must be happening — painfully fathoming new continuity + fresh maturity out the dark starring new folds of a budding spiritual struggle & friday night sadness positively overwhelming
“Coming together is a beginning; keeping together is progress; working together is success.”
Henry Ford
———
as never before saga continues w/ an ultimatum of self faced fathomed function’d unto some mantra of accordance to be featured via story here/now coming together
see babe,,, (sigh) been daytrippin’ (nighttrippin’ too) nah not how you’re thinkin’ but def str8 slipping round the clock from beta-version test-script o high-flying standards i’ve (unwittingly?) (unskillfully?) (prematurely?) precisely set for self & successfully smash-hitt’d into my face like cream-puff pie that gone pow (sound effects:) ‘y-owch’ / 'yum’
quite glum because of it
good news b work 2 do & since no having cake'n'mackin’ too, losing the turkish D. line drawn drawing guns & already being back 2 back w/ the doppelganger foe that been cliffhanging my soul, bout time to rep my stand pace face-off spin rounds that fire true in a once and for all kinda way (4 some reason seeing more clearly continuous-like now & into the 'how come’ that ever-since been behind the fall —
1. quest for self-perfection (aka denying fabric of finely balanced life) 2. fissures in the levy add up (self-esteem = fragile thing til suddenly CRUSH’D (stomp’d gusher b i)) 3. general life ∞ love confusion spun-out beyond control (direct result of street-living as the Wild Things do? perhaps boo)
any-hoo suddenly appears to me all 3 quite simply, the result of mind heart spirit, unaligned — a moral dilemma to crack skillet school like skrillex (anon, too) (tom. soon) til then working @ hyperloop-swinging a tight confine —
Morgul-blades, also called “Morgul-knives”, were magical and poisonous daggers that were used by the Ringwraiths during the Third Age. After having tasted flesh, the dagger breaks, leaving a shard of the blade in its victim. The remaining blade soon turns to dust, and the shard works its way through the body to the heart. If the shard of the blade stays in the victim for too long, the victim becomes a wraith.
“A mountain never seems to have the need to speak — A look that shares, So many seek…”
RHCP
———
…
that’s right — life ∞ love — something once shared so nearly forgot and tho we got lost caught a breath in between bud opened spread wings & relationship swing
“Touch, I remember Touch… Pictures came with Touch, A painter in my mind, Tell me what you see…”
Daft Punk
———
nyc sunset JFK airport outside terminal friends families harmonious gatherings depart/arrive cityscape safari, as in midst —
blondyn
watch on solo stirr’d to core-realm depths O soul w/ heavy heart’d typical via da dada-warp’d mind-bind that “make sense” the momentaryness & translate as
sad
(profound plop @ that.)
felt ‘lone. stranded. detached from crowded atmos. and how bad (BAD blondyn) to adopt 'n become such an OUTlook in face of new journey he on verge of venturing
afterall, was pack’d for SD — hometown land where sis to be wed where friends families harmonious gatherings were likely to be radiant with presence — some of which they’d likely shine on blondyn
and w/ blondyn having not been back since he left for nyc, upon seeing him would maybe want to hear on the story of just where exactly he be @
(exactly)
feels he left SD a 0 & be right about same quantity — for sincerely what hath he to hith name? but experience of the road, some novel he wrote, and years gone by like — all the same
“tho feel more out of touch…”
he thought 'pon this point seriously… some more, even… and then reframed —
“no blondyn,” he thought, “not out, but lost — ye hath lost touch w/ humanity…”
here’s how—
in SD, blondyn wrote a story, then decided NYC the place to deliver. upon arriving, however: “needs refining” and so blondyn wrote his story some more
in NYC he wrote wrote wrote and then he wrote some more. “almost there,” followed, “not quite right,” he disappeared into writing some more
& all this writing went on throughout street-life — an incongruent mode when it comes to melding w/ society… turn’d out write-write-writing + street-life-living =’d recipe 4 losing touch with modern world
wanna top that sugar-yum-sundae w/ a formaldehyde-soaked maraschino? take a “no-facebook” stance to social media presence, hence isolate oneself from the perhaps most living/breathing part of virtual universe (hey caveman)
sun dunk’d and set. blondyn stood in darkness and took his time (had a morning flight—was spending night @ airport) meddling on how write write writing had been the singular vehicle to disconnect his existence from the world
in darkness he thought on this hard, harder yet, reinforcing a manic spike of depression that knife’d to the point of migraine stress-fracture pinging him focal-wise over + again till reaching to Third Eye depths of brow like lightning bolt strike o Magic —
“no more —” he thought, “no more of this benumbing discontent…”
blondyn perspective’d
“you are @ the beginning a new journey and right now are going to overcome this woesome tyrant!”
(how tho?)
“starting now, you are going turn it around, via what has proven to be your own worst enemy—writing.”
(how tho?)
blondyn thought. pondered. did not give up.
“through power of the word, you will emancipate thy self, by rendering it thy outlet for connecting to the world — for helping to liberate all souls that could use a learning or two just as you mos’ def do.”
with that, mind heart spirit started churning like butter as slowly solidifying his stance that his trip of return to the homeland, was also to mark his voyage to the human race
“yes,” thought blondyn, “to connect —” and tho his sis be the 1 to be wed, t'was blondyn who was already attuning his own vows to life ∞ love via touch to u
