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We Will All Know PovertyHearts fooled, fouled, full
Arteries throb, clogged with shadows
With truth, no room for the other
Who is demanding
Who is begging
The self, cut in two
The self can see
No more truth
Clogged with shadows
The good life
All needing now
Gorging on each other
Becoming the other
Poverty, the bifurcation of self
A well heart wealth
Shining Under the SunOntological definition,
Why has life got to be such as mission.
Just let those labels go, dance with me and go with the flow.
The Will to Life or the Will to Power?
Choose the sweet life.
Not the sour.
Self-determination has got to be earned.
Look into you heart.
See what you learn.
Be still in nature.
Let yourself go we are all connected.
Zoom out and see Self-symmetry
Return to your roots
There's no limit to me
Mandlebrot and Julia
Lovers in infinity
Transcend Reality become divinity
Ego nature kills your soul.
You're the subject not the object.
You're the whole.
Don't give into the madness of society.
Be at peace and come with me.
Mental constructs are guides to life.
Don't believe in dogma.
It leads to strife.
The meta-physical we cannot know.
Until our demise.
We reap what we sew.
Love, compassion and not blind hate.
Wisdom not ignorance.
These are goals you should make.
Never forget that we are all one.
Floating on a ball under the sun.
Life the universe we should
Homogenised identityA curd festers on the top of a glass
Floating above the homogenised
Relative and pointing
At the curd
Relative to the curd
Fighting to sink
Under A Gibbous MoonIt was a dark evening, the light of a starkly gibbous moon shone ominously onto a lone Arkham building. A place rooted firmly into one of the more undesirable districts of that cursed city. The light trickled through into its Georgian interior, as if afraid of the dancing shadows it threw forward like devilish spectres. The pointed ears and peaked form of something alien to the world were cast darkly onto Howard Phillip Lovecraft by the softly tortured light. He sat reading the "The Cask of Amontillado", muttering to himself, strange musings punctuated by the curling of his lips. The cat's shadow disappeared and the scene seemed twisted for a moment, silent but for the screams of another world that could be heard echoing in the dark circuitous passageways of his mind.
Lovecraft stared stoically at the aged paper before him, pensive as he ignored this all too familiar experience. He closed the book, self indulgent self hatred and adoration of his erstwhile peer an
Tautological Transposition: As Do IWhen will the will be willing
The mind, like an arrow, goes forth
But strays from its path
Only when true will it happen, peerless, the will
Being fickle and unpredictable, choosing its own path
The path of affectation and the willed path, the duality of man
The nature of it
All contradictions that define
A man of two minds, desire and the desired
All things being equal but different:
I can breathe, yet I do not.
I am existence, yet existence is without me
Arrows fly, dulled points stray
They do not connect.
The great between
Oh the will of it all, the one and of the one
No two exist, separate but connected vessals
I want and I do not
I believe, yet I do not believe
That this mirror stares into
A reflection on the only path, the chaotic path
Self determination and fate, a coexistant possibility
I believe, yet I do not believe
Arrows fly, arcing to their end,
No matter the desired, no matter the outcome:
They always strike their target
They fly, de
Parable of the Raging RiverOn opposite sides of a river valley lived two farmers with their families- one strong and young, the other a little older. One day a storm rolled in, and the river flooded.
Their homes were destroyed- stone and wood scattered by the raging river. Their loved ones cold and without shelter, both men were angry at the loss.
"I will not stand for this!" the strong farmer cried. "We have the right to live in safety and harmony. We did nothing wrong- but the river struck us. This injustice will not happen again- I will stop the river, destroy it, foul its course!"
He took his sons and prepared, collecting stone, timber, and tools to stop the river.
"Come, help us!" He called to the elder farmer. "The river is your enemy too."
The elder thought, then said no.
"What's wrong with you!" cried the first farmer. "Don't you want your family to be safe?"
"Of course I do. But I do not stand against the river."
"You would allow harm to come
Your servantYour a witch giant who has different servants that your can do what ever you want which one we'll be your personal servant ?
1) max/Lisa - makes your dinners
2) sam/ Alice - plaything
3) Tristan / Nikki- they we'll do anything u want
18+ is allowed
Sitting in Chains. I'm sitting in chains, condemned to my own personal hell, to the darker side of my mind that has withered and aged beyond my years, Whispering my fears to me quietly in the dead of night, edging me further into the abyss of time, time that will eventually throw me at the feet of my inevitable death. But until then I will continue this deadly masquerade until one day I pull the mask off and fall into oblivion.
Shadows on the WallsShadows on the Walls
The shadows flickered on the walls, as they did every night. The room was empty save for them, and the stiff, inflexible mattress upon which he lay. The shadows danced a flexuous dance that captivated Ivan's soul. He had come to name them; they were his only friends, after all. He named them by their attributes. There was Pointy Shadow: a shadow with many sinister spikes, which jutted out from its undulating figure, splattered against the dull, blistering canvas that was the peeling walls of Ivan's small apartment. It abided in the left corner of the room. Then there was Elusive Shadow, a shadow that was not always there. It appeared every so often—when the moon reached its zenith. Then there was Wavy Shadow, appearing as a rippling tide in the far right-hand corner of the room. It was diminutive and serene, but when the darkness was at its strongest, it would surge and flow as a tempestuous ocean. One final shadow remained: the Unmoving Shadow. Barely
The Red BalloonThe Red Balloon
There was once a girl called Bella who everyday on the way to school would pass a man selling balloons. One particular morning Bella noticed a big red balloon right at the back of the bunch that the man was holding and instantly fell in love with it.
'Mum, Mum can I get that balloon?'
she would ask everyday, only to hear the reply of,
'No Bella! It's a waste of money and it will just shrivel up and die!'
Bella would always sigh and look away, perhaps she would never get the balloon...
But one day she had an idea. Maybe if she saved up all her pocket money, she could sneak out and buy it.
So that is what she did.
One sunny day after school Bella went to the man who sold the balloons and bought the big red balloon that she has been dreaming of for so long. As soon as she got it everything felt amazing; she twirled around the street with it and danced along the pavement.
But then she remembered her mother. She wouldn't be very happy that Bella had bought the balloon - or g
MetamorphosisI have always been a caterpillar.
I eat and eat and squirm around things. I hide from predators. I may look cute, but I am still a bug.
One day I decided I couldn't keep surviving with a squishy exterior.
Squirming and hiding is no way to live.
I dreamt of a day when I would grow strong and beautiful and fly far away to drink in the sweetness of life and be admired.
So I built myself a chrysalis. I was worried at first because I could no longer see anything outside of myself.
But it was strong and protected me.
I broke myself down and I built myself back up, hoping to outgrow these strong walls as something stronger. Something free.
When the day finally came with a harsh crack of sunlight, I froze. I squinted. I hissed.
Unaccustomed to my new form, I fell out of my cocoon, a long ways down and could not fly immediately.
When my plated wings finally cracked open in desperation, I glided--a short distance--with a sickening buzz.
This isn't right. What have I become?
I stagger towa
El monje y la ninfaEn toda mi vida como monje de esta región de la alta montaña he aprendido valiosas lecciones. He adquirido inestimables enseñanzas de sabiduría en los libros antiguos, sobre la importancia de la paz consigo mismo y con aquellos que les rodean. Sin embargo no hay mejor maestro en ningún domo como lo es la naturaleza misma. He dedicado arduas horas de mi vida a observar inocentemente a todas las formas que nos rodean, a conectar sus espíritus con el mío, porque todo lo que nos rodea acá es vida y no menos que vida libre. Una de las que más cautivó mi atención fue la pequeña ninfa que encontré cerca de la fuente que da al río.
Recién había terminado los quehaceres que me correspondían y me aventuraba entre los alrededores para conocer mejor el lugar, a pesar de haber sucedido esto cuando era joven puedo contemplar en mi memoria con claridad aquel primer encuentro. Me sentaba con la mirada perdida en los b
Getting Lost in The Everfree ForestTo many ponies, the Everfree Forest can be a frightening place. It's untamed, full of mystery, and unknown dangers. The Pegasus ponies don't control the weather nor do the Earth ponies cultivate the land. While it is frightening, there are many beauties that hide in this world too that are alien to Ponyville. The Castle of the Two Sisters hides here. Many of the wildlife call the Everfree Forest their homes. Though we live in Ponyville, we have a world within us that is the Everfree Forest. We may not be aware of it but at some point in our lives, we awaken to the fact that we are right dab in the middle of the Everfree Forest, with the direction to go to back to Ponyville a mystery to us. It may be terrifying for someponies but it's not all bad. The Everfree Forest has some pit stops that are safe like Zecora's hut or the Castle of the Two Sisters. These serve as markers to help us find our way back to Ponyville. We als
At the Center of the MazeMy pen glided over the paper, turning around one bend, hitting a dead end, backtracking, picking a different path. Eventually, it made its way to the center of the page. And then, nothing. The maze was complete.
I always found pleasure in mazes, starting with the kids’ menus at restaurants and graduating into the much more challenging mazes that I occasionally print off the computer. Unlike the kids’ menus, however, the mazes I currently execute no longer provide a reason for finding the end. This bothers me, especially when it comes to the circular mazes. Why in the world would one desire to find the middle of a maze? Wouldn’t that person just find himself trapped. What could possibly be there that could be worth all of that work? I used to come up with my own story in order to satisfy my doubts, but I met somebody recently that explained to me the real reason to finding the center of the maze.
It was a qui
Humble me SensieHong Kong in 1978. The set of a new movie: Monkey hand. Dragon paw. During a recess in filming a stuntman approached the star martial artist. "Sensei, I wish to challenge you. Humble me and make me a better man".
The Sensei was no good man, "I put two of you down yesterday. Will you never learn," he spat. As his challenger was stood head bowed the Sensei launched at him with a vicious side kick aimed through his head at his neck, an attack that could cripple a man.
The challenger allowed gravity to do his work, as his body fell forward towards the ground. At the bottom of his roll he tackled the Sensei he had shown utmost respect for, with a scissor assault at his single standing leg, forcing him to the ground.
The challenger used the momentum to launch himself back to his feet. He said to the Sensei's amazed eyes, "humble me Sensei," as he brought an axe kick around and down upon his chest.&
five hour energyi suppose
last week was only an aftershock
of the earthquake you were before.
this place used to vibrate
with metal strings and melodic,
testimonies to life,
emitting coffee-scented moods
and the burn of it too.
i had memorized the
sounds of silence,
i couldn't help but relish it.
no longer had i known
the sounds of folk
and scent of mocha-
you became nothing more
than an echo of the laughter
i so desperately needed to hear again.
then the echoes got louder,
bouncing ferociously off the walls
to be made manifest
i walked into your room
expecting exactly what i found-
an unmade bed,
and an empty beer
(the one that you insisted you needed
just days ago).
i pressed my nose
into the pillow
for incense and cologne and starbucks
to penetrate my mind
and thinking fervently
i already know
what a clean sheet smells like."
how strong an aftershock can be,
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scheinbar is a much-loved and well-known deviant. Just one look at her gallery, filled with enchanting photography, will have you mesmerized. A deviant for over 7 years, Christiane can always be found posting inspirational features as well as regularly commenting on other deviations and encouraging and empowering her fellow deviants. We are inspired and insist that you too stop by and congratulate ... Read More