woke up - silly and in love,
talked some,
then wished for - death from above.
not quite Dali’s clocks…more, a never repeating digital marquee, scrolling quickly away from me.
prose slips from my mind. lost, forever. buried. quickly, covered by shifting dunes. another would-be treasure. hidden, by the sands of time.
windblown.
the new word. (apologies for the radio silence…)
I’ve been busy.
see, I was raptured on May 21st.
now, I’m back…to lead you all astray.
I have new word for the masses. new stories, new prose, new verses.
I herald from on high, with an account, of the day of rapture until today.
If I’m sinking don’t save me.
If I’m sinning don’t blame me.
If I’m sighing don’t shush me.
It does not shame me.
shroud me with love. i come back from above.
shower me with gold. truth has costs, i’m told.
shedding old skin. new life is paved with instruction…shall we begin?
and all words shall be marked.
and all verse shall be sung.
and all tales shall be told.
and all knots shall be undone.
this is law. follow, and ye shall be followed.
common threads and theme. hot water begets steam.
we have progressed. let us not digress.
cherish this life. it’s all that’s truly yours.
cling to no strife. hate is the cauldron whence death pours.
this is the word. you have read, thus you have heard.
this prose was for free: a price which will not sustain the truth.
this burden of truth, first-hand account of rapture, weighs heavy on me.
money is a man-made demigod.
let it flow from you free. let it flow, from you to me.
truth will neither fade, nor change. it’s virtues, we shall laud.
(although, as light passes through a prism, distortions may change it’s way.)
I’ve been busy.
all who doubt, be cursed.
truth and light, pour forth, and onward from this day.
…shall we pray?
life’s like a box of chocolates…
life’s a card game… really, it’s all about how one combines two variables, which ultimately determine the outcome: who wins and how much. the two variables: the cards dealt and the cunning with which they’re utilized.
goodbye to lullaby
dining on the delight of mind for the night. tasting the fruit of subconscious. falling into that which is always simultaneously honest, and a lie. crashing quickly through the constraints of reality. falling fast onto the net of an auto-piloted mind. compiling arbitrary thoughts with hopes and ‘to do’ lists into visions of ‘might.’ closing lashes like shutters. slowly slipping away from scant remaining light. goodnight.
Teenage, me. Defines Beauty.
To me, beauty is non-conformity and individualism.
Beauty is this in everything, not just people’s appearances but in nature and life as well. The stamped out image that the television and our society dictates as popular and attractive doesn’t appeal to me as beauty; that ‘beauty’ is just a copy and, in schools, would be considered plagiarism. It strikes me as wonderful when I see something unique, something like the Grand Canyon, or something like a house designed by Frank Lloyd Wright. Beauty is something that excites my senses and stimulates my mind. Beauty can be expressed in many forms: words, pictures, art, people, places, architecture, etc. Beauty is everywhere. An act can be beautiful… Doing something to help someone in dire need? That is beautiful. What is beauty if we see it over and over? That is not beauty, it’s redundant. Society should not dictate to us, the definition of beauty. Beauty is unique and it does not change because it is told to.
That is beautiful.
Disambiguation.
Timothy A. Far
Heir to nothing.
Inventor of everything but anything.
Given everything.
Created nothing.
Squanderer of precious resources.
Abuser of caring hearts.
Escaper of responsibility.
Yes, that’s me.
Trite are the tribulations.
Tremendous are the failures.
Heinous are the indulgences.
Sparse is the work to earn them.
Indecisive administrator of his own life.
Directionless wanderer.
Opportunities wasted, as wide as the sea.
Yeah, that’s me.
Oh heavens… why does that have to be?
Oh heavens… why does it have to be?
Oh heavens… why have i made…that…me?
Keys. Purpose. Peeling away the long standing shades.
Senses reeling. Like cheap and easy rhyming, Sucked into a rythym of terrible and predictably OFF, timing. It’s a process; Seeing past feeling…. The mind’s grinding gears are continually cranking, interlocking, in a manner near perfection, keys to their effecient operation, kept as their [most important] secret. It’s a multide of veil after veil; the covers that need throwing off. This process of pealing; the pulling back of feeling. It’s the very notion of seeking the manner of best operating our own perpetual motion machine. That which operates within me. It’s layers of disguise, mirages of false hope plaguing inward pearing eyes, which stand between insight and clarity.
Understanding the nature of a machine’s operation…precision of it’s inner workings…is the manner by which one can best utilize the machine itself, toward it’s intended end.
Knowledge of purpose.
Battle jealousy of those which possess their own keys…theirs are not ones, which will open me. Theirs will not open me. Mine is mine alone.
