nothing is really nonchalante

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic


this was originally jotted down by an old friend which I saved and preserved over time... he has no recollection of it and has relegated it to me.. though I still give him credit

Submitted: August 08, 2018

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Submitted: August 08, 2018

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Life isn't meaning,

 It's wayward time turned fictitious...

  fanciful among the psychosis of thought,

the power

developing

the mind to reincarnate status of being.

 Soulful melodies, spirituality at one...

Born to a forgotten race of seers

Life stops still before me

beyond me

through me...

  Destiny is what I become,

what I am...

  where I stand within

not my own model,

  But, the sub-conscious dwelling in the metaphysical

planes of reality...

  Doorways upon Life upon Life,

as Life slips slowly into time....

 

Beyond this is my domain,

my essence,

my existence in my Life...

 The existence that has no catch or clause in destiny....

but heart...

  heart may be the only thing keeping me alive.

Alas, thought and conjunction keep my heart pumping to my Life.

Life, not meaning, is what begins others...

I need meaning.... not theirs, not yours...

 yet, I need your thoughts of me...

Do I?

Yes.

  I need and heed your approach...

Systematic Entropy?What is systematic about juxtaposition....?

So, I say, "What is Life?"

 

To our invalid I seem ravenous, psychotic, maybe deranged.......I am.

  I am all of those... more... everything.

 I am Life to be my own... of what I make of it.

It is not ME, I am IT...

 

Before the apple, before the serpent,

the garden of Eden,

I was there... Life.

Life is not meaning, I bring the meaning to it.

In forebearing muse to Accure the permeable...

Impregnable?

No!

I want to use what you think,

what you see,

mt way.

 

In me is locked away a dauntless hidden emotion...

you're hearing it...

you're sensing the pinnacle of the spiraling tower of my infinitive gaze...

though, you're not feeling you...

you're feeling,

sensing,

breathing,

recalling,

  Reverberating the twine I'm giving unto you.

You hold a hand to me and to Life?

No!  Hell, No!! You... like all, understand only your psuedno - point of view...

As do I.

Do I?

 

  Like others of your and their time...

I tell and force upon,

within,

throughout,

and among you...

that the meaning of Life,

shown to others,

them or me,

Is always the difference between the bitterly dry DOA mind

of the insufficient people ...

and the storyteller of Life.

Each is different and identical in thorough fear and anticipation....

Anticipation?  For what? For whom?  Not me.. or others...

Known to lust of applicable abilities of Life's own self-indulgence...

There is no patronage in time, in Life, in the meaning from which I revolved that hidden truth.

 

 Life is not means for justification,

gratitude...

  But, I need others thoughts of holy enlightenment...

Do I?  Yes...

  Poor soul......  Life is not my meaning...

just simplicity in waiting for doors to enroll the insistence of; 

yet another unmissable,

unforgettable,

untouchable,

unconformable,

Self-portrayed, compassionate meaning of ownerships emphasis on reality confrontation....

with my own time table........

 

 

Vincent Michaelangelo Rottecelli  *DreamTime* ( way back in 93 or 94)


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