A pulsating wound…
Not mortal but could be fatal if left unattended.. 

How do you heal the unhealable…. 

Yet, so it was written… That which can be done can always be undone..Despite such.. You sit before me.. Exasperated expression.. Tears crescendoing along your cheeks..

And why?

 For a past hurt that time forgot to heal.. For time can’t heal all wounds… Time is but a construct of the imaginative.. An implant of the past… Will always be present…no matter what power you attribute to time.. In matters of the soul… It has none..

Disgruntled and disillusioned.. I am no sorcerer of time.. But I would beseech upon you.. Do share with me your tears.. Why does’t thou perpetually hurt… Art thou so accustom to it that it has become a part of you…as a scar would a soldier of war…

Verily I beseech upon you.. Do not push away my love.. My love may not be the answer.. But my love can help us to find a way..

Your blood drips.. Your wound can no longer be hidden.. Your hurt shows.. And you only have so much blood to give.. A rose has but so many petals to shed before it becomes unrecognizable.. And can a man cherish that which he can not distinguish..

I am but a man….

Holding a rose… That is down to its last petal…

At times you can set eyes upon my gaze and know I’m not completely here.. Galaxies and cosmos asunder, my mind traverses.. Spaced out and high beyond all measure.. High on the fact that reality can be so bleak– the reality that I can be here But never truly here.. Always a part of me somewhere.. Somewhere far off.. And a piece of me is always trying to reconnect with that part.. 

A Union of polar opposites at this point..

The smart ones gravitate towards God.. The convinced always manage stray away from themselves… 

A temporary alleviation from responsibility provides that light as a feather feeling.. But when the weight of the world catches back up, it crushes like a boulder.. What man’s shoulder’s can bare such.. What man’s spirit can withstand the ill this world has placed on his fellow man.. Who’s soul can turn a blind eye.. Unless the eye of the 3rd is nothing short blindful.. And the shallow eye only looks inwards.. And you become the center and periphery of the universe at least the only universe that matters..

A cosmos of the mind, and you are all that matters.. An isolated automaton is what most aim to be.. Failing to see, rather denying that everything is everything..

Because something can never come from nothing.. Everything must inevitably be everything..

Thus, I can’t hate my opposite no more than I can hate myself.. I can’t curse the decisions I’ve mad no more than I can praise the circumstances life has presented..

And this holds true whether I’m here.. Nor there…

Spare the rod, spoil the child 

I watched the news, and it told me that a man shot into a car full of young men because he was stricken by fear..

Their music was too loud…

Trust me, I know the sentiment.. And believe you me, if you knew what your DNA knew.. You had every right to do so..The music was just too loud.. Too truthful..

There’s power in them drums you know.. Let your subconscious tell it.. Thems be the war drums of antiquity.. Those same drums you would hear up to two days away, and know for certain that your desolation was inevitable.. Know your slaughter was imminent.. You’d know you’ve transgressed past the point of forgiveness.. These weren’t just war drums but the drums that nightmares were made of…
Universally known..

Zulus… Among others…

These drums killed your fathers, brothers and uncles.. And spared the child.. The battle of Jericho and those walls came tumbling down.. 

And the spared child carried that truth with him forever..

So if I were you.. I’d hate that music too.. My heart would pound a little faster when I heard all that bass and them 808’s… I grow increasing nervous as well.. I’d not only panic but be quick to action..

Everything is everything.. Spared child..
And time never changes the truth…

Among us they lie in wait.. Expressing, disorientating themselves but only every so often…But mainly they remain dormant as any parasite would and should..

For if host every gained knowledge… Everything collapses upon itself..

They study us.. In aims to mimic us.. In order to capture our spectacle.. So that one day we will no longer be of necessity..

And now they study us in order to manage our energies.. The negativity, hurt and lust provides a breath of life into their very being..

So they left us with The Spectacle… A mechanism designed to self perpetuate their desires, like clockwork it runs… And as the time ticks away, so does the humanity of man..

Brothers slay brothers for the illusion of money..

Man no longer makes love but alleviates greed through lust..

Fathers abuse sons just to grasp on to a power they can never true attain.. 

Like water power can never be held in the hand for long.. For all power goes back to the source.. The Spectacle.. The Queen Machine… Designed through many years of analyzation.. Built by the frame work of human nature and fueled by the hopes and desires men alike…

Love that once built us.. Systematically redirected to instigate and antagonize our own undoing..

Love will win out one way or another.. And for one side if not the other…

Parasite or host… Whom shall prevail?

Greater doesn’t study the lesser..
The lesser studies the Greater…
They keep us under a microscope because they understand where the truth lies..

I was told… If you make it home before sunset… Consider yourself lucky…and I did, because I do… I’m not quite home yet, but I feel that nothing can stop the truth..
But then again.. I was told.. If I made it home, I should consider myself lucky…

Ominous… Brooding… Death upon a star… 

Study the twinkly of memories past…

Your heart begins to race because you don’t understand how you’ll meet your demise…

You simply came to the realization that you aren’t as lucky as you presumed…

Death and luck have never met..

So eventually you’ll realize it’s not your demise you’ll meet but a new you, you’ll become.. And through all the struggle you’ll realize that that light you were walking toward was merely a crack in the cocoon…

How do you feel? Was all the anxiety worth it?

You’re no longer forced to touch the earth in order to feel free.. You can allow the wind to truly guide you…

And maybe your demise was but another stop  in a never ending journey towards home..

They probably thought I’d die in hell..
But hell created a pathway towards opportunity…

What’s the point of coming down here in a physical body.. If you don’t plan on playing by the rules.. Unless you aren’t here under your own fruition.. Perhaps you’ve been condemned as the rest of us… Encaged, ensnared… Entrapped.. In this hollow space defined as a body….

Perhaps you are a demon as I.. And this is the hell you’ve made for yourself…

A chance to make right…

That from which you have fallen…
If you love what you love.. Then why the curse… Why the formality.. Why the obsession with what doesn’t quite fit naturally… Can nature be wrong or is your spirit unsettled.. Perhaps your soul has traveled to one too many galaxies and unaware of all the rules and formalities it must follow..

Do as thou wilt.. Is the law of the slave.. Quite ironic.. To be free one must follow ardent rules.. And if one doesn’t follow these rules they will be condemned to unending misery…

Yet to be a slave to one’s desire is no freedom at all..

What is a boy to do? Damn if I do… Damned if I don’t..

Perhaps I should sit idle….

And let the stars show me the truth…

No matter how false it is.. If you believe it long enough, it will manage to find a way to become true…Your story isn’t a universal truth, although it may be your standard of conduct it doesn’t write the script for the next man’s lullaby… 

That’s your god’s edict and your life journey… You may be cast as victor or villain but who is to decide but you and yours..

Verily verily.. I say unto you..

Though your script may impact the next man–Overlap with the next man…
Your story is not that man’s law…the lines of your play were written specifically for you and may not fit the next man at all…

So how does one find morality if it is truly this subjective… Check the end credits, and ask the Writer…

Your answer will find its way to you, it may be convoluted with filth along the way, but that’s Wisdom’s purpose to help you with your lines…

We are what dreams are made of, but do not make your nightmares another’s…without the darkness light holds no power…

Living in the future is pleasant.. It’s fun, it really is.. But it feels too much like the future…And the past is feeling too much at a distance..

Do you remember? Because I do,we were something special.. We were just, as our love was… Wondering what wonders the future held..wondering what possibilities were going to externalize… And now we’re living it, with relinquished power, but living it..

Somewhere along the line signals got crossed because this isn’t what it was meant to be…

But the love was never lost…

It really feels like we’re in the future.. But not quite our future… Just a future we’ve smoothly adapted to..not perfect but smooth enough…

For what it’s worth.. It’s all the same.. The love is just as pure.. But the circumstances differ…

And that difference has tainted my soul a bit.. Created some bitterness that indifference couldn’t resolve..

When circumstance looks you in the face.. Indifference refrains from being an option any longer.. And it would appear.. Circumstances do nothing but surround us.. People, circumstance, and the condition of indifference… Yet this future I’m forced to uphold has given me just reason enough to reject apathy, for the simple fact that this future was not my choice, so I must care what happens to me.. Because it affects my love..

Tainted soul and all…

I live because I choose to live, and perhaps my love will one day make a difference, when it manifest to how it was in a time before.. You and me, no longer wondering, but doing–reigning–believing– and ruling…

So it is proven the future comes through us not by us…

That when desire and hope rules our hearts… But now we operate out of will and we will the future back to where it was meant to be, and our love will be the impetus…

A kiss… Is as sound as a promise..

Everything’s more beautiful when you’re sad… Beauty redefines itself.. It finds a way to transfigure itself and show you who it really is…

“You were waiting for me..”

What the fuck is coincidence but two points coinciding at a third… A triangulation if you will…

Was I waiting for you, or did fate provide the circumstance.?

My brother we are one in but the same… I hear you the same as you hear me.. I can only touch your soul so much.. Give but a hope.. The piper that is you must fan the flame…

As all my prophesies, yours too will prove true… All I ask is that you remember this instance in time.. And understand that God is true…

The demons you speak of do take ho ld, but perhaps they aren’t all that you imagine.. Perhaps it’s only half the puzzle you’ve solved…

And seeing is half the battle, what you do next is true fulfillment… Sitting idle does nothing but welcome death..

purpose is change… And purpose is the only driving force that matters..

So brother, I may be the demon of your dreams… But that doesn’t make me any less of the god you seek we should be…