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What’s a world full of color, if you established your perception according to a thing defined from black and white. For every word thou spoke, read or wrote the assumed array of color’s non-existent. Who need color, if mystique and wonder needn’t anything other than light and dark. On branches of snow-covered evergreen, amazement, and intuition kindle flames of wonder in our psyche. Between the shades of light and dark, things anticipated, and discern as fact, are bright with illumination. Illuminated, like pure, white snowy decor of that frozen kingdom. Veiled is the root, but hidden not from root of another kind the thing’s the foundation. Perhaps a foundation  for those blind from worlds of color. However, obscuring intent of contrite, apostle.

For the obscure, we obscure a thing unto deceit’s nature. For your children, my branches become obscured with a legacy, defined in black and white. Celebrate, drink and make thou merry, your companion.  For you, I stipulate the thing as it lay on me. For you, the dark become the nature of the thing thine eye behold. The white,  shall define modesty, influence and cover your heart with wonder. In me, legacy born anew. For word written, spoken, and discerned,  I ask, by chance did your heart became veiled while attempting to place my name on man’s throne? Did the dark place emphasis on the light?  Did thou conceive the evergreen, alone in the ice.

For love and passion, let all color twinkling see the want I experience from winter’s wonder. Unto all irrational observation of a things past, present and frosty future, repent of deceit’s perversion. Perhaps justice’s restrained, within the dark cast on-to the wastes from light. If thou witness not, deceit ride from thither-ward, wearing red. For legacy born anew, the tree shall be adorned with beads, chaplets written in regard of praise. Deceit hasn’t legacy, if desire’s fire kindled from a world of black and white live within. Oh thou see it! No better thing for defining a world between worlds.

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Racing into their role and between shadow, Ninja’s served It’s master from It’s beginning. I’m uncertain of how Shinto influenced Japanese motorcycle engineers while designing this machine, but I am going to assume the two-hundred and fifty r’s a poetic thing.

An indicated speed of one hundred and thirty miles an hour, and reaching maximum R,P.M tolerance between thirteen-thousand R.P.M.s, I’m intrigued. All those numbers resembling my street address but without that last matching digit. Under these circumstances, I crunched some numbers, but didn’t equate all variable, as a result of my lack of mechanical math. I concluded existing significance after making calculations from the dyne unit. Though those units didn’t aid in determining total output horsepower, I discovered from an internet source the two-cylinder engine produces 37 horsepower before the transmission’s added. I did discover those digits within the horsepower.

Because many numbers from this machine resemble common variable from our physical world, I wonder if those engineers designed this according to America’s standards of a legal motorcycle. According to those standards this machine and I feel I harmonize with this design. The machines not to small, and I’m not too large. According to Wikipedia, the two-hundred and fifty r’s always manufactured within the same measurements. Each piston cylinder operates within a 139-180 pound pressure. Each plug detonates an estimated one-hundred and eighty times per minute. I’m certain many sub-culture  practitioner recognize the number one, eight, seven. That number’s the product of thirteen point seven squared, and one of the repetitive numbers within this machine’s design. This design can serve as perfect example of how society and culture influence other members of society through the economy. I won’t dare imagine why this machine needs change, but somewhere, somehow most things under like circumstance, change. Seriously! The manufactures tire size included the numbers thirteen, and thirty-seven D. I’m assuming the D’s for recognition of certain Japanese tire manufacturer. I’m wondering if I’ll need to jump through hoops to appease the expectations of the designer. Despite the machine’s character.

My imagination goes rampant. Generating idea under the wing of this beast’s existence. My point is, If Japan lives designing  for our standards of comfort, what aren’t we doing. I’d allow them to design my word-processor if I knew they’d make sense. I couldn’t tell you how fucking long I’ve used it’s as a possessive form of a pronoun with no writing errors detected. Today, I’m thinking all that changed.

I’ve never been to Japan, but because my name’s seen in a Japan race oriented American film, I question if Asians do America better. If I need to argue in America about constitutional standards of measurement or because of an unacceptable word-processor, an Asian country’s the place to serve. Considering they’ve giving me things I’m supposed to get from my nation. Maybe it’s a Shinto belief thing?Maybe it’s a Kawasaki thing? I’m still not certain this machine fits that spying perpetrator’s description. I really don’t want to exaggerate the thing.

To all the bloggers I love: If the shoe fits, wear it.

2006 Ninja 250r

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Coincidentally, the Tsarnaev’s ventured out dropping uncanny packages off around the streets of Boston. April’s a time for people to exercises faith in the resurrection, unless of course, those people failed during the task of seeing the macro tragedy. A couple people’s lives are gone, and some people might never recover as a result of those surprise sacks they stood by.

I’m still convinced some facts about that event are being hidden from the general-public. I’ll bet Nadine never thought she might be part of a grand fabrication during that particular month. I suppose I’m not ready to write about my reaction to that day. I’ve waited this long to consider any attempt. From the champion’s throne, to Laurel Street, to the dead Tsarvaev’s ex-girl friend. I wonder if those people existed in that town. After seeing association between entertainment media, my name and the things expected of a classless American society, I’m trying not to let my imagination to conjure stereotypical perceptions of me and the things allowing me to assume things within accordance of me.

Why Boston, why a place someone’s destined to wear some form of swag in regard of their accomplishments. Can part of my inquiries be reconciled based on an assumption some bombers stereotype all athletes as being enhancement supplement users. Perhaps those bombers thought maybe electrolytes enhance endurance, but can only be snorted or intoxicating, when not running 50 miles, uninterrupted. Maybe only Celtic(Boston) posses superhuman ability. consider the title third world, and note class stratification. Maybe more American entertainment intends  considering  all things Garland for rectifying an Anarchist class of people. If that’s not my problem already.

This post’s not a perfect rendering of my reaction of our Boston tragedy. Maybe if those entities intend to make an example of those macro things people take for granted, and I become a subject, I get warned prior of any and all extreme situations. If extreme things target me because the guys with the guns , despite using my stuff don’t play according to the rules, I’m going need to know.

To all the bloggers I love; some things only appear coincidental, others are usually another form of sarcasm or a part of an oozing ego. let’s pray Americans aren’t targeted because  too many Americans possess co-dependencies.

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In this garden‘s space for every fruit of this garden’s maker’s seed. Though within this space, a place for a thing, beast fail to defile. be the reason because of compassion, or lack of will toward the act of plundering your beauty. Within the space, only negated opportunity to imagine a thing of bliss and delight. For that beauty I don’t dare garrison our sanctuary for the selfish want of  this world ‘s beneficial decor. From mine hand flow not your essence because I’ll never subject seed not of my own to the thing compelling me. That deed‘s a deed for things in need of undaunted reward. Place thee, yourself hither to allow dreams  intended of dreamers. As fruit coveted not, beast nor beauty deserve space for withering. If never thou wither, our want’s a thing everlasting. Though thou dismissed my intent a thing willed to minds of the forgetful. Deed and misdeed’s an act of actors. For being a contradiction to discourse your space remains for your occupancy. Because in the eye of the beholder, I’m observed sinner and not accused of defilement.

In my garden thou shall find pleasantries as only liberated desire lead thee. For confession we exist between love and hate, did, did not, is, is not, dead, living, and undying inhabitants. If, and when you see your face here, believe believer’s opened the gate beckoning not. believe you self-indulgence.  For unity restrain beauty and beast by the vine of one accord. For beauty, beast ravages our inhibition’s sanctity. For beast, beauty need not anything from savage retribution. Though we’re yet outside the gate of resolution.  If I imagine another thing and discover myself without my own imaginings, let me stand as a marauder of the maker’s garden. For that beauty I imagined, but for the beast the marauder invaded.

SCAN0015

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Within the fabric of deceit, I’m reminded of why I question my makers purpose. The nature of me being, and this inevitable escape from how being’s defined. Occasion after occasion, I imagine our dark mistress reaching to caress my presence while she insists I hear her say I’m far less than adored. I question how being defined as a tool of fabrication this legacy is. For the father of lies I’m device every lying tongue seeks when searching refuge from themselves. though within our heart I’m a misrepresentation to those using the same device to administer deliverance unto their salvation. Unto our mistress I’m a device for her sins increase. Unto salvation, I fear this thing’s a thing renounced because this thing’s despised. Thus! I lament within me while enduring the storm’s threshold. Assuming her gesture contradict  her words. Unto the first perhaps I will always be our righteousness presence. For this thing selfsame decor. For the deviant, perhaps I am selfsame corruption unto wicked things. From her gesture  a  sinner I am, tempted of sins devices. A gate-keeper between vexation and realization of what our purpose is as defined. Let the truth of vanity hide behind the charade of peace no longer. Vain deceit stains humanity creating opportunity of being defined less than acceptable. A delusion dictated from desperate, frightened dictators. Mass of fabricated promises separated as a result of fault. The covenant seeks  the prince of peace but reject classless, race-less and sexless communist societies. They live behind the fantasy appearance they create for themselves while denying the steadfast standards their dictators created. Nearing the end of my fantasy I ask what this mistress gains from this many levels of manipulation. Is the benefit the same for all delusional participants of this existence? Perhaps her caress is enough to defy the things I fear? Will she conquer the cynicism of a faithful heart?

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From one place Humanity’s foundation support life for each living soul. From that same place, one image of love’s created in-spite of the things needed of everyone. Like the two-edged sword, forged in the heat of desire romance and the romantic exist within the same standards of being infatuated of humanity. One being the inheritor of the one legacy while all others parallel. Because I’m not Christ but society peers on as his body, my action as a lover shall defy the body, and justifying the standards of true romance as stipulated by black-smiths of romance. Because the seed of human will’s sewn long before this love crafts perfection we inherit sin and taste the sight of lovers like adversary battling for favor of the field. Because of the already existing evidence of my legacy I offer myself for your indulgence  Because I’m a sinner I must accept your decision as just reward for a sinner. If that be God‘s will, we shall be as the sword to the body. If I’m denied the act of being your want then I stand smitten because of my imperfection. From everlasting to everlasting this blade this song and this act be empowered. This selfsame day man shall recognize the epitome of his demeanor. Without perfection man shall be cast aside as scrap. Because our inhibitions tempered with the hammer, our unity stands as everlasting sin. Sin against sinner, or sinner rewarded for sin. From the maker’s hand our foundation’s obscured. With our heart we find our maker’s will and rediscover our need of others. the vow of a woman promises a man he’ll never fall beneath the veil of his darkest sin. For love we stand united to conquer those things devised for our failure. Divided I’m only an image ideal to the author.

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Remembering your expressionless appearance, I think of my response and how you expect me to respond. My hand pressed firm against my imprisonment I remember not knowing the feeling of your hand touching me. Along with your apathetic gaze I wonder if the next insinuation of you knowing what you’ve read or haven’t read’s going to emerge from that self-same emptiness. For love I subject this vessel for your entertainment. Juggling as the marveling of jugglers, I wait for increase of our sins. As allurement of any trained juggler with her one object routine frolicking around placing that object anywhere her trained profession permit. Will only few of those sins increase or shall we entice of them all? For your touch is worth more than mere suggestion. The contact juggler might be limited by circumstance, but intent of your heart is bound unto more than a single embodiment. Contact requires a touch, despite the intent behind the action. Because I’m a sinner being teased of your intent and the extremes of being teased I’m forced to delight in you actions. Though my restricted response within the embodying of this crystal prison  my want is not. Because I’m a juggler of this self-same will I wish your touch. Not for pleasure,but for rationalizing  pleasing acts. Balancing our inhibitions this transition occur, and we shall ponder upon a thing given to us for pondering. Now you’re within the crystal globe and I’m without satisfaction of your loathing touch. Because I’m now expressionless fear not the idea you’ve discerned, but continue loving this self-same day.We live within time ecstatic as we shall dwell within each other’s heart. Love is a thing capable of being presented from every walk of life but being loved is a thing experienced within the experience.

To all bloggers I love; let us experience  recollection of a thing obscured for the sake of us. Without we might never pursue it’s meaning.

 

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