Part V: Absolution; Sense of Sincerity-Certainty

January 8, 2009

Intro

Comfort is found, in a sullen way, in the rabid sense of the electrified heart. The overbearing stimulation forces this body to shutter. I ache from sky to thighs, knees shaking with desperation, and I wish this ego were no so large. Maybe then, the swelling of my head would go down from time to time.

I burn my lips, if slightly, on purposeful bliss. I wipe the perspiration with the bandana on my neck–Symbology of everything I stand with or against.

Searching in All the Wrong Places

I have always known I would some day leave that place. It is an innate feeling in me, an instinct to flee and find more suitable alternatives. This is true in all areas of life. I fled the confines of Christian prisons, ideals of Imperialist Demoncracy, and many coordinating sects of domination spiraling down the throat of Patriarchy. I aspire to flee the entire asylum of tedious beings and toiling factory slaves. And some call them free, call this freedom–How dare they insult those on their knees, but it compares not at all to the disrespect they serve even themselves!

I have fled both surly and soothing lovers! I have left behind dear friends and feared enemies, strangely for the same tiresome reasons. I have fled from rotten lust and lurking souls, and I have replaced many of them, except for the ideology of home. My family has been left, if all of these only for temporary. But, most importantly of all, I sought to flee dangerous ambitions. Leaving behind many ideals and institutions is no challenging feature, but not even courageous expeditions to the end of the world can free one from memory. My childhood and adolescent years lurk around each and every single corner. There is this mist that devours the air I seek to breathe.

Seemingly hopeless, onward I travel, seeking what remains to be eternally shifting.

I seek those who can be inspired, those who heal and need help themselves. I want to share compassion, a feeling that requires effort from both sides to efficiently soothe hearts in disrepair. Up to this point, I have struggled with loneliness, but I believe I am looking for solutions in all of the wrong places. I can delve my mind for eternity, but others hold the answer. Loneliness is not to be overcome as an expedient for independence. I know this now.

I had it all wrong, this entire time I have been toiling onward towards nothing.

Loneliness inspires the purpose to push creation of new ideas and spaces by inviting new concepts into the mind. Loneliness is a cog on the hub of change. Creation can incubate in the fragile fertility of soil. But, as always, loneliness has the capacity to create or destroy with no remorse. By allowing indiction of self to set in, the mind, especially that cog of loneliness, will stimulate decay immediately and disintegrate to the point of no regeneration. This is the moment of drowning in that eternal sea.

Rid the self of doubt

Dispatch lies for better hopes.
Return the sulking for simple roles-
Fleeting sensations,
And bitter words sown
In the mind.
Benevolent tides will remain restless
Until the objective is met.
For this, revolving moons must converge-
Become closer to relative thought-
Kindly surreal,
With crying reels spinning spans-
The deep blue sky. Weaving,
Words will never be enough,
Not to sustain certain selections
Mirrored in the sea-
Perfect spread of crystal clear haze,
The uncertain gaps between;
Truth. Doubt.
Minimize this space that I can do without.

The Hourglass

Sometimes when viewing the hourglass, the fallen sand on the edges can trigger memories, covered many years gone past. When the view is secured to falling sand in moments such as this, what is past and future are easy to converge.

Sincerity slips easily from the banks, drifting through sand and rocks, heading seaward. The undercurrent pulls sincerity out of sight, past memories vanished, and when the time comes for return, specific questions must be probed to understand; how serious is this? Where did dedication fit? To what degree can you defend this stance? Can you really, honestly from the depths of your cavernous heart, believe what spills from your lips!?

“Your subtle lips reek of lies and deceit; I can not take the sense of your presence any longer! Get out! Vanish from this place, this time, this life!”

Sincerity needs to be anchored in the heart, as to maintain feelings of memories passed on, whether to other souls or to the back of the mind. To let go of the ambivalence of a memory, sorrow or glee, is to lose the memory’s primary purpose, indefinitely. Equally as important to holding on, is attaching a sense of certainty before passing a memory into the banks of correlative times—-It is to sort everyday experience from that of the surreal. Relevance will recall certainly sincere before shallow and vain discreet–I have seen it happen far too many times before.

The importance of memory to survival as a person and a community is unequivocal, except to basic needs of all life forms. Memory is the basis of human ingenuity, and experience can only be recalled on the basis of certainty and sincerity. Without these, memories are vainly hollow, remarkably discreet, and will devour our sense of self—-The mind would become a fallacy; machines taught to determine a black and white right from wrong.

Pain and sorrow maintain the well-being of this person as much as sensual passion and gleeful experience—-One can be weighed or valued without proper mental attachment. Comfort is found, in the most sullen way, in the rabid sense of this heart being electrified from vice. Overbearing stimulation forces this body to shutter—-I ache from sky to thighs, knees shaking—shaking with desperation. I wish this ego were not so large at times. Perhaps then the swelling of my head would go down.

I burn my lips, if even the slightest bit, on purposeful bliss. This summer night reeks with torpor as I whisk away the moisture, perspiration with…

Onward…

This light shines through the mist of a cool night’s breath,
Breathing in consignment of wrath-
This is my pain,
I sustain this endurance.

The waxing moon adds to the glow of this hearth-
I am so tired,
But I am alive.
Despite the faith that crosses my fate-
I fall, fail, and tire-
But yet I strive.

Circulation loses momentum in these hands,
But yet on I write-
Desperation thrives.
Overcast of the week vanishes,
With but a trace of fog-
But the day will come in,
With a menacing storm.
Onward I wait,
Forward I drive.

Absolution

Fury bursts and cannot be nulled!
Ambition swells and refuses the lull of this people,
Most particularly on such a captivating day as this,
Provoked by sensuous swells settling about-
Around.
We are spellbound,
In such ways that will never become atrophied by the
Broken overcast of facades,
Overriding the cityscape’s cement slates.

Fury bursts and will not be nulled,
Ambitions swell once again!
Provoked by sensuous swells on streets.
The clouds move in,
Reflection of waves on two separate lakes,
As one,
Take it in with all five senses.
Two fronts swelling overhead and around.
Clashing—-The flooding!
There are no trite correspondences here, there, or anywhere!
The momentum sporadically straggles the encompassed streets

Break down collections of introspection-
Seek the paradigm,
The scene underlying and surrounding this Earth of faith.
A repugnant pace of desire set between-
Upon, isthmus—Instance;
Recollect all thoughts frozen in this sliver of distance the sun has covered,
Just before.
Restore memory.
Absorb pure and abstract stations set-
Discourage the toxins!
Ablation will cure and rest lasting effects on outlook.
Settling wet condensation on dust
And dirt for precipitating sights.

Requiring, at most, a certain reverie with a sincere store of experience.
One that seeks nothing more than to transverse
The globe into spoken words-
Crashing thunder strikes overhead, see it! Hear it!
Trust in this dismal sort of dismay-
Rocks of mountainside will crumble,
Rot on to sandy dreams-
A beautiful tree grows through a road-
Calling desperately out-
Reaching sky to distant ears.

It requires a certain mind with a sincere store of experience,
One that seeks nothing more than to transverse
The music of world into spoken words-
Crashing thunder overhead, Unheard! Unseen!
Trusting any sort of doubt,
What will be capable in the coming days…?
Watch the shores slowly rot-
In sky, off sea, out ears.

Closing

This high burns my veins with ambition, as treachery lies around every corner. I move forth, dodging the past, progressively passing the shackles. Wrath of the upper-class, monstrous momentum behind their claws. Ruling. Abiding. Ever watching…

Step before myself, and teeter on this edge. The undertow lies below, but I must not fall in unless sheepishly I choose to taste and waste until the end of my days. I need no drink of dismay.

Forlorn, I feel as if it is, was, necessary for me to dump a large portion of what was left of seasons past over the despairing edge before me. Yes. Now I may complete myself. Now I may erect my potential, hold against the many towering divinities that encompass all that surrounds. They are possessed with my dismantle and complete removal from this place of rest. But it is here, for now I remain, consciously profound.

Left the unneeded baggage, soon to physically embark on a mental journey. The only taxes to be paid will be those of enforcing charms of charisma and endurance.

Volumes of verse will pay respected dues, well worth and owed. I owe so few and expect my best.

Pretty memories-
Subsequent stout.
Hazy frenzies,
Of laughter and doubt.

I will be hailed delirious before a dire genius.

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