Posts Tagged ‘Art’

How will our actions define our intention. Suppose we return for rejuvenation of days in deliverance. Suppose we return to resonate sins of the heart to rhythms of how they’re defined. For belief we violate sanctity of real things we’ve wanted with things we grant power, but no-longer pursue of after those things become vague impressions of our now. For those nibbling from the bread of plenty enticing the idea of perpetual sensuality, and then submitting the deed unto into the hand of the abyss the things we’d accept as real desire cast into nought in an act of sin. Sinning greater and more dangerous sin, for who? For what? Why submit thyself  to sin sins of lust and envy, but unto those things cast thee our faith into darkness for not. Certainly I’ve not accepted any bindings, being bound with thee for reaping nothing of reward un-condemned. For your repeated offense, and condemnation of faith, return hence for the path thou follow for guiding you unto you. If thou return hither to gather the fruit of unwanted Sin, let us both be accused of sinning unwanted sin, so we shall be cast in unto never-ending darkness.  Let us retrieve the sins of our loved and cherished. Their heart’s tethered unto life’s song. because in the abyss, we’re separated by space and time. Like wise is the distance great betwixt thee and me where we’d strive through Sin’s delusion. Let our journal defy unwanted dreams of desire. For things clandestine our sins shall be untainted. Here thou hast been granted eternity of living dream. Here thou established reason to proclaim employment as sins repeat offender. For eternity our word as written shall be man’s function. For sin, our hearts beat within us now. Our hearts beat with tempo of faith renowned.

To the bloggers I love; delusion is for the deluded, but lies are for the evils of this world.

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During season of change,nought manifests for not, and that transition bringeth forth reaping. Through fields of indecision and of things undecided, we walk. Contrasted in indifferent things, and conflicted our garden lie un-veiled for those having eyes. Stand thou, within the multitude of fruit feast for your soul. See the thorn in-garlanded flesh of our hearts desire. Brandish thee, Sin’s scythe and reap for bounty of laboring  hither. Sin not of past indulgence, or sin of un-desired sin,  this is a thing of new indulgence. Now we’ve everlasting tomorrow without vanity,  but with abundance  of a sinner’s salvation knowing nought of nothing. In sin, we devour contradiction of sinners while being caressed with dew from heaven. For our sin we shew forth with forgiveness, a sinner’s acceptance. forgiving each sin for sins intrusion of infiltrating humanities foundation. Brandish your scythe and reap for our living. Praise thee the house  for the undead aren’t yet converted. Reap thou of the fruit, and repent for time ‘s reborn.

For all the bloggers I love; I hope this is as enticing to read as it was writing.

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The stripes on my back; I wear them for the affliction thou cast upon me. Browsing storehouses of someone elses dreams contributed from humanity, and paid for in full, with currency made from our sin. Contributions from humanity, and humanity’s tendency of dramatizing everything it touches. Cached for someone else, somewhere else under standards falsely guaranteed. Do I play a prisoner for your amusement, or am I enticement of your fetish like accord? For your self-inflicted pleasure, be sanctioned for you. If I accept discipline from yon, otherwise delicate hand, and for you I’m bound in a place of sin and confined in your reign. Because of these sins confessed shall people assume your sins are equally great compared to mine own? Certainly I am a vain sinner believing you and I share the same dream. I only have glimpsed into your soul finding only your dream and your idea of wealth. Idea nurtured from the whip, I’m whipped. Vain glory is yours!Our sins are not the in the same heart, and the fantasy wither like gardens in end.  If we’re pleased by disposition of woe, each lash I receive define me as sacrifice for greater sin and for your glory. For nought, our delusion replenish not. From the hand of woe, let riches from digital age in-garlanded us. Let our multitudes search the cache of someone else and their interpretation of what we are.  A gem among jewels, despite the agony of affliction given. Perfection and the imperfection. The thorn on the crown of rose wreathed for glory of sinners.

My search lead me into a journey of someone elses creating. Foul defines the act of being lured by the image of fair maidens in roles paralleling things known as real. Finding false dreams on scores of pages in someone elses storehouse is another inspiration from the hand of euphoria. To all the bloggers I love; Perhaps availability of material for reading more is for justifying need of something from someone else, or, ones self.

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There are certain situations a man can become obsessed of a woman from another race or culture. The media can present those woman to a person. Eva Mendes, Maggie Q, or any of the dark complected girls from any CW television network productions will be examples used for this post. I’ve always thought a person can’t hate another person because that people is the perfect them, but not being perfect can subject a person vulnerable to judgement. I include these woman due to the nature of the entertainment productions they were affiliates of, and the nature of content those presentations. A person can feel admired as a result of any content appearing like an obscure insinuation of having those womans favor.

The fruit of imperfection growing from the seed of disorder and fantasy. The straight and narrow path lead us into deliverance from the unknown, and false infatuations for appeal of the physical world still obstructs the new path, and we stand on the threshold of perfect and imperfect things. For sustenance of our inheritance the things subjecting us to a less perfect path are not acceptable. For the things people can obsess about, we can read and write in accordance to the object of our obsession. Thus! We will stand for another lifetime as generations before us had, in the threshold of judgment. As a deed done unto our Mistress of despair, and for their persistence we accept the object of our obsession when presented. For perfection of disorder we hate them, and for imperfection we are bound to adore those objects.

Until each person can grasp the entirety of their ambitions, let our objects be in-garlanded by blossoming fruit from our masters garden. Let the deliberate imperfections we witness wear their crown of thorns but not with vainglory.

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How often does Sophia V. present herself to the eye of the public? Does she present herself to the public only after I spend the afternoon shopping in the local K-mart. How often does anyone suffer the Narcissus complex if a few elements of that complex are absent from that persons prognosis. I  view each episode of those obscured television shows, being reminded I’ve been observed by an adverse thing. Some of the title screens, reminders, and other advertisements for television network productions resemble the color of the flower Narcissus morphed into. I can remember playing melodic harmonies, and ad-libbing songs using parallel comparisons to celebs and our present situation. I have heard many harmonies during productions like Being Human, The Vampire Diaries, etc. Despite my utter need to perceive myself as an object of Echos’ admiration, I can see the races, people, cultures, and cliché I try to avoid. I cannot be forced to integrate into myself, but I shall take the things of myself from the things I despise. Like the fruit of Echos‘ garden, as an apparition I am. A thing mediated from a vain thing not of itself. For the thing integrating me into me, my thoughts get plagued from doubt. Doubt of the things’ integrity as a race, person, or culture. The seal of authenticity is unbroken, and the legacy branches again. For salvation of vain things, let me be plagued with the waiting for sounds of trumpets. for the sounding of trumpets only the inheriting branch will remain. Wash away the divers, and plague the consecrated from the vessel of things made whole. If my mind’s plagued again from contrary things, I shall take authority over all races, cultures, and cliché to rectify my educated mind. For vain thoughts are vain things, and from vain things are arrogant actions of the ego.

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                              Experiencing lifes’ clandestined surprises, I never thought they could occur, so quickly. That dark,

 alluring  mistress, has surprised me in a most peculiar fashion. I shall probably never know her as anything other than

 my mistress of despair. Again I translate, by aid of my dark muse, the character andpersonality of carnal violators. I’m

 certain maybe the affair betwixt my mistress and I might only be justified by the actions of my mistress. For the

ravaging hunger of despair, generated from the want and need of something she and I already possesses I’m certain

these things have befallen me. As I witness all those minds the righteous seed and the hosts that seed was sewn in I

wonder how mediators exist. Despite the hand life was given to us, lifes’ grand  design is disregarded and taken for


                               I’m certain my dark muse plucked her instrument  compelling by her grand will. Due to the nature of the

things manifest, from the song I sang. Using an ancient paradigm  I ad-libbed more lyric than many  current musician or

author. Many thing from that knowledge, and the things transpiring were not accounted for until the day my mistresses

alluring will, compelled me to act. By chance, Amy Lee could have written anything unparalleled compared to

the purpose of those songs, I might have kissed my mistress good-bye. Though the recent writings of Amy,  persuaded

me to pursue my lust for a darker despair. I do hope everyone understands the things many people have forgotten over

the last century. Those things too many people have neglected in their productions. Mass media, depends

on  applied science, and literature  for purpose of their existence.

                               Behold , as I have played the herald bringing the works of my dark mistress unto the hearts of the those

reaping the fruit of despair. Again, my mistress has woven mad things into the fabric of my mentality, and  I am her

child. Because I am her child, I’m assured I will live to tell tales of grief and lust. These things also approach living

things and all those things are subject to their creator.

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Hiking Photography

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sharing the joy of the human spirit in mid air around the world