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🌱
my Stance rely on Grass. perfect posture molt by the Ground. the Sun squeeze Me until I condensate and evaporate upon Myself. the Sky hooks my compulsion to release My hazy stare on It. I bend Myself to find My feet. and between My hooves I see the only Black atop the Green and surround by Sky. I understand I need to know This. I rise and Shamble through memories of the Grass. the Color changes as I explore but the wind blinks Its change sometimes to often. and when It does that I forget the first image, if I saw It again Id never learn. but One Thing stay real, the Black. but now, Its Brown below, and shaped closer to recognition. and after the repetitive process of gullible reconnaissance the Weather changes Its final time, It is clear. and when I look up, It is there. A clean Fawn-Crow. the Utter Reflection, of what is Mother. of What is calamity that is of Me. It Stands like I do, just as It rose and Stumbled along to Me, as I Stand and watch Its voyage closer to memory. and now I know what it all was for. but still, I want to Walk like that again. so I lay, and dream in the Light of the Sky, as Clouds perform.
4d ago
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🕳once I dreampt I fell in the crack of two pavement slabs. The fall was weak and subtle, but long and extensive. I could only reach the bottom once I braced myself, and I touched ground with my toes. Followed by heels. And I felt no pressure on my knees. But when I looked around it was so expansively dark, so clean and gradual. The floor looked like a gradient of baby blue to deep black in shadow. And the floor had such soft texture, trillions of tiny grooves and crevices to dozens of small gapes and caverns. Feeling it i felt like I was shaking a hand. And the blood of the opposing secreted out of it and into me, to warm me, to extend me. And after putting my palm against its, I felt my souls seep lower to feel it too. I had no shoes, no protection, I was naked. Exposed. But it felt so right when I lay on my back, my arms unparalleled. I felt euphoria like the calmest of deaths. And I lay still until I noticed the shift, I was on my feet again, my back on the wall now. And emerging from the limitless black I saw a glow of orange. Or pink. Or peach. A phosphorescent button held up by two eyes. And then a face. The structure was blue as the palm of my stability, and smooth as the wall behind. It points its fingers above us, and then to me. Where its omnipotent cornia traveled down its jugular to the four tips at my forehead. It left a sclera in its loss. And when it got that close, it burned me, it burned my soul, and it boiled my chemistry. And it pierced my forehead until I was blind. A blindness filled with color, and pattern. A blindness with utter understanding. I knew it all now, that this is my conscience. That this is experience, that this is existence. And I knew every word across each apparition of each tongue. This feeling dichotomizes my previous rest, and my future rest, but paralleled and copied our eternal form and sight. But when I grasped it all, I was lifted back above my concrete, my vision restored. My memory exhaust. In my knees. I see my door before its invert. With my hand still shaking its hand. And I look down to my feet, my toes warm, and the crack on my porch looking so familiar. So welcoming. Like the arms of my favor.
Rec
i used to chase rainbows
walk a few blocks maybe
then turn around cause i always knew it was fruitless
now i do the same for sunsets
try to stay up for sunrises
i never succeeded but i always look back
i keep swinging and dreaming of the sun rise i never saw all i have is the orange horizon that never finishes its downfall
i close my eyes and listen to the cicadas i take a deep breath and ask god to change but i open my eyes and the sun isn't set hours after it was supposed to
my legs are tired but i wish to swing my head hurts but i can breath the car lights blind me and i hope they don't think of me
the bright fluorescent lights highlight my growing roots not blonde but not entirely brown dull and indecisive
so the next day, I walked further, I tried to see the sun for a better angle since I once again missed the rise I seem to have walked quite too far, so the sky was blank, covered by trees and high skylines so I go back and turn around feeling the cars go by me almost hitting me each time, and I immediately regret that I didn't walk even further to see what was beyond the bend, maybe the trees would clear away and i’d finally see the set from a perfect angle I hope one day I'd find myself back to a tall mountain Ridge where I could see the fall and theoretically the rise all by myself and nothing else in mind but i didnt take advantage when i did have that perfect spot
i keep swinging and dreaming of the sun rise i never saw all i have is the orange horizon that never finishes its downfall
i close my eyes and listen to the cicadas i take a deep breath and ask god to change but i open my eyes and the sun isn't set hours after it was supposed to
my legs are tired but i wish to swing my head hurts but i can breath the car lights blind me and i hope they don't think of me
the bright fluorescent lights highlight my growing roots not blonde but not entirely brown dull and indecisive
so the next day, I walked further, I tried to see the sun for a better angle since I once again missed the rise I seem to have walked quite too far, so the sky was blank, covered by trees and high skylines so I go back and turn around feeling the cars go by me almost hitting me each time, and I immediately regret that I didn't walk even further to see what was beyond the bend, maybe the trees would clear away and i’d finally see the set from a perfect angle I hope one day I'd find myself back to a tall mountain Ridge where I could see the fall and theoretically the rise all by myself and nothing else in mind but i didnt take advantage when i did have that perfect spot
Rec
😃We are just at the beginning, eventually the stage was set for us. Bleeding through the pages. finding my voice, only to scream at the abyss, This is who I am. As much as the rest of me doesn’t care. We root ourselves in between the collapse of judgement and mentor those who seek refuge in the confines of rebellion, judge us now, before it is too late. Let the gates wide open roll through the next stage of who you are. Find peace in the precipice of sanity. Clutch your pearls. Relinquish all doubt. This steak through the heart leads to a rebirth of mind, body and soul. Choose wisely who to judge. Leap forth and cast a spell that will last forever. It is a tone of fear. Just as all of us spare ourselves the nuisance of senile delinquent bravery, so too do you realise what we have become. A pity party of miles and miles of stone. Unbothered and feather light. They shine a light on the wicked, we set the trenches for them to die. Rise from the ashes like a phoenix. And die again. This is what we call fate of words. Speech is just meandering thoughts finding their way to us through a disguise. A mask worn like a shield. It is messy business to not decide ourselves from entanglement. An escape from the world we choose. We seek refuge in confines of sanity. Everything else is just nonsensical strong arming, take a target out to the field, feast upon it. Remember who you are at the center. That is who you have always been. A disciple bearing fruit. From a tree in the desert. This seems rational for now atleast. It could last a lifetime. Pain, anger, meaning. All dissipate at the vision of a truth that is walking and feeling just like I do. That is who I choose for myself to be whole again. It drains me to see the plastic shelf empty. The books on the floor. Mud on the walls. A snake in the grass lurking for food. Watching me as I go. This is what it has become after all this time. A sight to see. Imagine if I step on it would it cry out for help or attack me as a gesture of love and admiration. To create you must first find where to place the calmness of your skin. Only then do you don the wool of the sheep. It is quite alarming to suggest otherwise but sincerely speaking it can go either way. Find a clasp and fit on a bunch of roses let them change in every way and water them back to life. That is the circle. It is quite a thing to behold. We are all here for pleasure and that is important for rest and counting on the last page. This mouth speaks volumes. It has mountains closing in and rapture of a banquet. Seize all information and take it home to unfold in a library of safety. Yet here we are. Unannounced and determined. Go ahead ask what you were going to ask. Say it with pride. It is only a sentence after all. Which of you is alive and who will be the decider of what happens next. Perhaps that is the beauty of the unknown. To dance with ash as armor. Perhaps our fate is sealed after all. Do dance for me
Top Recs from @brAdAwl
Rec
🕳once I dreampt I fell in the crack of two pavement slabs. The fall was weak and subtle, but long and extensive. I could only reach the bottom once I braced myself, and I touched ground with my toes. Followed by heels. And I felt no pressure on my knees. But when I looked around it was so expansively dark, so clean and gradual. The floor looked like a gradient of baby blue to deep black in shadow. And the floor had such soft texture, trillions of tiny grooves and crevices to dozens of small gapes and caverns. Feeling it i felt like I was shaking a hand. And the blood of the opposing secreted out of it and into me, to warm me, to extend me. And after putting my palm against its, I felt my souls seep lower to feel it too. I had no shoes, no protection, I was naked. Exposed. But it felt so right when I lay on my back, my arms unparalleled. I felt euphoria like the calmest of deaths. And I lay still until I noticed the shift, I was on my feet again, my back on the wall now. And emerging from the limitless black I saw a glow of orange. Or pink. Or peach. A phosphorescent button held up by two eyes. And then a face. The structure was blue as the palm of my stability, and smooth as the wall behind. It points its fingers above us, and then to me. Where its omnipotent cornia traveled down its jugular to the four tips at my forehead. It left a sclera in its loss. And when it got that close, it burned me, it burned my soul, and it boiled my chemistry. And it pierced my forehead until I was blind. A blindness filled with color, and pattern. A blindness with utter understanding. I knew it all now, that this is my conscience. That this is experience, that this is existence. And I knew every word across each apparition of each tongue. This feeling dichotomizes my previous rest, and my future rest, but paralleled and copied our eternal form and sight. But when I grasped it all, I was lifted back above my concrete, my vision restored. My memory exhaust. In my knees. I see my door before its invert. With my hand still shaking its hand. And I look down to my feet, my toes warm, and the crack on my porch looking so familiar. So welcoming. Like the arms of my favor.
Rec
🏵You know once I read about a living man. I read that that man decided he was a woman. But not long after she said she was a man again. And after experiencing all and everything this world had to offer, he decided to deatomize. He wanted to be nothing. But what he didn’t realize is that nothing implies something, so instead of being nothing he decided he’d be everything. so in him he grew a star, then he grew two stars, then he grew three, then five, then eight, then thirteen, then twenty one. And this continued until one of the stars got bored, there was nothing, so it decided it wanted to be nothing, and it died. But what it didn’t realize is that it was too much to be nothing. So in its corpse it grew a pretty little rock, then two, then three, then five, then eight, then thirteen, then twenty one. And this continued until those Little Rock’s adopted themselves to the other stars nearby. And circled and played around them until two of the pretty rocks had an accident. One of them hit another, and the one that got hit grew, and the other shrunk. And that big rock became angry and the small one mockingly rotated it taking all its sight staring it in the eyes. And the big rock while enraged crackled and popped, and grew layers upon itself for so long. And once it was completely shelled off from everything else, something clicked. On it it now carried a cell. Now there was something that can experience. Now there was a reason for anything to happen, and everything but only within the steps of this eye. So now it all grew and became elegant. All showing off to this pretty rock. And few angry asteroids later, and a few orgasms, and a little blood. There was a living boy, and that boy grew into a living man. This living man would have a story written about him, and he would read it, and he would say it, and he would scream it, and he would realize it. And so life now birthed. Birth is metaphase. Death now understood as mitosis reversed. everything became real. we as I now see our reflections as my daughters and your parent. Breath through our lungs now.
Rec
👁in my experiments I am exposed. Where the hand of the cleansed pets my scalp, and digs its nails well under my meninges. And grasps onto my chiasm to force my head back out of where it rests, and where it’s been. And I see, the sky bore a pearl. The pinball above casts its atmosphere around us as a dome containing the fog of our skin. Shrouding my prints, and the tracks of my parents. And the map of our possibility is black as the forgotten while beneath. And when the hand releases, I fall to rest and exhaust my memory. And so it fades. Afterward, I walk a little past the white of our sclera onto the cornea, I feel chemical burns on my feet. But the warmth is so telling. So I look at the glow of the phosphorescent spots. They become real seeping through my sight from a figment to a child’s. And as I focus myself on them they grow and consume to create a light beyond the torches of my predecessors. It shows the path we must. Its ambiance lifts me from my souls and its light spreads my retinas to three dimensions over again. And as my skin disappears I see the marble. I reach, but I can only grab its ninth layer of armor. So I climb and conquer the phosphorus cushion to feel the dome. And I peer over it briefly before the shine in my lens smolders and my skull weighs me to the ground one step back. The cascade uninitiated, but close to repeating reliance.
3d ago