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Delusion Ride

 

I just found these pages.

I am fired up to re-read all the non­sen­si­cal gib­ber­ish.
Lan­guages with­ered by local tra­di­tions.
A sys­tem of wis­dom refined by coallisions.

Who the fuknose.

It seems I should start from the begin­ning.
There were colors.

Eager senses swirling in delight.
In the dance. IN the dance.
Unknown to the trou­bled.
Mys­tery puz­zles.
Dream­ing in sequence with rea­son dis­cov­ered.
Influence.

Included are moments of self-realization.
Amidst the vaca­tion, pre­cip­i­ta­tion.
Rain­fall. Brains are soaked with aware­ness thats fatal.
A knowl­edge of evil, OUR destruc­tive nature.
The cir­cle begins, con­fu­sion sets in.
Alive with feel­ings col­lid­ing within.
A sign we are find­ing dying. Breath­ing it in.

Until the color returns.

11.14.11

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Sequen­tial dilem­mas.
Expen­sive agen­das.
Relent­ing dis­cre­tion.
Reck­less endeavors.

11.14.11

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Love in her eyes.
Flow­ers tucked in curls.
Even when she cries.
Her tears shine like pearls.

1.30.11

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Col­lid­ing spir­its ride together.
Rain­ing sun­shine.
Cloud­less weather.
Every week is the lov­ing sea­son.
It seems my breath­ing bleeds with reason.

1.30.11

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Maybe we can braid our brains before it fades.
Expect the unex­pected and just love and live affected.
Cir­cu­lar hyp­no­sis eye to eye remain­ing focused.
What is real? The non­sense shar­ing minds and stream­ing con­scious.
Only cer­tainty is the ride.
Built to love and than we die.

1.30.11

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The brain escapes when the eye­lids descend. Or at least it tries. The jour­ney will never be fully divided from every­day hap­pen­ings. Action reac­tion. Daily hands sculpt the twisted mess that pull our dream strings. Some­times faces are famil­iar. Per­haps their faces have evolved. Often times their struc­ture is com­pletely for­eign to the eyes of our past. Des­ti­na­tions can wan­der between sim­ple and com­plex. Can leap from evening to day break, hill­side to desert, known to non­sense. At times we are no place at all. Some­times our wide-eyed foot­steps pop back in to sleep moves, some­times those very moves are a defin­ing eye prefix.

2.15.09

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The wind dips and dives as the light slowly eases into hid­ing. Quiet rus­tles accent sun­splash sky­lines with a twist of rea­son and a turn of inde­cent influ­ence. A tidal wave break­ing against the inner pan­els, threat­en­ing a stream­line takeover. A deep touch of pas­sion that snakes through the sys­tem, end­ing with a gen­tle curl of the upper lip.

Hap­pi­ness.

2.16.09

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Thrive on won­der.
Thrive on jour­ney.
Thrive. Simply.

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A jossled jalopy doesn’t purr its a moan. Every street is uneven on the way to a dead end. Threads of hawai­ian with insults to the head. A sleepy eyed stum­ble with nog­gin pain to match. A catch of a snif­fle a cough and a tickle. Phys­i­cal sore­ness and men­tal con­fu­sion. Short arm­ing dreams and bleed­ing delu­sions. A sleep so unset­tled with night­mare inclu­sion. But still through the rain glides the hand of affec­tion, pro­vid­ing the mind with the lovestruck injection.

2.16.09

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Maybe insane maybe enlight­ened.
Maybe in love maybe fright­ened.
Maybe just reach­ing.
Maybe never find­ing.
Maybe just preach­ing.
Maybe idol­iz­ing.
Maybe a source of inspi­ra­tion.
Maybe lost com­mu­ni­ca­tion.
Maybe delu­sional rid­ing non­sense I com­pile.
But maybe. Just maybe. I can leave the world some smiles.

9.19.11

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In a time of search­ing schemes to love you when I leave.
Absorbed by times ela­tion­is­tic carv­ing of my dreams.
Cap­tured cap­ti­va­tion and imag­i­na­tion wine.
Danc­ing tran­scen­den­tal vision while I still have time.

9.19.11

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Impact the world in a minute with a sen­tence.
Maybe per­haps for now sim­ply end­less.
Strange how a piece of art can influ­ence.
Los­ing your mind can be cre­ative if you choose it.
Induced by love. Hate and rev­e­la­tion.
Chas­ing free­dom flow­ers. Find­ing my dis­place­ment.
Rac­ing lifes arrange­ment. Laced lost and face­less.
Embrac­ing todays sun. Tomor­rows may evade me.

9.8.11

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Fade away rais­ing stakes a chasers fate cre­at­ing faith.
Run­ning fear­ful nowhere place undone unclear awake unsafe.
Insanely arranged and beg­ging to stay fore­vers attained through all we create.

9.6.11

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Spirit of the lingo.
Gears that lack and coun­ter­act abstract with thoughts of flight.
Where do my wings go?

1.5.11

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