoke of when we slept
to keep ours pearls sparking of the sun

So by then will we have a brother thats seen everything odd
so our daughter's' fathered gallery played proper
So we'd be singing sorry to sorry, between fear & eulogy
so we've will have a sister who doesnt rush to turn over.
So on takeover a mother can be no one lonelier than an apology

Blue Mote • Monday
here you go uwu; dreaming till the end, not at then...
whatever just means "when"

i loathe the day we'd lose control of our own offerings.
mozart was thrown in with the dozen. Chalk for rats. Cats no need of roam.
Goyo was here what hasnt been learn to be shouted though, why yet however.
picarso surely knew of their attempt to affect the life of us.
So what does this say about our companionship further yet, since a bird mote hasnt settled on those power lines yet..
The point of the curious remains a gun, till further interation.
I shouldnt say it under that tone, many would call to it as success but id want to remain for the rest of art for all of us to inherit
our collective existence as to keeping a free internet. This moving obelisk ive built for fashion...
... suddenly moves as with a weapon.

can i be in the way
im sorry theres not much to say
im drunk so lips sway
please for expression dont be afraid to treat me like ripped suede
i will forget all this someday as i continue today
finding myself lost without anyone to
remind me of what i say...
can i really stay
why do people talk to me
like im a feather!!!
i do want to become a bull though
missed the in ox and fart
sigh i. worried we're not all people... but when we give away the semantic too much
it becomes demented
so value, augmented
education.
for the dead
too dread to fret about being wed
suck on the thread my dear bewed
as its the only dick you'll sew a thread
burps
sorry i said the word you hate
i should know better
i hear you loud and clear
im just
why cant anyone hold anything dear
is fear that queet
bleh
a cigerette would make me puke but that would atelast
bring me fruit
whats the pursuit
of whos the real malamute
fuck this suit
no clue who died in who
who the fuck's astute
my dude do you have a clue
of how much you missed school
instead to be cool and found in a face in a pool
already too late to drown a stupid fool
who knew of a tool to find the beloved
the solved
the rulers of thunder
spanked answers
pink stars and forgiven stars
Bloopy!
[Sa㎜i]
— 9:34 PM
play me like A minotaur on the bass guitar
im drunk but im a star dont you see how far ive put this tar
far far far from whereve spirited away
on par with the fey
you say there must be a better way
where i think everythings a choice these days
where have you been too in a few solar days
back to bed with all the thoughts too face the dead with nothing else to say
of what i wish and how i couldved stayed
if i just had my way with the maid
who needs aid and who needs to be paid
let me have a fucking say
Thanks.
do you accept pets?
of that which i am
so i am sam
just a lame slice of ham.
in the pan of here i am
i dont have a real plan mister im sorry i hide in your closet...
i ve missed a friend like this
licks
im sorry this isnt bliss.
and that we miss in small town we dont miss
gold fish whos the kid
the id i go fed the fish with
wedding gift
of whos most desperate
what a lucky egg
Bloopy!
[Sa㎜i]
— 9:41 PM
to be born into blind bliss
just wanted to witness
what the pain of 9 months went
to see this kids fucking stupid and a wit
kill me with a twist..
i cant handle it...
make me fit or i wont quit
and ill even sober through it
to see how i havent
where no one cheered
that i havent the qit too wuit
to see feat to be fit
SHIT

uwu wow, bad hair day?

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oVhpp5_4ZJg

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LY7NmdPV1Lo

https://spacestation13.com/