T-kun Unusual Wordsmith III

He completed the universe; he achieved the physical unity of the globe. And has yet made humans do the same, without some kind of overwhelming panic to happen at the drop of a hat.

When you just want them to break out, letting just know, as I have found that my whole heart for my whole life, means more than petty things as whatever makes others break, cry, bleed, and grim.

And the children grow, and I know it kills you to see them grow up.  But I guess it would kill you quicker if they didn’t. They need to keep this world going, even if half way through life, adults say no.

Friends are relatives you make for yourself, so when one part of your family leaves to go out in the world, you’ll still have them near you. Speaking: of nothing else but that you did the right thing.

But do recall in this for your children, when they leave; growing old is mandatory; growing up is optional. In time, you’ll see them again.

Even when Monday is a lame way to spend one-seventh of your life, luckily there are six other days to make up for it. So don’t fret too much on it.

Why would there be fine be like teachers to help them, they have their reason, well there are three good reasons to be a teacher; June, July, and August. For in those months, you get them back.

As to the one rule you should give them, and that is to never look down on anybody unless you’re helping him up. If they can does that, without a fight, than things will only go up from there.

But let’s look on the day where all the family that is neat you, on that forever on

Thanksgiving Day; the heart will find the pathway home. Hand in hand if you will.
And look on the brighter side of things, when you would miss them, just tell them, that the one good thing about not seeing you; is that I can write you letters. And in return they do the same.

But those days won’t come any sooner than you think, the worst thing in the world is to try to sleep and not to. And by the time they do see you, would you even remember it?

Moving on of how things have come short and far from changing, of how often we fail to realize our good fortune in living in a country where happiness is more than a lack of tragedy. And sadly the ending to this is more given away than anything else in the world.
It can be frustrating, but never go to bed mad.  Stay up and fight. For the coming tomorrow, things should get better by then. If not, there is always the next day.

Even when seeing the smaller parts of human falling with little notions that they think would work for them, such as they think the average woman would rather have beauty than brains, because the aver-age man can see better; then he can think. But really, the opposite works just as great.

For really anyone can catch your eye, but it takes someone special to catch your heart, and that is finer than any amount of beauty, for catching your heart is lovely all on its own.

But elsewhere, we often take for granted the very things that most deserve our gratitude. Life!

Even in the lifestyle of work and play, it’s easy to make a buck.  It’s a lot tougher to make a difference. And when that difference takes longer to make, that buck means nothing.

In other matters, those who think more soul than mind can see that an animal’s eyes have the power to speak a great language. And in that language is the truth of it all.

But there is no actual law that says that a person of inner beauty cannot also maintain an appearance, it just that something comes on top faster than others. Once again, a down fall more it is.

And elsewhere, farther from the eyes, the heart breaks and melts, it’s so hot even my fake plants are wilting, but again that could just be the heart under too much pressure.

Funny of how a baseball park is the one place where a man’s wife doesn’t mind he’s getting excited over somebody else’s curves. But that’s just a simple matter clouding other judgment of what is there.

Yet, in the finer moments, even as astrology is a language.  If you understand this language, the sky speaks to you. And everything just falls away from that world you once knew.

Life is a flame that is always burning itself out, but it catches fire again every time a child is born, and the glow and warmth is never the same, as the child from the adult reflects from it.

And if all fails, for some days don’t meet to what you want and if you don’t think every day is a good day, just try missing one. Your thoughts on those days slowly change for the better.

And you could call me the writer, trying to do something, but unsure what it is? That writer does the most: who gives his reader the most knowledge, and takes from him the least time, and just gets a smile of a well done job for now.

We’re all just walking each other home, finding where all live and knowing how closer we are, than what we give credit for.

Know how a friend is a brother who was once a bother, and only does things to wake you from a dis-tance nightmare that you once called a dream.

Seeing that the true professionalism is a frame of mind, not a paycheck, and with that you feel twice richer, than gold given.

That even in the land of fiction reveals truths that reality obscures; giving little chance for the line that holds them apart does little anymore.

And then soon, the worlds collided of the war between being and nothingness is the underlying illness of the twentieth century.  Boredom slays more of existence than war. As we find pleasures in things that do more harm than good.

The only thing worse than being bored is being boring, and knowing you let come to that.
In the simple forms of becoming different knows the difference that the nose is for breathing, the mouth is for eating. If the plans of being an idiotic fool are something one wants to do, don’t bring oth-ers into the mess.

And in the close to calls moments that are in the matter of one change, is that if the light in your life has changed to yellow, I recommend you floor it.  It’s safer than the alternative. And: waiting for change to come knocking behind you.

And somewhere, in the allies of those who wander, should know skin does not equal sin. It just means there were no other choices to make a change to live.

Forbidden things have a secret charm, and a charm I couldn’t speak of, for it ones meaning of surveying.

And that leaves only one thing to do, and what is that you might be saying. Well if there is only one way to cheer . . . hard! For who else would know that you care and think of them any less.

Elder of the wise, retire from work, but not from life. The ages of youth, learning, and recompleting need you near.

Just say it, with a spark of enlightenment of forgiveness does not change the past, but it does enlarge the future. That it is more than just four walls.

In union there is strength, stand closer and it will grow, much as those weeds, but this time with love.

Work hard at it, don’t lag behind and let others do it for you. The end of labor is to gain leisure. With a fine drink for the heart and soul of a well done life, soaking in of past and future, of just memories, than pain.

I bet anyone could become that, but they have to get through their heads that leadership is action, not position. Telling others to do it for you, lacking of what really needs to be done.

But I find this other path to take, far gloomier than all the others, as hearing the dead soldier’s silence sings our national anthem. Where all walks of life, bring their words close to another become a blur of oneness.

We only part to meet again, and again, to sing that song once more. In case someone forgets and goes back to the old ways.

The roots of education are bitter, but the fruit is sweet, so sweet that it breaks the teeth and puts the mind and body into hyper drive, blurring everything there is, and missing out on the smaller things. It is best, to learn now and work up slowly to where one wants to go.

As in the comprehensible one could learn, as if I had a single flower for every time I think about you, I could walk forever in my garden. And not once be upset, seeing that wherever I look, there someone baring the pain as well, and speaking for I to keep going.

But again, that blasted past finds a way, to destroy everything, when it is best to turn your face to the sun and the shadows fall behind you. It would feel as the bests cleanse there was.

Even when the winds play tricks, where there are nights when the wolves are silent and only the moon howls. Having you flitch to dare yourself to look back, wasting the time to unchanged the fixed.

Just as a candle cannot burn without fire, men cannot live without a spiritual life. Leaving them more as a lifeless fools, jarring away tales he bother not to make a reality.

And when the sun is gone, leaving all alone in the dark, only know that when it is dark enough, you can see the stars. And the brightness of them is enough to walk on.

Things that were hard to bear are sweet to remember, but that is we remember, not forget that is how things are. Just as they were before remembering was nothing less as a chore.

But even the things that rely more on the outside the mind, it can bring the best of things, just as It takes hands to build a house, but only hearts can build a home. And that were the family is, I found many just as that, but only go home to few.

In the truest sense, freedom cannot be bestowed; it must be achieved. And it’s an award that can only felt like a something to pass down to others, of the bloodline.

For you find that as a well, spent day brings happy sleep, so a life well used brings happy death. Know-ing: that when one life is over, there is someone smiling that they are not fully gone.

In which leads others to find a need and fill it. Becoming the leader you made them to be, and not just a follower.

Road sense is the offspring of courtesy and the parent of safety, and soon the roles change, growing larger, and holding even more meaning every time.

Never does nature say one thing and wisdom another, where that fork in the road comes in, and you must take a side, for words or silence.

And how silence does that, as he takes men out of time and makes them feel eternity, those things will never change. For they choose their way, with no helping hand.

But that can’t be help for how in one land, near where I once harbor from, of how come we choose from just two people to run for president and 50 for Miss America? Where one feels more like a game and the other is a real battle. Easy tossup which one is which?

But again, there are two souls, one heart. And sadly: only a split in half to make a choice in the end. Oh how, some have fallen to this.

I am sure though, that even children would even wish, if they have or had one, a father carries pictures where his money used to be. And know what really matters, any it doesn’t come in numbers.

And where those numbers do run out, I hope wherever a man turns he can find someone who needs him. And open his arms to let them in.

The whole inspiration of our life as a nation flows out from the waving folds of this banner, hand-made by more than one being, one color, and more than one kind of family.
But I guess that is how a true friend never gets in your way unless you happen to be going down, catching you, snapping you back, and reminding you from where you stray from the path.

Yet, that person would smile and wonder if maybe part of loving is learning to let go, but it’s more of letting go but knowing to still hanging on. Even if the matter of love falls of white or red, they are still there.

Perhaps the best Yuletide decoration is being wreathed in smiles. Tons and tons of smiles, breaking the debts, such as, groundbreaking level no one man could do alone.

People; who enjoy meetings should not be in charge of anything, they should listen for what works and doesn’t. For whatever it is a stamp not for one lone country but the world. Yes, that big of the deal.

We have to become something that matters, we are like butterflies, who, flutter for a day and think it is forever, and to go just as farther than anything else in what is left here.

If you meet the Buddha in the lane, feed him the ball, and keep going.

Some people, no matter how old they get, never lose their beauty; they merely move it from their faces into their hearts. And make the best place to know how wonderful really is. And that what’s it lovely.

There is just one life for each of us:  our own and we have to make something for others to remember. Follow and carry on when we take our last breath.

Some things have to be believed to be seen, but sometimes, things that can be already there, are the best we’ll get. Only for that believing goes so far, and leaving our heads in the clouds, and barely allotment to stand on the ground.

Cycle tracks will abound in Utopia, and it’s a land of rite when we are nothing but dust of past, fed on by the crawlers of the elements.

Birds sing after a storm; why shouldn’t people feel as free to delight in whatever remains to them? With the all the tragic evils, nothing good but the bittersweet ending of making alive, are scaring the bodies for life, with nothing but frail memoires.

In end they must take the best contraceptive is a glass of cold water:  not before or after, but instead, if there is a chance to make it or break it through the world, by the thin skin of our teeth.

And for those, humbly known, as the fat cats or follow that title, may the devil chase you every day of your life and never catch you.

The body never lies. It will stretch the truth; beg for things far from the deepest mind. That will be reached, nor ever will. Only: that there is no one else to help reach it, when it is need for more than two hands.

All know the way; few actually walk it. I choose it for the ways I know how the things of the world must be done. What of you?

Turn your wounds into wisdom, wisdom becomes your weapon, and fewer drops of blood and broke souls will come. Spare the land of salty tears from those lives.

It would be as the joy of music should never be interrupted by a commercial, so sad that commercial is possibly a gun, knife, and the hands of a fellow hominoid.

The best way to succeed in life is to act on the advice we give to others, even if choose not to take it oneself, but it’s pointless to speak of it nor ever speak of it again. You have likely have checked out by now.

Do not regret growing older.  It is a privilege denied to many. Because life wants to challenge what else the world could hold.

I could laugh at those who speak of petty things, such as those speak: I envy people who drink; at least they know what to blame everything on . . . again I laugh when the real person to blame is the one to get that drunk to speak that and never lining the dots to it.

Not merely a nation but a nation of nations. Why little nations, do you do this to your kind? You can’t grow, if you keep going back and never looking forward.

If we were all like angels, the world would be a heavenly place, but we are only devils, nymphs, trolls, and much others things, and those who angels are the ones who didn’t bother to share this small and needed fact.

You had one thing to do, little winged rats, teaching is not a lost art, but the regard for it is a lost tradition. And for a fact you didn’t carry it.

And with that you pressed your luck, carelessly . . . never iron a four-leaf clover, because you don’t want to press your luck, and it sadly failed you and others as well, demon.

Are we not like two volumes of one book? I have read you side, it so close to mine, but I know you wouldn’t know it’s truth, if you ever bother reading mine to see it!

But to spare blood falling by my hands, I will go forth, seeing as you won’t and give cheers to a new year and another chance for us to get it right. And by us, I would it is us when you finally wake up from a dream where only you are on top.

Excellence is not a skill.  It is an attitude. And if you have known, many have that, but choose to stay quiet and live life the way they can without bothering others to reach that level of hope.

We’re fools whether we dance or not, so we might as well dance. If want others to know we are not a threat, to step on their dreams. I would rather see them smile, than having wonder why I am not.

In other paths that there are, I recall of one being, who shares such thing, but did something else for others to be wise, for this being didn’t know what to do with it all, God gave burdens, also shoulders. And in whatever pray one speaks, that being is the same, and just wants what is best, even if there is conflict of others think its taboo.

His was the nation’s sacrifice, and ours the priceless gain, and that what all would want. The world to be one, equal, and understanding, but the faults of what the rights are, fall flat and withered to dust, and nothing left but the battles of the future to come. How I wish, that the one thing that was taboo was war.

In the growing world, of fast changes, one group, the teenagers complain there’s nothing to do, then stay out all night doing it. Becoming something the children of youth and elder of wise, leaving fear where those nights will do.

People; who enjoy meetings should not be in charge of anything, they should listen for what works and doesn’t. For whatever it is a stamp not for one lone country but the world. Yes, that big of the deal.

We have to become something that matters, we are like butterflies, who, flutter for a day and think it is forever, and to go just as farther than anything else in what is left here.

If you meet the Buddha in the lane, feed him the ball, and keep going.

Some people, no matter how old they get, never lose their beauty; they merely move it from their faces into their hearts. And make the best place to know how wonderful really is. And that what’s it lovely.

There is just one life for each of us:  our own and we have to make something for others to remember. Follow and carry on when we take our last breath.

Some things have to be believed to be seen, but sometimes, things that can be already there, are the best we’ll get. Only for that believing goes so far, and leaving our heads in the clouds, and barely allotment to stand on the ground.

Cycle tracks will abound in Utopia, and it’s a land of rite when we are nothing but dust of past, fed on by the crawlers of the elements.

Birds sing after a storm; why shouldn’t people feel as free to delight in whatever remains to them? With the all the tragic evils, nothing good but the bittersweet ending of making alive, are scaring the bodies for life, with nothing but frail memoires.

In end they must take the best contraceptive is a glass of cold water:  not before or after, but instead, if there is a chance to make it or break it through the world, by the thin skin of our teeth.

And for those, humbly known, as the fat cats or follow that title, may the devil chase you every day of your life and never catch you.

The body never lies. It will stretch the truth; beg for things far from the deepest mind. That will be reached, nor ever will. Only: that there is no one else to help reach it, when it is need for more than two hands.

All know the way; few actually walk it. I choose it for the ways I know how the things of the world must be done. What of you?

Turn your wounds into wisdom, wisdom becomes your weapon, and fewer drops of blood and broke souls will come. Spare the land of salty tears from those lives.

It would be as the joy of music should never be interrupted by a commercial, so sad that commercial is possibly a gun, knife, and the hands of a fellow hominoid.

The best way to succeed in life is to act on the advice we give to others, even if choose not to take it oneself, but it’s pointless to speak of it nor ever speak of it again. You have likely have checked out by now.

Do not regret growing older.  It is a privilege denied to many. Because life wants to challenge what else the world could hold.

I could laugh at those who speak of petty things, such as those speak: I envy people who drink; at least they know what to blame everything on . . . again I laugh when the real person to blame is the one to get that drunk to speak that and never lining the dots to it.

Not merely a nation but a nation of nations. Why little nations, do you do this to your kind? You can’t grow, if you keep going back and never looking forward.

If we were all like angels, the world would be a heavenly place, but we are only devils, nymphs, trolls, and much others things, and those who angels are the ones who didn’t bother to share this small and needed fact.

You had one thing to do, little winged rats, teaching is not a lost art, but the regard for it is a lost tradition. And for a fact you didn’t carry it.

And with that you pressed your luck, carelessly . . . never iron a four-leaf clover, because you don’t want to press your luck, and it sadly failed you and others as well, demon.

Are we not like two volumes of one book? I have read you side, it so close to mine, but I know you wouldn’t know it’s truth, if you ever bother reading mine to see it!

But to spare blood falling by my hands, I will go forth, seeing as you won’t and give cheers to a new year and another chance for us to get it right. And by us, I would it is us when you finally wake up from a dream where only you are on top.

Excellence is not a skill.  It is an attitude. And if you have known, many have that, but choose to stay quiet and live life the way they can without bothering others to reach that level of hope.

We’re fools whether we dance or not, so we might as well dance. If want others to know we are not a threat, to step on their dreams. I would rather see them smile, than having wonder why I am not.

In other paths that there are, I recall of one being, who shares such thing, but did something else for others to be wise, for this being didn’t know what to do with it all, God gave burdens, also shoulders. And in whatever pray one speaks, that being is the same, and just wants what is best, even if there is conflict of others think its taboo.

His was the nation’s sacrifice, and ours the priceless gain, and that what all would want. The world to be one, equal, and understanding, but the faults of what the rights are, fall flat and withered to dust, and nothing left but the battles of the future to come. How I wish, that the one thing that was taboo was war.

In the growing world, of fast changes, one group, the teenagers complain there’s nothing to do, then stay out all night doing it. Becoming something the children of youth and elder of wise, leaving fear where those nights will do.

Chaos is a name for any order that produces confusion in our minds, with a simple and dark color, bitter to the mouth, but just enough sweet to keep having. Until an unhampering and unwinding death, oh how sickly that taste is?

Of how easy it can come, yet if opportunity doesn’t knock, build a door. For there could a chance to miss on the evil and live, blissfully what could never happen before all this.

Through the rains, hails, sunshine, whatever it is, it’s better in the wind, letting it carry from distance to another. Sharing what needs to be shared, with no judgment.

To that as seeing a gentleman is simply a patient wolf, waiting for the frail and white meal. Sinking the filed fangs, deeply-in, and having little choice to turning back on it.

Luck is when opportunity knocks and you answer, with a smile, not even knowing if that moment of happiness could end with a knife placed far in the depths of flesh. Having . . . forever freezing the smile and cold eyes to forever remember of that day, leaving little of all good behind. Leaving you, little mortal, alone, in the dark, just as the minutes before you were born.

Carrying what could be left as silent and listen are spelled with the same letters, yet we all choose not to do both. For we rather be loud and self. How else is there living, if you don’t mix the four things of what makes one . . . normal?

But I guess that I am learning all the time.  The tombstone will be my diploma. For, something that is written in stone is far stronger than written on a thin paper that will slowly crumble away.

In a time of rules, of any kind, small or big, a rule that cannot be bent will certainly be broken. Shattering like glass, easily to cut anything that dare crosses it. Spilling the oozes of blood and thoughts, for the world to see, knowing that no one would know what to do with it.

Primitive does not mean stupid, it means that simple things are much more to matter, than that something that is high as a skyscraper. So big, that no one would fully understand, as why this is here. Yes, there are answers for it, but not one true answer. As where with something primitive, maybe that as a smile, words of thanks, mean and hold so much more.

Moral indignation is jealousy with a halo, in the land of limbo, knowing it must choose . . . to live forever in endless delight or endless agony? As in sometime, it will become something of a problem, but is a bigger task to see it as one.

Having nothing left for soon having, with no care to see hatred bounces back from the maker to the taker. To have the eyes a line, minds sets and futures bleak.

Where not goes for motivation is what gets you started.  Habit is what keeps you going. You alone have to keep it going. Or stop, stand, and be still. As others go on ahead of you, taking the path you said you wanted nothing to do with.

Do not repeat anything you will not sign your name to, for it will follow you. Break you,
and remind you that you’re nothing but a dog look for meal.

For you petty humans want to become greater, than anyone else. Not caring who becomes hurt, left behind, and forever scared by you, when really genius isn’t anything more than elegant common sense. My brain quiet working on me long ago, and even I know that.

The patriot’s blood is the seed of Freedom’s tree, and that tree will keep growing for those who know what that meaning of life really is. No higher good is needed to be done, you mindless simian.

You know your goal, it is right there. You just have to reach out and take it; follow it just the flower that follows the sun does so even in cloudy days, because even passed the clouds, the sun remains there waiting. But even for a short time, for the sake of helping.

Even for the elements that means little, but hold so much, yet become so hard to master. Such as the most tangible of all visible mysteries; fire becomes the hardest to know and follow. Just the soft glow of the sun that tags you along, leading you.

Faith is what makes life bearable, with all its tragedies and ambiguities and sudden, startling joys. You know you’ll end up smiling in the end, with little knowing of to keep it from spreading to others. For, maybe you don’t want to?

We have more ability than will power, and it is often an excuse to ourselves that we imagine that things are impossible. For maybe, we choose not to do anything but use the seven sins to get by. And: not the will of faith.

Even if you become hurt, and not know how that came to be, reality is a crutch for people who can’t cope with drugs, is a way of able to cope that everything before one’s mind is real. Not fake and misleading.

I must acknowledge, once and for all, that the purpose of diplomacy is to prolong a crisis, and everyone else before not just me, but others as well . . . have just fallen if nothing changes.

Good decisions come from experience, and experience comes from bad decisions. If that is not enough of a wakeup call, to you humans; I have lost everything for this thus far.
I have no special talents.  I am only passionately curious. It’s how I made it through life, what about you? What have you done, to make a change to anything of that . . . world, you call home!

When I am in the country I wish to vegetate like the country, not the basics that fit well just for you, but can reflect to others, just as well, and do it just as well. What do I have to do, to spell it out to you, what? Tell me!

Chaos is a name for any order that produces confusion in our minds, with a simple and dark color, bitter to the mouth, but just enough sweet to keep having. Until an unhampering and unwinding death, oh how sickly that taste is?

Of how easy it can come, yet if opportunity doesn’t knock, build a door. For there could a chance to miss on the evil and live, blissfully what could never happen before all this.

Through the rains, hails, sunshine, whatever it is, it’s better in the wind, letting it carry from distance to another. Sharing what needs to be shared, with no judgment.

To that as seeing a gentleman is simply a patient wolf, waiting for the frail and white meal. Sinking the filed fangs, deeply-in, and having little choice to turning back on it.

Luck is when opportunity knocks and you answer, with a smile, not even knowing if that moment of happiness could end with a knife placed far in the depths of flesh. Having . . . forever freezing the smile and cold eyes to forever remember of that day, leaving little of all good behind. Leaving you, little mortal, alone, in the dark, just as the minutes before you were born.

Carrying what could be left as silent and listen are spelled with the same letters, yet we all choose not to do both. For we rather be loud and self. How else is there living, if you don’t mix the four things of what makes one . . . normal?

But I guess that I am learning all the time.  The tombstone will be my diploma. For, something that is written in stone is far stronger than written on a thin paper that will slowly crumble away.

In a time of rules, of any kind, small or big, a rule that cannot be bent will certainly be broken. Shattering like glass, easily to cut anything that dare crosses it. Spilling the oozes of blood and thoughts, for the world to see, knowing that no one would know what to do with it.

Primitive does not mean stupid, it means that simple things are much more to matter, than that something that is high as a skyscraper. So big, that no one would fully understand, as why this is here. Yes, there are answers for it, but not one true answer. As where with something primitive, maybe that as a smile, words of thanks, mean and hold so much more.

Moral indignation is jealousy with a halo, in the land of limbo, knowing it must choose . . . to live forever in endless delight or endless agony? As in sometime, it will become something of a problem, but is a bigger task to see it as one.

Having nothing left for soon having, with no care to see hatred bounces back from the maker to the taker. To have the eyes a line, minds sets and futures bleak.

Where not goes for motivation is what gets you started.  Habit is what keeps you going. You alone have to keep it going. Or stop, stand, and be still. As others go on ahead of you, taking the path you said you wanted nothing to do with.

Do not repeat anything you will not sign your name to, for it will follow you. Break you,
and remind you that you’re nothing but a dog look for meal.

For you petty humans want to become greater, than anyone else. Not caring who becomes hurt, left behind, and forever scared by you, when really genius isn’t anything more than elegant common sense. My brain quiet working on me long ago, and even I know that.

The patriot’s blood is the seed of Freedom’s tree, and that tree will keep growing for those who know what that meaning of life really is. No higher good is needed to be done, you mindless simian.

You know your goal, it is right there. You just have to reach out and take it; follow it just the flower that follows the sun does so even in cloudy days, because even passed the clouds, the sun remains there waiting. But even for a short time, for the sake of helping.

Even for the elements that means little, but hold so much, yet become so hard to master. Such as the most tangible of all visible mysteries; fire becomes the hardest to know and follow. Just the soft glow of the sun that tags you along, leading you.

Faith is what makes life bearable, with all its tragedies and ambiguities and sudden, startling joys. You know you’ll end up smiling in the end, with little knowing of to keep it from spreading to others. For, maybe you don’t want to?

We have more ability than will power, and it is often an excuse to ourselves that we imagine that things are impossible. For maybe, we choose not to do anything but use the seven sins to get by. And: not the will of faith.

Even if you become hurt, and not know how that came to be, reality is a crutch for people who can’t cope with drugs, is a way of able to cope that everything before one’s mind is real. Not fake and misleading.

I must acknowledge, once and for all, that the purpose of diplomacy is to prolong a crisis, and everyone else before not just me, but others as well . . . have just fallen if nothing changes.

Good decisions come from experience, and experience comes from bad decisions. If that is not enough of a wakeup call, to you humans; I have lost everything for this thus far.
I have no special talents.  I am only passionately curious. It’s how I made it through life, what about you? What have you done, to make a change to anything of that . . . world, you call home!

When I am in the country I wish to vegetate like the country, not the basics that fit well just for you, but can reflect to others, just as well, and do it just as well. What do I have to do, to spell it out to you, what? Tell me!

Make computers if please, but reminisce who holds what and haves lots. Just as computers have lots of memory but no imagination. A box with colors and wires, but someone has to make it work for others to understand? Do you understand? No? More work for us then.

All programmers are playwrights and all computers are lousy actors, and again, there is only one to blame. Not enough matter of zeros and ones could change that.

You have a mind, why do this? Great minds have purposes, others have wishes. You’re falling deep into the latter of this, and again, bring an unwanted fear.

You need more, understand more, if you don’t take risks, you’ll have a wasted soul. And by the years of now, there is no looking back from this, from saving that soul. For, it’s wasted, to plant future minds to come.

Call me out if you want, for I am doing something right. How? Easy, being responsible sometimes means pissing people off. And it’s a job; I wouldn’t trade for anything in the world for. Unlike you!

Why, if I do something like this, it’s a promise I made long before meeting you human. For every promise, there is price to pay. And I plan to pay full heartily on it.

Yes, there is a delay in such things as this, but really . . .  the sooner I fall behind, the more time I have to catch up. And in the world of time, I got all I need to get it done.

But we are here for you, on your mistakes, where in some way, are mine as well. As to see and apprehend that reality leaves a lot to the imagination. And having a lot to fix, for when things don’t quite fit . . .

As faults come in many forms, small and large. Such as it is never too late to give up our prejudices, knowing that what we believe in doesn’t hold us tightly, even if the bonds break us.

All religions must be tolerated . . . for . . . every man must get to heaven his own way. Even if what he does as that religion goes against his happiness.

Matters of love are one thing. How that if when love is not madness, it is not love. It is simply getting by.

How speaking those three words, with whole of feeling, spot kindly with care, love makes your soul crawl out from its hiding place, welcoming its soft glow. Even if it’s only once in a life time . . .

How even in distance, a few feet away or more, can miles truly separate you from friends . . . If you want to be with someone you love, aren’t you already there? Simple: answer, but not for me to riposte.

Even to those who only want to woe for a quick love, try, speaking sweet nothings, with a smile . . . you know you’re in love when you don’t want to fall asleep because reality is finally better than your dreams. A fine play of words has them close and near, where you’re never alone.

But knowing you, that are far from the case, for your love, even pass of what you know.
If; not far greater for the heart, wanting it with more meaning. When someone you love becomes a memory, the memory becomes a treasure. Far . . . better than any gem or gold, found in the depths of the earth, I see now.

You passed the love of, if you love animals called pets, why do you eat animals called dinner? That thin line of change and difference. I see it clearly, but are you willing to go that far?

It’s a helluva start, being able to recognize what makes you happy, but to get there, you are on your own. Not even I can anything to help, but watch, and wait to see what could happen. Comprehend? Decent you are . . .

And with that just as love that is love’s first snow-drop, virgin kiss. For we part now, but maybe meet again, soon?

And if you can, give a good time to laugh is any time you can, waste not of it. For it’s a sign you’re healing.

Once: more alone, but for the best in lines of traveling. For you know, it is not down in any map; true places never are. With that, I must keep going and finding what inner souls and the world have come to, in such a short time.

There will time to take a break, but really, a vacation is having nothing to do and all day to do it in. Another era, another stint . . .

Everywhere is walking distance if you have the time, and sadly as someone as me, it is something all I have. And; no one to share it with, but, really, who would want to?

It has temp me very much, as too soon having virtue is its own revenge, basing me in fine and bold colors, blinding me, just as them of heaven, hell, and limbo in their daily lives. How I want that change, and soon, is all I can do. I have to keep moving.

Watching as the humans, do many things, simple, but strange. Wanting: to speak nothing but quiet words. Letting me neither known, that you not need to nor . . . please do not put your faith in what statistics say until you have carefully considered what they do not say. Or become what I am, and what I am not.

Watching . . . them, unlike me, able to move, not gracefully, but not enough real. If people were meant to pop out of bed; we’d all sleep in toasters. And these slices of bread sooner flop down in defeat, than go far.

Spending aimlessly of the green papers, with no care . . . people will buy anything that is one to a customer, mostly for that aims to become same than different.

We are all primary numbers divisible only by ourselves, and even then, we become so small. Pitiful really . . . but very true . . .

. . . That even to have great poets there must be great audiences too . . . yet too lacking to last . . .

Oh little humans, hear it please, yes, we love peace, but we are not willing to take wounds for it, as we are for war . . . it may be your way, but not mine!

The steel drums metrical sung hums through the air, thick with tobacco and subtle perfumes of lily, berries, and peppermint. Sloe flutes whistles along with the beating drum, and the trestles of tambourines rattle alongside.

The flutter of clothes, mirroring off the marble floors, tinted by the dark foam walls, craved with the lives of the masters, having the thin, soft, pale hands, run across them. Small and tender feet, gliding airlessly, angle like, with the beads of gold and silver.

Rippling to the dance of the frail body, cast in the flesh tone of melted brass, golden clamps glim with the candles lights, shadowing the body of the dancer, in a mist of hiddenness. Faint clinks of jewels above her head, swaying along her, entwine with the music of the people of sand.

As the players stay from sight, keeping eyes on the goddess of nimble raves. How the slime and weightiness excellent chains lie on her, focal point, of what makes her woman, the gift of what life as given her for surviving of the young and reminder for men, that just as them that lies beneath clothes, hold same meaning future, responses in differences of human.

Once more as limbs of dancer, moves more across the floor, closer, teasing still entail, with no words or gestures, beckons those with eyes near. Still out of reach, but phantom aftershocks of her baby graces their fingers. Having those pale pink lips, form a subtle smile.

A sparkle: in her eyes of black lagoon as lids hood over them, in acting that as the princess waiting for her prince to awaken her. Legs lowering to the cool ground, hands and arms keeping her upper-half; push, forward, again only to tease.

A tease that means equableness and forbidden temptation.

As the dance leans out her neck more, in signs, that it needs to be mark, needs ownership, but the hands move to face them, that she is still her own person. Once more, that flirt motion is there, stronger, and varies wideness of understanding what she is asking for.

And all the lookers could say is . . . in lowness of speech is a yes.

Dançarina de harém by Gaston Guedy

Paint of the year is unknown

Location of when painted; unknown

If one was to know what the world looks within the lines of life, what would those eyes see? Just knowing those of all significant of the senses are dashed, but feel is all, even lingering to stay near.

Having; less of a chance seeing ripples in the water, smell of the yellow dandies, spring grass, and the passing seasons, lack of hearing the wonders of wind, clashes of water, animal life.

All that is meant to the heart is just gone.

But you’ll forever feel that of what’s around you. Slowly forget all else, but forever feeling.

The wind gracing the being, softness of grass and the cool and wetness of water, and the endless walking the beaten path has given you, not knowing when it ends, nor how in the world it started, for it’s the world that lives within lines and spaces, of time and space.

Childish a response it is, but to know how that impressions, is another matter all on its own. Even; so, to stop by where the land and sea meet, with only a small line breaking them apart. Batter toes could dip into the water, exhaling from the ripples replying back.

And nowhere in time, the lone being of what could be seen as the soul, looks down at the water, even when able too, still tries.

Having a frail smile etched onto the face, knowing that even living in darkness, having only the sense to feel is left, that small moment of the wrinkles on the face show, that’s all the reflection needs to give, nothing else of the modern world, but in the frail world of fantasy, emotions are more helpful, than whatever other sense can give.

For: they can only be used in the real world, and there only. And when the worlds catch up together, it will be time to wake up, live the life now, fully and nothing but tranquil that with the world of realism is heartbreaking, there is always the next days to come.

Just the ripples form and widen. There just to be someone to start them.

Are you that person?

Reflection by Odilon Redon

Painted in the years 1900-1905

Location of when painted; France

It had to be heard. Their screams couldn’t go unheard. The blood of those who fought, cross, and those couldn’t get away.

Have the lands of once flourish greens . . . slowly burned away, painted in red, and drying itself, just as their people. Eyes of those who were able to run, looking back, only having watched all that of what could have been them.

Traveling; through lands of many, by horse or feet, wanting on that mind, that there should only be one way.

One color: one way of life: one only seen as a whole being.

Those dares to break it, fall under and never be seen again. Let the weapons steel bring the peace that is needed. Where only those whip will understand what is needed for those daft ears to worn the words, let them bear the scars for those to see and understand. Blister the tongues with only what is true and only true.

Be them rebel or followers, they must know. Becoming nothing but a memory, will not become the ways, of what this hard work has moved in the years.

They will remember; they will carry the chains of the past, heavy and proudly, for they cannot be forgotten. If become the forgotten, than everything worked till now, would have become nothing but a waste, and lead those of weak mind, that they can do the same.

Not knowing what’s come if not planned right.

Failure can’t happen, hard work, and true meaning of peace, as what a child would only see it, have to come and stay that way. For there is only one way of standing tall side by side, for something like to repeat.

If the world comes to it, real matters of what lost will only stay that way, as what in that war, that felt as if only happening yesterday.

Guernica by Pablo Picasso

Painted in the year 1937

Location of when painted; Paris, France

A change for something new, can be seen in the eyes in many ways, but those stuck with in the line, of what is said to be only seen as black and white. Yet the color of pure was only that left for the world. There was no point in breaking it.

But that didn’t something to forms riffs of life itself. Straining those goose feathers hues of death’s cloak, dirtying the flesh to match that ash of burnt wood, eyes of light turned dim, sour amber, toxic that still those who dared to look in them.

The body; thrown down from the clouds, breaking layers of earth, until finding the blank center of black stone and tunnels. Scared head to toe from the deep fall, ripping away all that was left of being’s past self.

Leaving the being is, to sit in the dark hellhole for who knows how long. Having the harsh stones, pitched the flesh resting on top of it. Able to see all but nothing at all, through the darkness of the being’s fails, to branch out, fixing the world in what this being deem true.

Even when others thought now, back then and now, divided of this theory. It only leaves to choose of who was right, and who was wrong.

Having, this dark presence flinch away from all that deem too holy for eyes to just, even that of a lone feather, of a brother falling upon his side, in those lone burrows.

A sign, small and bright, nothing close but a reminder that it was a choice, made by only one. Though it burn the already dark skin, it remain by his side, as a promise that world needs balance.

Even, when, those above, define it in their own way. The fallen angel knows well enough, that there needs to be black and white, not only a bleak meaning for those human eyes to be blinded. That’s not this world works.

And it takes only those, who rebel, to notice it.

Not caring of how others see it, making him the bad guy, is just a sign, that in some way, it’s a way of agreeing to what he does. It’s how, that fallen messes with your mind, by having you see it from them of heaven, and those of his plaguing eyes.

Leaving only you as the judge, of is true or not. For, if not careful, you might be like him, having no one else, but that lone feather of a dear one.

Balance is your only key from loneliness.

Lucifer by Franz von Stuck

Painted in the year 1890

Location of when painted; unknown

It’s setting. Leaving all forever in the dark.

All that happen today will be gone unless remember for the simple things. Clouds slowly covering the sky, blocking out the final goodbyes the sun has to give. Only leaving, the waters, with a slim ripple wave, of the glow from, the white orb.

Out in the distance, lies a building, with a tall tower candle flicker to see and speak of farewell of the fiery sun. Along of a lone boat, having no place to go, leaving those on the floater to rest there out in open ocean until that gloated sun comes back.

Though the warmest fades, cooling the sand into ice, it keeps the yellow hue of blurredness.

Enough to rest sit with peace, face wet in tears, as the sun goes, as does the meaning of life. Prays for it to come back, have been said, but when is there going to oddly be a time, when the sun finally gives up on all life.

When the land will forever be lost in darkness, where is the hope then? Oh, little candle within the tower of the seaport, keep aglow, for when the sun finally goes, keep that lasting glow, until nothing is left for others. By what, until the next day, it has to tick faster.

Faster for that, in fear of age, comes not close of the fear of never seeing that earnest, radiance, of silver disc.

Shields Lighthouse, c.1825 by Joseph Mallord William Turner

Painted in the year 1825

Location of when painted; unknown