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Intuition Love Ballistic

 

Sea­sons greet­ings leav­ing peace­fully reap­ing schemes from thiev­ing fiends.
Read­ing means Im reach­ing clean.
Clear for my land­ing.
Bal­loons and candy.
Danc­ing brains and love is handy.
Eyes and curls and worlds col­lid­ing.
Coal­li­sion tied real­iz­ing ris­ing.
Pro­vid­ing hope to pesimisstic’s, cry­ing joy so realistic.

Intu­ition love ballistic.

12.29.10

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Con­stantly Search­ing Cause Answers Are Lurking.

12.26.10

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Find­ing my refined endeavor.
Find­ing ways to live for­ever.
Blinded by the rules and pres­sure.
Inspired by the wine and weather.
Refin­ing my designed endeavor.
Fly­ing high with free­dom feath­ers.
Bind­ing minds to live together.
Find­ing time to live forever.

12.29.10

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On the final leg of my jour­ney, I am reflec­tive.
Poi­soned by home I pro­ceed to relin­quish my fear of the unknown.
If I never left a place I would surely miss, I would only miss the places place to exist.
Endur­ing good­byes, embrac­ing hel­los, for­ever a crea­ture of the road.
A princess waits for me.
Whether vic­tims of fate or ani­mals of cir­cum­stance, we are souls con­nected.
Intro­spec­tive, inten­tions eccen­tric.
Relent­ing many men­tal defenses.
Evening crowns of now.
Con­fused, curi­ous,
adored, furi­ous,
floored, fright­ened,
bored, enlight­ened,
amused, con­cerned,
a learner serv­ing pur­pose liv­ing lost alone attempt­ing lifting.

12.29.10

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Coal­li­sionon­cer­do­ri­ous.
Flen­lightenore­de­ther.
Ignored.
The every­thing tour.

12.29.10

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Revok­ing non­sense divid­ing the injured and hold­ing a con­fer­ence.
Together in blue under uni­fied gray trad­ing regrets under dark­ness of day.
Under­stand­ing noth­ing.
Deal­ing with pain.
Rid­ing the tides.
Ignor­ing the rain.
Deserted by most.
A need to adjust.
All left on empty.
A nation of us.

12.29.10

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Under con­di­tions of thought­ful­ness.
Wish­ing. Cast­ing through mir­a­cle fish­ing.
Eager to con­quer legal exis­tence.
Rea­son filled with evil persistence.

12.31.10

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She used to be a wide eyed dreamer.
She has since grad­u­ated to the painful chase for enlightenment.

1.10.11

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Beliv­ing.
Liv­ing the believe.
Bleed­ing even stream.
Need­ing con­fir­ma­tion for the con­stant dec­la­ra­tion of ideals that gain cre­ation based on vital information.

1.10.11

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Incon­ve­nient truths can hang our senses on obtuse.
Dan­gling all our juice con­sumed by too much drank to use.
Inter­nal abuse set loose in jour­ney rid­dled minds.
Per­ceiv­ing all the truth to be the feel­ings slid­ing by.

1.10.11

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Inno­va­tion­is­tic engineer.

Com­mu­nal exis­tence with shift­ing ren­di­tions.
Wheels wheel­ing motion with dif­fer­ences lifted.
Sim­ply ani­mals col­labing abstract­ness.
Built from per­sis­tence and real­ized ambitions.

1.10.11

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A moment to myself to put the roses on the shelf.
If breath­ing still per­sists I have so much rea­son in me left.
I guess Im full of heart that sim­ply cant defend from theft.

1.25.11

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A piece goes here.
A piece goes there.
It seems Im fairly bro­ken.
A need thats rarely spo­ken.
What is this pain I feel when wounds heal.
When other suf­fer­ing is suf­fer­ing thats real.
Com­par­ing worlds: a com­par­i­son to resist.
Amidst this estab­lish­ment. The empty still exists.

1.25.11

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Scared lit­tle mice run­ning fright­ened from dice.
Bro­ken by haz­ards and past rec­ol­lec­tions.
Liv­ing was easy with­out the decep­tion.
Although we are beings who see all we miss.
We won­der if igno­rance may be our bliss.

1.30.11

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Trav­el­ing.
Won­der­ing.
Divided.
Con­fused.
Intro­spec­tive.
Abused.

Still breath­ing.

1.30.11

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Soular cir­cus.
Noth­ing ner­vous.
Con­cerned with words like dream and pur­pose.
Love is lurk­ing.
Hate is worthless.

Together we rise.
Above the surface.

2.22.11

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Fam­ily ties to widen eyes dri­ving where all oth­ers hide.

8.16.11

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Rain on me with my scream­ing eyes.
Break my brain to com­pro­mise.
Evening liv­ing.
Giv­ing fre­quent.
Reach­ing leav­ing.
Breath­ing decent.
Rain on me with your scream­ing thighs.

9.16.11

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Will­ing fill­ing milling aim­less.
Feel­ing waves deci­sions shame­less.
Under­toe of under­gar­ments grab­bing hold of hun­gry artists.
Haunt­ing curves in per­fect verbs shin­ing eyes and loss of words.
Kneel­ing steal­ing feel­ing giv­ing.
Their beauty makes this life worth living.

9.16.11

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My brother lives.
I walk for him.
He keeps me chas­ing aspi­ra­tions.
Embrac­ing and rac­ing for inspi­ra­tion.
We grabbed the world and spun it free.
I hope that he is proud of me.

9.16.11

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Dream sequence.
How weak knees get.

12.5.10

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Braid and ring and ear ear grin. A beauty within the everything.

Process stop­ping. Ink­ing, drop­ping.
Hop­ping thought to thought and broccoli.

Sense­less evenings.
With­ered feel­ings.
Breath­ing rea­sons seem so easy.

12.15.10

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Awful sick­ness.
Chicken quick­ness.
Lis­ten if you hate the sys­tem.
Crushed and used us all excluded.
Rev­o­lu­tion. All inclusive.

12.15.10

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Lift­ing
Drift­ing
Strictly
Fish­ing
Wish­ing
Words
Were
Different.

Sim­ply.

12.15.10

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There are events hap­pen­ing right before our eyes that we are unable to pre­vent. The most we can do is shake peo­ple awake. Invite them to join the rev­o­lu­tion. Unite hands to breathe solution.

12.21.10

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Jeal­ousy is a hor­ri­ble emo­tion. It seems impos­si­ble to remove it from our lives. How can we feel such com­fort in actions, that when rec­i­p­ro­cated, steal the air from our lungs?

12.21.10

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Sim­ply fan­tas­ti­cal. We are all caught up in pro­ject­ing life as a fan­tasy? Get out while you still can? The­o­ries and sta­tis­tics. Con­cepts and arro­gant judge­ments based on lit­er­ary knowl­edge. Feel­ing is where I reside. If my fan­tas­ti­cal pro­jec­tions allow my love to grow, then I am glad Im a fuck­ing artist.

12.21.10

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In the destruc­tion of love I find hate. The dis­re­gard crushes my belief. My everyday’s are left out of bal­ance hang­ing high from the clouds frag­ile as my head is made of glass. Wait­ing to be shat­tered by the faded jaded melt­ing club. Dis­in­te­grated hurt­ful tricks. Cal­cu­la­tions make me sick. Ver­sion of me drip­ping with proud­ness turned a ver­sion that seems so clouded with­out it. Per­haps it is ele­va­tion. Lack of edu­ca­tion. Or per­haps I am blinded by words and the verbs that unite in my souls celebration.

12.21.10

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Hate­ful tones and shaken bones.
Hurt­ful liv­ing life alone.
Its dan­ger­ous walk­ing on clouds.
How quickly they fall from beneath our feet.
It is a choice.
To endure pain.
To grab ahold of the dark­ness in order to allow another to see the light.

Per­haps it is inevitable.

12.24.10

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