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This is daily thinking, daily inventing, and fictional stories to share through blogging. |
| "What shall be known onto us humans when the time arrives for us to divide and stretch our lemon heads towards a greater future?" |
| There are several appendix travelers mounted on the high roads, contained in love and despicable attractions made whole in a fortress of timeless adventure. The main reason mankind demands his heart to satisfy the incoming missiles is to abide in their chance at finding and discovering the motioning of ships with gold stacked to the brim in their sockets overdeveloped inside legging pockets. I became unbearable about the whole situation situated in a matter of several minutes, compared to the direct motivations I had created to satisfy the longing persistence to channel grand schemes against the human world. I still hear the name of the man who told me in exact measure: “Survive out there in the desert sands, and the lights in Wall-Mart will appear like fiberglass in your eyes when you return home, that is if you return here again.” Though the world became cold in his region, Jackson decided particular reasoning behind an Antichrist's reasons for unbelief were considerably foolish in worldly terms; almost chased in their desire to contain themselves in a pattern of chaos; never following influences besides those who share their unbelief with direct motivations or simple measures to contain trust onto authority. Humankind hasn’t changed since ancient times, even onto modern ethics. One man can only change during his progress through Yeshua, the Son of God—that is the truth and refuses change, the direct struggle to compete without hurting oneself in the process. Back in reality, I decide to interact and play with the entertainment console. Slow and with a steady pace, I am about to select Resident Evil Zero, which is about to be completed by platinum standards. I need to finish the game on “hard” difficulty, which isn’t too difficult as I understand the concepts and game play style that is resulted from playing the game with consistency. Whatever comes my way, I shall remain constant beside the Lord's battle side, because I've accomplished the search, the discovered love, searching for someone who can make my dreams come true. “There is none like the Christ, none.” “You available?” I have visited the nature collapsed in our modern times. The modest interests invest in traveling tickets to Paulie, but Paulie doesn’t concern himself with the standing portions of people segregated and adapted into natural, excessive belief. The world demands trust onto humankind but can not conceive the natural order of things probable and explain. “Yeshua, I know I attempt things a bit too hard, but I know and comprehend the truth behind love. Compounded little child, do not conform to hatred. The problem with Jackson is that his mind is incoherent and changes each time he awakes from slumber, or the definition of restarting does seem prevalent. “What does that have to do with me? There aren’t that many people thinking about life anyway. But I refuse to be defeated onto the crying emotions that startle me, directly investing me into destruction.” “Anna, I put some hot dogs in the oven; they’ll be crisp and cooked soon.” “That’s fascinating, Cody, but I’m on the verge of eating nothing today. I need to lose some weight I gained over the week. You know what I mean?” “You don’t need to watch your weight gain! You look the same to me!” Anna hushed me with her forefinger and said, “I gained three pounds; of course, I need to watch out!” “You need not worry,” I said in a twelfth-century version of tone, “you shalt confirm onto God’s eternal grace, onto our Father we shall become traditionally sexual into our marriage.” “Let’s not talk about sex right now,” she smiled, confirming her suspicious intentions. "Kiss me," she whispered sardonically forcing me into motion; Anna laid both her palms of her hands on both sides of my head, leaned in, and kissed me with her soft wet lips, her bottom lip coming into contact first with mine, then sucked into a kiss of fascinating emotion that transcends time and space. Decreases time and space, too. We settled on the bed, and both of our eyes stared to the ceiling, which was motionless resistance was futile against our burning desire mustering in our contained hearts. “What a confounded love we have survived to exist,” Anna said, breaking the point of view. “Do you love me?” “You know I do, dearest!” I said, kissing her once more, fragile and dependable on her erotic love. I brushed her soft freshly fallen snow white hair, shuffled my hands sensitive and stressed over her right side of her hips, and maintained to kiss her continually, almost deliciously, satisfied and feeling memories corrode lost dined thoughts. I decided to divide a natural link with my thoughts. She closed her eyes, entering sleep. “Goodnight,” I said, closing both eyelids and drifting with rusted cannons into endless second-hand dreams. |
| I’m sitting in the stands watching my boy play basketball, and the next thing that occurs in the morning sunlight is the fascination I have towards an attractive woman, who is also underage and blonde to the roots of her hair. She reminds me of Trisha, former wife, and quickly investing time with this woman in conversation, I learned she has three children, and she doesn’t look a day after nineteen. It’s odd how women can become so whorled in their lifestyle; dramatic inclusions aside, I think I need more sleep. I’m losing myself. I think I’m about to die or become insufferable to all the humans inside this household. I want to attempt a struggle, to fight—does one fight for the correction or the tired and exhausted state I am in? Sing songs to YHWH or Yeshua, and praise His holy name forevermore in life without murderous exhaustion to overtake me. “Fuck your mother, motherfucker!” said the stupid human. “That’s not wise,” I answered. “Buckle off, donuts!” “Did I not tell you that is unwise?” “Fuck off piece of shit!” “That’s one more chance thrown out the window, human.” “Bring it, ball-less fucker!” “Fuck off, mate. I don’t have time to deal with narcotic human beings. There are people to save.” “I want to fuckin' kill you.” “Fucking try then, bitch!” Contact between our fists settled the night, blood rushed without hesitation onto the cement chloroform diet we had invested to create into this morbid sense of delight. I want to fucking kill the human race, but the mind is in a terrible trace at the moment. I want to live, desire to live. But this feeling of desperation is severe, and I can’t escape the fucking idiotic writing that I am posting and inserting into this fucking world. “What the fuck is wrong with me right now? The fucking mental illness is doing it, again. I can’t take this shit, what reason does it haul my vendors? The fucking human world is shite, crap, and feces, and I can’t take the rotting smell underrate the world’s crusted sands and muddied channeled rivers. It’s been buried deep in those hatred valves, and I can’t seem to distinguish the reasonable escape to follow outwards and sing praise to the God who commands me to fucking love these dirtbags.” “These emotions are heightening their elevation over me. I can feel the stress and the anxiety building stones inside my upper stomach, between my chest and belly. “I can’t take this feeling. It’s the desire for death that haunts me, and I know one day I’ll cut this throat of mine since I can’t purchase a weapon to satisfy my desires and needs towards myself. But it is not this day—I hope! Just...aid me that I can understand the basics. Help me? “Why do I feel this way? What can I do to obtain peace again? These editors need to settle the hell paved from your obstructive compartment, formed in ideas and prominent ideals. The way is long and narrow, depressingly mundane, and considered intellectual without companions to swallow his caught and based paling. I want nothing more than to startle my heart and sleep in that long dark stillness mentioned from human mouths as the reluctance of permanent death. I suffer and desire to escape the formatting pain which destroys my mind and physical organs and minuscule organs. There isn’t much more time counted down anymore. I'm afraid, terribly afraid, and descended into loneliness predating to godlessness. What can be achieved in the naked warm moonlight shading against her skin like the clear dark waters of motionless lakes pondering in the content on the mindless earth surely demanding restlessness and magical fairies? I scream silently, wondering why I am so concerned with my indisposable body made of flesh wounds and mounted flesh walls? I don’t want to expedite my life that serves the creator, blameless and fucked in double-minded standards. I don’t doubt, but I can’t make a choice--- forsaken minds do entail polygamy... ...My life concerns me with greater esteem of chaos and control dancing in formations unknown, almost foreign in direction, foot pressing, and digestive induction towards greatness. Those bastards down in city hall maintain their renewals and decisiveness that contemplates the deserted notions of hatred and confusing chaos. I can’t allow this to topple over and continue without the aid of someone from Higher Power! These cocksuckers need to find themselves a new mission in life that doesn’t distort the political agendas propagating hatred towards the American individuals born and raised in the fortune that is contained in freedom. I was concerned with the dialect I was witnessing before my very eyesight, concerned with the direct motivations and signaling chance; I sank low into bed and shuffled my thoughts, picking one card, and determined the sleep I would obtain without question to abide. One thought at a time did reassure me to completion for the timely investing day I had suffered drastically and invigoratingly compounded indirect hatred and love, wondering which would become natural in me, I chose love over nemesis. Victoria Peacock shall not die by my hands but will become dumbfounded when I am determined and available to her needs. Should she lose her breath, pass away, I shall attend her funeral and sing songs to accommodate the truth that Christ has allowed me to witness before all men. Anna promised me to abide with love, to finish the race I have been racing since the beginning of this trek across the world, demanding love is difficult, dearest, I shall overtake the countenance that is God, and companionship shall transfer into truth! And what is truth but the demise of hate, the Christ, the after-mentioned love that so delicately embraces trust and involvement? I crossed the room, investing each step into her fortress, palpable explanations are extraordinarily investigative, but I confess that I am onto loving this woman. I advanced across the room to her direction, snuggled the air, and captured her inwards, deeply investing myself into her body. She made low-toned sounds, which sounded like an ocean whale's companion to my desire. “Come to me,” I said. She did. “What is this meaning in life that determines my fate and my confidence? Please allow me to understand trust in a woman again, but I’m—” She appeared to have exasperated wildly, and with both hands, formed them upon the sides of my face, different in feeling. “You are safe with me now, don’t worry about the past, for returning does nothing but offer pain; the pass is passed. Come, lover. Marry me and take me away from here.” “With what money?” I asked her, consciousness deliberate and invigorating my thinking thoughts to form natural light shining out of my body from within my body. “I want us to be able to leave, to find ourselves a place, a property, and to watch the waves of the ocean passing over each watered wave after wave. I don’t contend understanding the basic rituals of this world, but I confess I am feeling better than I was earlier. I’ll be sure to write, firstly reading in the morning after awakening. Depending on what reading I intake, I shall devour to create the functions that resonate forwards for each written word the following count of the day. Now, kiss me gently that I might not die from nervousness.” “You won’t die from singing a few songs, Cody. Come, let’s sleep and take ourselves towards the dreams of our Creator, thus I shall take heed and make known the dreams in the morning.” The woman I love confessed a prayer of dedication and remorse into the air, filled the wild interests in our hearts with a certain desire that should be documented as revelation and conclusion to romance. But, the pasture of lands outside, nearest the motioning ocean, confesses to the meaning behind our avalanche and destruction. What can be mandated as truth without measures of hatred and demised forsaken chance? As the silence hanged in the air, I shifted closer towards her, laid my side on her side, leading my head to her shoulder. Anna maintained her praying structured stance, keeled against the bed on the floor, next to the closet door. “Praise is,” she said. “Onto God forevermore. I love how I can make plans and not take them into account for others. So please, allow me the chance to show my worthiness in your will,” she answered onto the throne through our Lord Yeshua, delightfully enhanced into drastic change. I propped up and laid into the bed. She followed course after saying her closing statements and joined in on the moment. “Humanity shall be revived and truly know the light of our Lord Yeshua, who commands trust and love onto all humankind, but there will be some who do not resurrect, who rejected and refused the Lord Jesus Christ. Those who do believe, and believe by lies, are coordinated in their thinking, but Antichrists bring disaster more so ending than the normal unbeliever, who is considered the Antichrist, condoned. Do not worry about what is to happen in this world, because the Lord is there always by our side. In Jesus name, amen.” Anna Williams breathed inwards deeply as if she were in great thought, and profoundly inducted trust into her words through the spirit. She launched softly onto the bed and comforted me with her upper body laid against my chest for the time being. Of course, laying together in the same bed, our wedded bed soon to become natural, was irritating when one attempts to slumber. Anna Williams though commanded herself to sleep on me most of the time making it difficult to breathe or sleep myself. But all for the love of companionship and trusting the love of God to suffice, forever dreaming of the future to come. “Fall asleep and dream,” Anna said, closing her eyes, she managed to sleep, but I remained awake, both eyes wide. “I don’t know where this is going to get me, but I’ll let God handle it.” I swift her white hair to the side, over her eyebrow line. “Goodnight, my dearest treasure. The flesh of my flesh and bone of my bone, I call you womankind.” I closed both my eyes and my lone mouth and slumbered three minutes into the drafting night. |
| From what I can concern and obtain from the dream is a message that dimensional astronauts shall invade the world that destines them into their destination. And the reason rule confines trust and ambition into united countries men and women who die and suffice the love of God more. And still, the dreams continue. Who can cease them? What reason would I want them to be stopped, deformed, and unnatural are these things? "Come on, little kid. We have much work to abide and construct into our mission in a life dedicated to love that has never been more remorseful and contained in dire respects. I shall write dreams as commercials, and unwind them into stories of fictional trust and truth. What is truth but the dedication and answering of Jesus’ cross onto our minds? Love is no more a word than the fashionable God who commanded its return. The world is sin; the world is death. Who would want to live with the faith of the world, combined without interests? He who slumbers in the name of Yeshua is sleeping in dreams until Yeshua returns to us, resurrects the dead, and contains his trust onto us as Yeshua has since the start of this entire mission. The brutal intentions crossed and made available do not suffice me to understand the dreams. I know dreams are messages from a Higher Creator who demands His honest attributes to conclude the human mind with wonderment and strange incentive. Who are the individuals in the dream but humans somewhere in the world, divided to create their dreams with lucid abilities? Heaven and Hell are dimensions of copied exactness to perpetuate the negative and positive influences on the earth. I can not save all the humans, but I can attempt to dissuade death and disease onto cows rather than humankind's interests. Direction is meaningless unless YHWH’s love is for us to be a concern and available for us to receive; to offer whatever we have to conduct and practice each and all times of the day? These humans are demanding me to love them, but I can’t do it to all who are but also evil in contentment for humanity—how can a man achieve such greatness? Would I admit to writing a tale at the moment, or a section of it onto the abilities YHWH has offered me through the Spirit and His Son Yeshua? What can be done here is remembrance towards fascinations derailed and intact towards a former location? Another character to see through the lens, while the main character divides the fan base, trances his hatred onto humankind, and the perceptions of child-like grace? I don’t recall children having the duty to die in those dimensions of dreams, but when someone dies in these dreams, does their heart cease to exist should their form have such a thing to handle? The main character descends into a perpetual madness that confines him into a mental hospital, where he decides to hang himself with his clothes, his sweater mixed with the colors of white and gray decide his interests. He said before he died: “What can be done for this lonesome life here as demons communicate with me as conversations said in the middle of the carnival rallies? I can’t remember much else. --- From the richness and concerning Scriptures, I remember the fascination I had when Jesus did not answer his accusers, but said in direct motivation: “And One shall see the Son of Man riding on the clouds in his triumphant return.” “The Son of God, Yeshua, shall know the meaning of pain,” said Pilate, dedicated to his referral and preferences. He added the words into Jesus' ears, and said, "What can be done for the man as he remains silent though these foolish humans dedicate their entire fortune to seeing him crucified, that their shouts reach outwards, and heard onto his ears.” “Still, though he hears them, he remains quiet. This man named Jesus convinces me to understand his trust, love, and demeanor to compassion and kindness. This man the Christ, onto all who believe? Hear me, a man named Yeshua is a Mad Dog signaling his fellow recruits to pasture into the zone considered the boundary of death certified and available to destroy that who commands love onto women, children, and humankind altogether lanced like stitched wounds.” --- Jackson’s mother is dissolutely concerned in love as she demands trust and companionship but is ineffectual to understand or comprehend the natural love called and named "Creation." Thus, I believe without a doubt thrust into me and conceive within the natural order her savior can become sufficient enough to handle trust. Shall mother become unavailable to the service known as man or dine with herself with the remains of memories to startle her in distress? Unless she becomes ritualized in the culture of God's love she’ll never discover love from a man’s heart. I error in tales, too. Jackson admitted his trust and belief in the Lord Yeshua, contained to call him Yeshua instead of Jesus, as he liked the name Yeshua, and wanted to float to the moon with it as a star-struck title to admit his faults and financial disagreements fallowed and burned in the previous three years that amounted into a drastic intention seeker with his wife, Trisha, who commanded him to find a mission in life. He wrote these words staunched and available to him like molasses that discerns the waters: “I know because she is the truth in Yeshua that I could not muster to believe without her agile nakedness to appreciate and adore. Even when she is nude before me, stands there in her darkness, she admits to me her faults and her casual conversations do interest me without hesitation answered her questions and wonderment. Masturbation has ended the conflict between our burning desires for one another, he stated to his words, and what reason do I confine in hatred towards oneself when shame enters and makes known the embarrassment that follows man’s internal fall from the subcontract between Creator and Man? It can be the same route as before thanks to the Son of God, Yeshua Christ! The Redeemer and fellow friend, who commands legions into the darkness and follows suit before them as a leader. What can be done for mankind that his heart does not resonate to understand?” explained Jackson to his student friends, who continually embrace the factions of unbelief and desert other humans in their dire need of consumption of food and material likeness. Jackson overlooked the faction of pleasure that steamed from the women in the class, but he reminded himself of their wickedness, which he had been in a difficult manner to adjust and maintain without a woman’s stronghold over him. The woman I decided to unite with caused an uproar the next morning, for she was afraid at the time since her mother had sadly passed away the previously stated hour. She could not feel the effects until the medication settled in her brain, chemicals left and right switching afoot the natural elements of time and eternal damnation! I can’t forget the way she looked at me when she heard the news—the look demanded retention and delighted her, but I was on the train of confused thought! Frightened me because she seemed like she had switched personalities again, switched bodies with someone else, but. In the end, the same blank stare continued to harass me. Women are not in that desire, contemplating the visions. There was little reason to confine his heart to the others standing in the room, who were waiting for an available chair continued to listen to their music inside earphones which seemed attached to their inner ears. What kind of music do these humans understand in their canonical involvement with musical instruments? Music was once a brand fixated on medicament, rather than a business model to contemplate fixed disease and distrust. The trusted sound became industrial settings men and women commanded love and heroic trust onto the division revisited. Surmounted love for instruments investigates natural parallel definition cymbals and magical strands that mount a heavier release of chemicals. But, it can fight the user in delicate or sometimes different motivations! “He breathed inwards as if he were astonished and feeling abundant amounts of extensive thoughts, as he was. Demanding love is measured in confidence and ritual to conduct courage braves the defeats of all men and women—the children will see the future in those that film their inheritance towards classifiable intentions and casual engagement! Jackson stood from his chair, casually, but intellectually investigated the sink in the back of the classroom, washed his hands with the colder side of pumped water, and decided to return to his chair and wooden tabled desk. “What can be done?” he thought gardening down at his worm-filled work. The words communicated to his brain like leaves branched onto a simple tree—he became an amazing attraction to the words in their structure and constructive institutions. He blurred his vision and allowed the words to complete his honorable definition. “Yes, what can be accomplished? The determined ritual has ended, the clouds pasture over blue-headed skies, and the national convention has begun to startle the news media. What can be submitted and survive the trance that abducts necessary moving motion? He lifted his black and white pen, confiscated his mind, and he began to intake writing again, challenged and preferring the drill rather than the shaded, sharp needle. Deranged inconclusive battlements are consequential rhythms that possibly overtake the dredge effect that accomplices negligence, pestering the numb-filled drag that perpetuates natural thinking. The pot holds conquerable appetite for nothing more than a several sickened hours deformed in allowance to their motioning bastardized visions peppered with avocado oil to suffice grand love. |
| “When humankind demands his heart to beat, does the vein com-pulse erect and protrude from the vessel? His heart can stand the heat, can’t he? He questions YHWH with constant babble, rambles, and convulsing tongue; directed onto humanity? That he demands truth though it sits in his lap, damaged and lost in his mind? “What a pathetic thought that pesters me with gradual entrenchment, constant ramblings that stretcher determined hatred. What can be done for mankind in his direct motivations for oneself? Nothing is the likely answer that determines our fate—should fate exist onto our door-to-door enveloped contraction!” Within the measured reach, I confess natural occurrences to annihilate love, demanding the truth, and succeeding to trample the applauded deformities that convulse into directions unknown to our souls. Jackson became understood within that main reach, continued to base his soul in the fractions and misdirection that apprehended morning casualness. The animal behind him runs around in constant weight, shifting from one side of the house to the opposite side in a manner of seconds. “Falling asleep would be advised,” he thought in the back of his head, wondering in contentment. As he wrote, the animal known to him and to all who commanded his name contained himself in a comfortable cushioned tan chair, which divided his attention with his love for the small cat named Ares, after the conformists known to the ancient Greeks. Jackson had decided it best to remain in close closure with Ares. The small animal did, indeed, trance himself to love his master, or brother as Jackson would sometimes call him, and divide the national institution that mankind had denied him his earning check. “Ares, what’s the problem? Are you having a fun time running around here? Come on, now. Let’s find something to find attention towards as I am concerned with the dialect that mentions our conversation.” Jackson watched for an answer in some manner or parallelism with his facial structure. “It’s one-sided, isn’t it? Sometimes I wonder if we are having an actual conversation. As in when I say something and you decide it's best to renovate the emotions with facial structured movements as a direct response. As Jackson waited for an answer from Ares, he contained his thoughts and continued to watch the words reveal their true honor onto the digital sheet. “What is this nonsense?” he wondered, deeply invigorating in his constant thinking processing. “What manner of love does persuade me to know the knowledge of life?” Then, with sudden love towards him, Jackson discovered that Ares had contorted his facial expression dressed in a definite slumber to awaken the following shine of morning daily living lights. “What wonders, indeed,” Jackson admitted with eventful ease. “You continue to slumber, little one. I find it interesting that life is so concerning and available to the light aided gracefully into our trust. Continue, little buddy—the little brother that never contained hatred towards me.” Ares was now considered in the name of humankind a sleeping little cat, who had decided it best to close his mind, close his vision, and enter onto the slumber he reassures himself to understand. For the night is long and the morning is short, therefore continue on-wards into directions maintained and fixed without correlating defeat to submit our torrent of worried troubles. Continue on, little Christian cat towards directions known to us and onto God as the love of man's direct motivations. “I suppose that’s how life works, available when one needs love, not available when it is needed. But, then again—God does demand me to create creative love onto controlled sub-machines with automatic fire locked in trigger finger happy idiots.” Jackson corrected his wording with natural abilities and did not choose his pleasure on natural additions against the human race, which resulted in contacting his mind's muse with the Creator's direct intentions—to love towards an esteemed attraction! “More coffee,” he added. “I need more coffee and caffeine to advise into this insane portion of morning delight!” he released himself from his couch sofa, tanned and direct for his love, and entered into the kitchen with a blue coffee mug to abide by his contained coffee substance. The coffee he purchased the previous day was concerned with “honey-bun” artificial flavors. The taste comforted his trust for humankind, to trust the consumer into direct purchases for their odd remarks and available love for the meal offered onto the consumer. Without much pleasure to appease him, his brain on the side of his forehead began to shuffle, tormenting blood vessels in directions that made little sense, which consulted a headache in the crafted mind, on-wards towards inwards thoughts made less viable. A mere medication known as ibuprofen could detain the insufferable sting, but moment's address this concern; but he was not concerned, he returned to the main room, continued to manage his writing on the personal computer, blackened and distorted. When he returned to his working environment in the main room, Ares awakened with distress in his mind. Jackson was situated with his heart and wondered if Ares was normal and functional but had a confined and confounded dream that deserted his opportunities within measurable reach. Jackson’s mind was becoming ecstatic; his mind darted from the couch in distress; his forehead was pulsing with waves of stinging pains directed within working motion; he stood from his couch and wondered if there were some painkillers to abide his insufferable entrance into substances that maintain the disorder. “Where are the medications, but in mother’s room?” He understood and showed small and modest hints of compassion for his sleeping mother “She’s slumbering. I can’t obtain them without her awakening causing uproar and distress to her body, soul, and sometimes I do contain to wonder, her spirit.” The limited attraction did settle on his mind, contained him there within the black reaches of the defiant abyss, blackened with darkness and contained directions and routes predominated onto cries shredding the terror in the lesser light of night. When he recorded words to the title he had created, he confused his mind, cornered the membrane into systematic intentions, and fumbled the ball without coordinating a curious intent and unfathomable aim to abide in drastic action. Judgment decree's such madness that life is considerably less violent and less concerning in detail when one falls asleep with the Son of God controlling the written names in the Book of Life. Without concern, I wonder if Jackson is available in such memories? All Jackson represents is the finalized version of our control, demanding to convey the attributes that humankind should address without failure or even onto success—maintained onto the middle sector, the casual gray-contaminated trust that belongs to all humans, between the white and the blackened beating miracle known as the heart. Without Jackson to write the recorded message, there would be a minuscule vision of dreams to enchant the human mind without concern for detail. Writers should contain their hearts filled with direct-hearted love defiant towards hell and knowable within the knowledge of blessing and creativeness to abide in heaven with Yeshua demanding me to command me to understand the basic principles that correlate love. Jackson's mind continues to write through the suffering which ails him with distortions and overdose delusions that continue to abide in natural light pretending rivers won't run and rush with confined waters founded in the earth. Humans believe our destined destination is to reach the ends of the universe settled for the stars. The controlled and damned universe commands Jackson to understand that circumstances within reach have become useless for the little bunch of bundles known as humankind. And still, love can achieve direction and routes made passable without the coordination of dragons to appease the members of the narrow and sheltered road. Humans are detours. I found this out some time ago coupled with love, I demanded them to suffice without their unfruitful traditional treaties to indict me. And so the correction is detoured and made visible without compassion, singled out and dissuaded from the life made sure without cause and motivation. What manner of love is this that I listen to this silliness enveloping like cancer stationed in all the blood running and swimming in the human vessel? I don’t care to heed such nemesis deformations of creative influence, which flows like human blood. Outwards the blood comes and launches from the human neck, splits across the wall in a deformed Graffiti of literal life. Humans are, indeed, detours to be buried and removed from the map jurisdiction surrounding the human world. Their hearts are dead; better watch out, Christ might lose me, and thus---what occurs afterward? The strength of death is not power, but he who wields love demands and rules the future. Christ understands death as he undertook its reign and defeated its main base of operations downwards in the hellish pit where sulfur and fire interact with each other. Demanded in the fire it consumes creates formidable destruction in accumulative uncontrolled demise onto all who contain its decree. I want to ignite the flame; the boundless love God thrusts is no longer available. When Yeshua churns his hatred for evil, I wonder if the tale of His arrival into Hell is a statement in truth: humankind was submitted with all its sins when Christ entered the darkness. Did He burn the document that Satan had with Adam? Hell, that’s for another time. Time continues for Jackson’s answers to become the viable creation determined from God's mind destined in His mention of recreational vision, determined and factored to be consistent and abstraction without meaning or concern for the dead. When someone hears the music conducting and hears the vocals from the singer's heart, does he have the same mind thoughts as Jackson?” When the music started to conduct, he mission outwards from his mind, contained his love and searched for another beat to muster. He masturbated with serious intentions earlier when he decided he didn’t want to work on his mind. Trisha was there to tease him with his hand, while his brain actively manicured the thinking processing. Trisha is, it seems, constant and always beside him, there to locate him and create words from the irrational little mind she determines as conclusion and revelation when she tends to be conductive. “Does music channel sexual appetites?” he questioned out loud as he turned his head to the left, then to the right atmosphere containing his love for desire. He continued with his brain fart: “What manner of love does excite me when it is Trisha I adore and admire with fascination? But I can’t maintain her with consistency as she can become a handful and needs to be driven to silence.” He examined his mind with industrial music from Al Jourgensen and was mandated to create his imaginative world, once more onto the leveled head of Venetians. “What reason does he walk into desert sands constant and bridled with a burning hatred towards me? He never smiles unless it is his close companion from the time Jesus walked the earth in human form. What can Venetians accomplish in those desolate places? --- The ridden heart does invade the enemies of time, counselors on horseback and outwards riding indirect directions to the headed castle labeled in the fields surrounded with mountains to contain small entrances for green ranged hills. The lesser light had vanished from the heavens, shadows enclosed and developed about the motioning image before his final structure. The sounds of clapping and clanging horses ramming forwards into battle descended angels from the night choir absolute and obtained in their swords and contained direct motivations for the authors of the old life. “Where are the moon and the angel that dominate it?” “We must ride on, forwards General Michael. We have taken the castle.” “Then subdue it that the Cherubim do not overrule our verdict. Come, let us take change here for the victorious celebration. The world will understand our concepts soon enough.” “Concepts, sir?” said the low-ranking soldier of the fourth cornered hymn string. “What reason behind the mission besides to know our reasons alone?” “In time, all mankind shall know our mission. Now, leave before I become drunken like a sack of wine. Does pleasure me to have such fine accommodations here.” |
| Jackson entered onto another mission in life concerned with the noonday night on readmission into corrected forms of the morning. The darkness still pans about the exterior world, somewhere too inside also, within the measures in this motioning little living room, or main room of the household Jackson resided. The household remains constant onto a darkness that pertains little light but from the construction of electrical lights from the screens of devices such more as television sets, phones, and the probable computer that screens forwards these words. The lights shade white addressed balance, which distorts the darkness. As Jackson continued to startle himself well with video games, he came to realize the soft connection to his choice of offering (a game called Genshin Impact) was critically imbalanced at the moment of his primary realization. Upwards to an inconsistent four hundred milliseconds, which deforms the entire experience. But as the moment's pasture over the number demands lower substance qualified for normal interactions. “We shall see what occurs among the connection settings,” he believed onto his Creator and thus continued. After a few minutes the connected entered a stationary stable connection to the servers, but then, without warning, popped back downwards to a slow dive into a red measured text. As Jackson continued to resist the temptation to complain, he channeled forwards into the game with patience, knowing it wasn’t, hopefully, his internet connection on his side, rather than on the server’s main side. “The connection is finally stable,” Jackson said, reassuring himself with godliness that predates to an instinctive trust. “What a strange morning, where I desire to play something but would do better at complications, rather with sound. Rather, I should wait, make promises, and hopefully not break them into sections. Simply, do what is necessary and make joyous noise of its tarried attributes.” The internet remained constantly connected with severely well defendant stable connections. Jackson was allowed himself to think critical thoughts, defining the remaining hours of the day to congressional thoughts which protrude more than flat-line. As Jackson wondered about his prospects behind walls of wooden traits, he thought about reading for today, not to invest time into a video game, but to define his reasoning with reading. Perhaps, a wide distraction is to read out loud, in which he can understand the basic concepts and realities that promise him his adventure into the domination of life. The previous day was concerning. He had been inside the household, battling against his mental activity; and he was succeeding as a captain of his thoughts, and that of other outward thoughts from the Creator’s mind, which by default could have killed him should he had directed his thinking negatively. Jackson, onto yesterday, did not write for he was astonished and amazed at the stupidity of his mindful thinking processing. Negative after negative words formed remorseful disgrace. He desired positive outlooks, but his emotions and feelings continued to sever connections, became more powerful, and entered onto physical hesitation. He desired most of all to contain his thoughts and bring about a new mind to replace his old, broken, and worn down wormhole sinking deeper and deepened into desperate attempts to converge with hatred. But this mind he had created, this mind he had received as a gift—an offer in divine intentions from The Father—denounced itself and became unstable. What a terrible tremor of hatred did resonate within, like bursting waves of flagged pressure Jackson continues to write. It’s what he is well-mannered at, defiant against the world and straggling himself in the process. Does mankind understand his visitation privacy? The world demands I overtake emotion, settle down on its famine, and become landed in terrible sounds. What can man do to me, but cause each member to become satisfied and or defined as a creator in their minds? What terrible sounds do communicate with hatred, divine hatred at that best contained? Come, children. There is much work to be done. There isn’t much more time on earth to confine such literate education onto the baseless education that now resides as prominence and nature do divide the hatred and the compassion of human settlement. And still, though we land here on this sand, the foundations shall crumble in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Son of God. If a man can not accept Yeshua as Savior and Lord, then the world will never be defeated. The time will come, the heart of man shall become darkness, and the light of our Creator shall resonate and vibrate superior and confiscated intentions for however countless amounts of love do detain onto us. I confess that I am unable to feel the desperation of faith, as it can either be the size of a mustard seed or that of a mountain or boulder in the stone age; still, the corrected pasture of faith can move mountains into the ocean. In which one can throw them into the seas as has been done in literal senses within the measure of certain men throughout the coming and going ages. What is a concept like “time” ticking clockwise and about in the United States of America? Does the answer fiddle around the membrane, collect thoughts and divide them into different strict positions to remain constant without endearment? “Is it not against our sinful nature that we decline to believe in the Creator? Causes us to feel uncomfortable to hear the truth? In the name of Jesus Christ, or the Hebrew name Yeshua—do contain men and women to survive and be shown the light of Your everlasting promise to provide and sicken and forgive our available natural hearts of which are evil! One mere thought does provide Hell onto us—all mankind must be submissive to an authoritative God who commands! “Whose command does invite me to heaven? The Lord Jesus Christ, or Yeshua, does invite me to such a location, filled with the fiber and material of translucent items and architecture. There be demons nearest the wells, sickened into the mud, drilled there forevermore concerned in darkness separated from the Presence of God! Whom could survive such a thing when even the Father left the Son to die because of all the sins that formatted and entered onto Yeshua when he was about to die, bounded in nails onto the Cross, or the wooden tree embankment that made the cross available to He whom commands? Thus the words: “Father, what reason does One abandon and forsake me?” thus, the Father removed His Presence, and Christ suffered the worse unimaginable suffering that condenses into an unparalleled adjoined indictment. Towards the cliffs, children of our Father in Heaven—there is much to be detailed in this life! One must measure countenance to the best I have available in the name of our Father in Heaven. What can be done to survive the incoming onslaught that was admitted into precision thousands of times over the amounted countenance concept dominate onto a faith predetermined? Work onto the Lord, and become surreal in natural hesitation. What I have learned in battle is a mere conceptual idea, and it is as stated: “Hesitation will be the death of he who bears its claws. In other words: Hesitation is death!” Jackson burden his soul onto the beach sands contained there without motion or resilience in his thoughts or his motions of the vessel. Indeed he was more concerned about the incoming storm dating itself to create rain substance from the heavens to dress the sands with hard contact. As he laid down the reassurance of music contained his image, maintained his ideals, and transferred into submissive entertainment for himself, but more so for the humans that could hear his ideas, images, and transferred entertainment. The mental illness does not hold back its choice, like a brushed wind from the ancient lands of the Eastern Empire, thus did the breeze come and entreat Jackson with his mind. Breathed in the wrong and indifferent air. “What chance do I have with someone? With a woman, I am fair and kind, but their hearts and sight have not noticed the darkness that shrivels in fear inside of me. The confessions of a daily Christian are based on the foundations of Christ’s teachings and the inclusive trust that Paul also demanded such teachings through Him who created us. Can I trust the Apostle Paul, thus contain into scripture that detains hatred towards righteousness?” Jackson watched as several small clouds mustered from the deepened universe, contained therein a muster of thoughtless creative influence. He laid his hands down on his mouth which was wide awake. “You humans are worth the while that God demands, but instead of trust and love, one demands hatred and evil. Even those who claim to believe in God do not trust God. Yet the God I transfer towards does continue to relent towards our sins, thus the world continues and continues and continues…” Jackson closed both his eyelids, his brushed eyelashes comforting his unease-filled mind. He brushed the inner bottom lids with his palms in one hand for each section. “What can be done to exact the shining love that determines life? The breath of life is devastated, turned over, and confiscated from our eventual shortcomings. If I but had a woman beside me what could I do to tail her inwards towards love?” Jackson maintained his lids enclosed in the black darkness, small hints of shaded sunshine bursting through the veil of his closed skin. “What am I to do with a woman? Indeed, what shall I do?” Onto the beach remained constant reminders of a consistent sea, waves burden, overrun, and crush the remaining returning currents. Birds flocked into the air, white as a snow patch on the ground with considerable amounts of dirtied mud to trench the snow-colored bird-haired vessels. The sunshine answered little answers to the world in Jackson’s island Paradise. The beach, the humans beside him, and some humans with animals and communicative influx and determination to settle ideas and conversation to each other demanded mouths too wide and smile, others with determination and confidence, all the while others alone and desolate in their musical chance. “I was one of those humans once,” Jackson said. He widen his mouth, once more this time with emotion, and held in his breath while continuing the notion of his movement. “I want love, once again.” “And one can have such a thing?” he wondered, which resulted in hesitation. “Is death nearest me?” he wondered more unable to cross the vindictive inter-crossed love that surmounted onto his shoulders. Could his heart maintain such love to decide for her, rather than himself? The birds were closer now, their bodies seemed to float on invisible strings, contained in one location in the air. “What reason, indeed, do I confess sins over and over, continual dedication to its event? I masturbate and know the reasoning and sin of its intake love, as it is for the self, and not for the woman I love. She finds little or not one hint of pleasure from the sexual immoral act, and I desire to cease its fluctuation into this minded mind.” “What indeed can be done?” he answered the darkness with the opening of his eyes, containment left, hesitation defiant. The waves still roared with blood, the cross had been adapted as a tree, and the world was confessed. The end was alive and well-mannered. “What reason, at all do I obtain a woman beside me in this desolation?” he noticed the white birds above the air. “Where even the birds gaze onto the dead and still think about eating their appetite?” “What does God expect of me? What I would do to have machine gun kisses towards the woman I loved…?” The continual clouds passed into the pass, visited onto a route worthwhile and adventurous. “I have a whole world to explore—what can become of someone where there are no humans to interact with like the previous years in dedication to hate? I offer forgiveness, but there are none to forgive. The old is done, finished, and exacted like a revelation, had been submitted to the editor. Now, what—what will occur to us that the dead now live that the world is long lived God creates another New Earth and another New Heaven for the followers He has destined to become His onto eternal life? The utter sadness which inclines me towards desperation has ended, and still, the mind speaks in riddles.” Jackson removed his backside from the sand, sitting upwards straight, lined his backside, and removed his bottom from the sands, standing upwards straight. “What can be achieved, indeed?” He looked out onto the distant horizon, the stars had fallen in line, the world was desolation. I am the inferior creature that has admitted love onto demons, and this is the consequence of battling and interacting with them onto a permanent level. Now that I think about it...a personal level, as well.” Jackson removed himself from the Public view, continued to walk with a brisk introduction into the classes he had created to demand his institution to believe, to understand, and to comprehend the statures of human civil unrest. The continual arrival of students, adults in the most sense, concerned him without the admission of his tastes. He didn’t want to be heard in the minds of humans. He desired to remove himself, sit upwards, and stand alongside the walls determined to be heard, but constant thoughts of lipreading inductions consumed his accumulative and persistent thoughts without delusion; for he did know that humans could not hear him when he communicated in his mind, but the pressure, the mindless air of the mental illness convinced his brain to think, like second nature, that humans did indeed hear him. Two ears to hear, millions of chemicals to subtract from their thoughts, and transfer Jackson’s instrumental voice toned device. To remove the brain and replace it with someone else brain would be a miracle in the making, a transfer of thoughts without the need suitable to compensate for destruction. The electrical storm divided the main base of his mind for centuries. He contained little information in the decree he was admitted to understanding, therefore he convicted such fallacies with natural appointments transfixed without human contact. How can one man abide to live with humans and avoid them in all cases before his involvement with the human mind? How was Jackson supposed to know that the human mind doesn’t work in this route or direction paddled with words and sentences five hundred words a minute? Mental illness does demand too excessive, but we are confounded in our tribe. Jackson, too, like me, convinces himself it’ll be another darkened chance to analyze the perimeters based in his class, contact the advisors, and send for immediate aid to the countries that determined their fates. The afternoon class was about to begin and Jackson was in the measure of dancing already, pleasuring and harming himself within, which he had attempted to avoid. At the start of the Morning, Jackson awoke from a drifting dream. His mind was contained and detained all the same. He awoke before Trisha did, his mind at ease. The morning had come and gone like a tumbleweed surfaced to crafted hands. In the kitchen were static and compulsive audio tones of human voices. “His mind was far out…” the news letterer on the small parameterized television said in the earliest expression sedated in the measuring of his mouth; opening his mouth to think but unable to converse well into the curved tongue which adds importance. The man on the screen was not of any great importance, but his mind was correlated and divine. Some in the world understood his buffing bamboo entrance and the pleasure he maintained in passion to correct his ordered mind’s ideas. But as the conversation continued it seemed like little interest to the main advisors who communicated or asked of him. He was canceled in a manner of seconds before the crowd. Unable to communicate further, the newsman interrupted and would not allow his guest the honor of his conversation. Instead, nervousness and stress accounted for impressive stance, and he, the guest, at the end of the conversation to seal the deal, said his defiant remembrance of conservative embrace. And the conversation ceased to exist as if nothing were said, but those who agreed with the informer were currents in a washed-up world dressed to kin for poverty reasons. The newsletter announcer on the other hand resulted in to believe himself more concerning and deserving of the title he presented in the homeland of Media to the point that he asked, “What reason would the media allow this?” in which he, the newsletter, was contraband in his mind. If the guest had been wise, he would have said in the structured faction that Jackson would have done: Jackson would have run into the screen and shouted, “The media is abundant in life, the consumer. A life of terrible reign where absent-minded individuals sitting on thrones of the earth dwell with lies and abstention.” Jackson was sitting in the kitchen, laid out his newspaper, and furrow his brow with the deceleration of another American Tradition: “The accountancy of war has been submitted. War!” declared the title. Jackson slapped the newspaper with the back of his hand fingers connected like a web, “this here is the reason we don’t have much reason in life. Kill and kill another, for the sake of killing.” Jackson lit a white cigarette, labeled the small tiller to the side of his mouth, and smoked in small hesitation. The cool effect that misted his throat convinced him that it was well balanced and the morning would be counted as a well worthwhile adventure on-wards on. “This is the meaning behind it all. The damn President isn’t taking the bid. We need to invest more in the stock market, somewhere that belongs to the milliners. Those bastards know how to invest, but I wouldn’t want to confine with them in a manner hall.” Trisha announced herself for the charming morning. Jackson did not hesitate to kiss her with several mouth touches and neither did she refuse to accept those movements. Their mouths became wet, on-wards the dedication that settles on married life is simple, but minded into satisfaction. “You want to do it right here?” she asked with a coy smile pertaining. “You mean here?” he wondered, and he looked at the clean table with the newspaper strapped to the chair. “You want to?” “Yeah, sex would be good right now.” “Okay then,” he smiled, his teeth white, which reflected in Trisha’s white teeth in return. “Come here.” The two humans interacted with sexual intercourse, with Trisha’s vessel keeled downwards onto the kitchen table, round and available for contact for what was about to suddenly appear in her soft pink pouch cavity. Jackson held her waist with a tight ripeness that adulated his mind with satisfied expressions. He entered her white wet and desolate vagina from behind, and thus she loathed to moan. The sexual intercourse caused the turmoils of awakened states to return to pleasured blessings in a matter of several minutes, which lasted inwards to four coherent minutes of the same movements over and over downwards into downwards love. Forsaken. Jackson spilled three times with the vessel, his wife continued to come repetitively. “Oh, Jack---,” she returned to her normal duties afterward, but Jackson returned his attention to her after he resulted to climax the last time for the eventual morning, and that was but the morning entrance. “Does God love this?” Jackson said as he brushed the blonde and white hair that attracted him off of her head. “Of course, we’re married. It’s not like we aren’t.” “That’s true, dearest but I find this somewhat odd the things we do while we have sex. Come to the bedroom with me. I might have something more to advise.” “You still want more---?” she said, wedging the bottom of her white palm into her eye-sockets. Jackson noticed severe black lines underneath her eye-line; sunken like dark spoons adapted into tranquil ease. “I mean—I wouldn’t mind. Just don’t pound me so hard.” “Then it’s settled,” Jackson answered without another word and motioned towards her. Trisha had become thrilled. “We’ll have sex some more, and more, and oh’ so much more, dearest!” He lifted her from her slender waist and embraced her, tugging and dragging her to the bedroom, with her feet dangling inches from the tile placed into the house last September. Since there was not a hint of a sexual offense, the heart did burn with desire and was mandated onto God as the unification of two humans who are dialed in the same manner of married decree—how odd God can be sometimes when in His mind a document changes the sin into blessing without fault and linear into normal casual conversations. God is a God of contracts, or should I tell of the ancient word: “Covenant.” |
| Does the tale belong in the hands of a God who commands men to settle their hands onto love, therefore instead of death? Thus comes the traveling merchant with his hands deepened into his trench coat pockets mandated to spread the gospel to all the world. The notion to spread the word of God commands love onto life. The young sparrow seeks shelter from the desert storms, while the snake takes grand apprenticeship when the devouring sands accumulated among his secular tribe. My blackened coat pours devouring sands onto the traveling merchant, and that merchant is in the God who commands men who are commended to become settled onto their love divided and traced onto eternal exactness. Whom can cease the credible infatuation I have with women, the merchant hands me a lock and a key, and says, “Join me in the race to be free and I’ll unlock the life you seek in meanings.” “God commands me to be here, doesn’t He?” I ask the merchant, who but smiles underneath his coat of arms, belonging to tech colors of blue ribbon and purple rain, almost systematically inducing in color. I add, “Where am I at the moment? Among the trees of the dead, or the silent screams that wash up ahead?” And before the voice was a mighty thunder clapping the echoed skies, which are ancient. The merchant had the expression of silence, but the confiscation towards love, and somehow the dedication to remembrance in common understanding, His skin is tan and colored for pacifistic venues of embrace where bruises and wounded nails once burden upon the middle sector of his palms; even onto two thousand years, the wounds have not been healed. I send myself to my knees, uncontrollable hatred is pacified. “Praise God! Have I been introduced into Paradise?” but as I amount this question, I am startled by the voice of the man before me. Tears accumulate, tearing my eyes vision without substances. “Please, forgive me!” “You are forgiven, as you have been since the start,” he ladled into a statement. “Now, bring joy onto those who confessed their hate, their love, and the deicing factors that make up the world here in this viable little clan of our dreaded fathers.” “I do not deserve such love,” I cried, the nervousness and auspicious excitement to love were forming, belonging to me like a personal note, of which are many and countless. “Expedite me from paradise, that others might be able to join, please…?” “That is not what happens here,” he answered. “Decide for yourself if such a command were true, then mankind and all who worshiped and prayed, and steadfast, would not be granted their inheritance. Bring forth the grand hammer, and bite the other side! There is not a hint of drastic change among you, has there been?” “I do not understand,” I said. “But, I can try.” “That’s all I ask, friend,” and onto an instant, he vanished without a trace of his vessel to command. But, as I searched about the vicinity I returned with nothing in hand to tell the others. And then I heard a distant voice call me out, with the name written in the cosmos: “The Word is Jesus, therefore the Word is Alive! There be blood flowing in routes in those words!” Come to the base where men and women are satisfied with their visions and corrupted sins that bear them in-half measures and never filled into their stomachs. The burdens of mankind travel with their hearts enclosed around their flesh, like the material known to us all. I command love that comes from the outer source, which is the Spirit confessed onto untied trust and united unification. “What is it that I have done?” I asked the correct formed Cherubim. He merely looked at me with distress, shook his fists, and scratched the left side of his lion's head with his whole human hand from man. “Cherubim,” I announced him, and I continued with these formidable words: “Aid me that I might know the reasoning of to-days adventure from the household to the beach, downwards the soapy waters bubbled in lines of congregations united within one line?” I continued to wonder in astonishment, both hands were formed into fists. “I do wonder what companionship does invite me into the desperate pleas that confess natural sins flowing memories. Sins are memories, correct?” “Once more onto the satisfaction I have conjured into majestic air, I command these words to initiate a compromise with fictional adventure tracked in nimble and flat boarded attention. Jackson commanded his intentions to figure out the main reason behind the situation, but the more he confessed his internal feelings convulsed into systematic adventure, he would continue to unravel forwards in a decree. The wild tremors of Motorcycle engines remain cast on the outside of the household.” “I wonder who has invited themselves to communicate with the entire line of rivers chaffed against rock and stone, burden and thrown. The treasures are secretive, unknown to human imagination, even onto Paradise we know not of such a location, but the dimensions burden us with its demise. To be created, once more into its final call through the mouth of the Son of Jehovah, whose name does resonate well with Yeshua.” I remembered a single thought from this morning, decided it best to rename its curtain call. “Must one think with consistency as he aims, fires his weapon, and directs the bullet to the attentive target? What reason do I roll to the side, aim, and reload before confessing a bullet out of the mysterious canister?” I remove a white cigarette from a pack of smokes, branch it into the corner of the mouth, and decide it best to light the filled little flame with aesthetically pleasing importunity. “Yes, what reason, indeed?” “The light of music trances me forwards into a march against the satanic belief of unbelievable power: alone, I can not defeat such strength, but onto Jehovah, it is but crass and simple measures. The measure of words has inducted into the world, creative or not, the dissuaded have invested connections unreliable and confessed without plausible explanations. The world has changed, but the human race does invade into the same course of action since the start of our offspring's trek into sin.” I listen with close approximate hearing and attempt to wonder what the voices command from the outside world. The walls are torn, shattered, but still abide in strength though there be little left. I wonder what should occur in the hesitations I have produced, exacted into a natural flow, and converged into digressing intentions that solidify the promising interactivity developed since our Genesis. The voices are there, but the sound is muffled behind musical balance, turned upwards to visit creativeness. “Indeed, what can be accomplished in this turmoil that does not exist?” |
| While mother and sister continued to do their missions in life, I contained within the measure of the household living room and slept soundly for about four hours into the day. It is now night! The burden-able clouds are lost from our light—the masters call demanding me to upraise from the ground, settle the roots, and divide the spoils. The less complaining sections ponder excitement onto me like a dragging knife against cement should I be so adequate for the motioning silence of the darkness. I channel as much as possible to the entertainment venues and surmised dedications settled on mankind, and I tell them as I look downwards from the darkened rooftops: “Compile against me little light, for God is true and has greater light esteemed to behold!” Complain less and the night becomes severely dedicated to haunting the reciter, his eyes closed though he desires to sleep, he obtains it not. As I examine the room around me, I wonder what remains cold in the darkness surrounding the main room. The television set is active brisking and obtaining light through electrical circuits. The PlayStation remains constantly on deserving its call for maintenance that is not concerned. What man can achieve greater confidence than with his wife and plausible questions settled onto answers and deformed love? For God demands confidence, and He understands that we are opportune to such masterful works of ancient art—command me to answer oneself onto death, more so than that which is the world! I do not appease the world, nor do I swim in its oceans. He who commands legions to appraise God shall understand the basic concepts of timeless revenue. I have much left to understand, and so much more to become evaluated and seen onto readers and their thinking capabilities, which astound me with greater treason. Who can cease the work of God? Did man abide to tell Him as he created Adam: “What manner of form is this? What reason can I not be like thou burden onto miraculous answer?” Indeed, Adam did not even mention such thoughts or pestering venues of traceable acts against His God, our Creator. And now, that Christ Jesus has entered onto the ideals and motions of moralities and dedications, I wonder how brisk and obtainable Christ truly is onto the crucified. It’s a mere answer as dashed fun is when convulsed at children’s eating parties. The music stands in his honor to become truth. The love I have died to suffice, to function has become fucked in severe demand. Venetians, the name, remains dead—there is little to be known of her demonic presence, which substitutes for Trisha, a woman who has murdered and slid me to the ends of the earth. When I think of the final curtain call, I come to wonder if mankind is worth his price of admission. How can a man disbelieve in He who created him? And within those discommode venues of imaginative fluids dominate and eccentric to existence and the bellows of its master, I remembered onto fascination that Venetians, too, was there. What’s the accounted number for those who have died in the name of the Father? I think well onto World War II when the hero’s believed in the freedom and dedication that Christ Jesus taught, and thus on June 6th, 1944 mankind died for Him as their feet stomped into the dirtied gray-sculled sands of Normandy, on-wards charging with delicate fear with some soldiers removed from the world, and others shouting, “In the name of Jesus!” wooden rifle and commandant metal armed to the teeth. What masters did invite themselves onto the battlefield during the trench wars, as Operation Overlord became suitable for the allied forces? Boots on the surface, underneath watered substance, I wonder in exclamation, “Which man was not man as he rumored his struggle against the demon's mission to dissuade life?” I sit in wonder to the excitement of imaginative processing. The world demands me to love, but God commands me to die for someone, to allow death to pleasure me into satisfying inheritance. “What can be done to a man that commands himself to die, but when he is aided and trusted, guided onto love for mankind, will he insert inductive trust without proper channels to command?” Even onto the knowing that Christ Jesus died for me, I am inclined to believe furthermore advanced in godliness, portioned and exacted into running rushes of imaginative influx detaining stupidity with national words that communistic embrace have little to reason to read into. Yet, I still stand there in the motions of this world, confused and deliberately ingratiating the truth that is named God, that is named the Son of God—the world in its fear of God will disobey and continually result in the same revelation as before. Mankind hasn’t changed that far into the future since ancient times since Adam and Eve commanded their mouths to hurried motion to eat the fruit which held faces of children, wide-mouthed and built-in thirst. |
| The handwriting was on the wall covered in streaks of terribly inductive blood, but none would understand the constipation of that whom it belonged—for a while, anyway. The newsletters titled the Papers with the statement: The President of the United States of America fathomed such decrees, made it possible for escape among the tombs, the stones breaking, rumbling greatness avalanches onto the world. As I entered the main documented office, the surest blinking of eyes contained my entrance. As I walked to the corner desk where work was permitted, never accepted as I watched as several humans, or individuals who shared the same offerings and peaceful negotiations, shouted themselves into desire, one which consults and creates timeless interests between two accompanied heroic villeins--- one should consider them, contained within their eyes located onto me in wonder what I was on the verge of obtaining. The co-worker's thinking process in their minds becomes irrelevant cause and demand, almost to the extent that their hands shied sands with beer bottles. Though I was entreated with passion and constant reprisal for romance, there was one curious woman. One destined life, or being, of the high regard that treated me with constant touch-touch and defiant attraction that resonates beautiful strands of hair, dressed in white, and compromise to exalt with love. This one woman in the entire office, where hands clicked and cankered keyboards, stationed from the Eastern Seas, and soft communication onto numbered lines through phones and fax machines, made an antiquate love to become satisfied with casual sexual interactions. But this woman, whose name demanded trust demanded we rest ourselves and not command each other’s main bodies to erotic invocations. But, damn did I endure such possibilities? Anna Williams, or more so as I consider her name more often as “Annie Williams” continues to fascinate me with greater boundaries extended from their counsel commanding nations to unravel. Indeed, she could be a burden and bound in rape scenes which would turn me on. Final strands and the change would be certain. As I entered the documented area, where the nation demands itself to be taken seriously, I change the channel with a controller in hand, I pressure the fingers together to create activities among the buttons, and transcend the proportional viewing television set with aquatic visions bubbling around, and chaffing the rubbing skin, delicate and measured in soft cushioned intentions made clear, visible, and cooperative. In other words, commercials. I stature to stand prominently. “Continue with the magical system, process its ruin, and demand me to continually fix the problem!” I began to walk towards the door, I turned around, “please, do contact me when the institution comes into play?” “If that is what you want, sir!” said the corresponded Anna “Annie” Williams, she exhaled deeply fixated portions of smoke from her small white cigarette lanced on the corner of her small mouth, closest to her dominate arm. “It doesn’t concern most of the men here, but I find the situation quite literally insane, almost too much so. Do what is needed, and do what one can—I’m out of here,” I turned back, and exited the main office, walking to the vehicle that prevailed and continual in its drastic change. The seasons were compounded, the breeze blowing like a freezing chance at invisible mysteriousness. The nearest trees conjured death, prevailing to annihilate the proper containment fields, and as I watched the breeze, the eyes moved and distracted with deaden leaves, which were deforming from the winter previous, contained and trusted they were beginning to channel into resurrection. The improvement continued to demand containment into their existence without proper change. The demanding love that surfaced the world had become forlorn and lore in grand schemes changed without resolution and revelation. The entire business was handling little companies, now, trusting in the leaders this country had predetermined to confiscate for the smaller change, the prominent change, that inducted several theatrical possibilities. I stood emotionless, sparing the thoughts into a bucket of brained inheritance to be used again one of these in the coming days. The breeze became colder, the mustard seed of fog exhaled from my mouth, breathed inwards deeply, as if in the greater extent of thinking, and I danced in short removal of normalcy. Dancing had been a fun change, different and indifferent in class, but totally trustworthy alone without others to dance the mess around tables and chairs. “What difference does it make if I can’t put practice into work?” I wondered, thinking aloud again, the mouth moving tongues and lips to resonate the trust I included towards creating. The running gambles of domination censored the probable explanations I seek, nurtured into health, and demanded within rational meanings existing through the mindless fog; the mere statement of simple thinking. What can be done to such prominence, devoid in the master-less class of doors closed, enclosed with doorknobs, which don’t consider their tuning points relevant. Who can make a man decide his own understanding without their being a ritual of crucifixion to handle the fleshed boundaries exemplified? “The wind continues to blow,” I stated, I breathed again, deeply functional, sighing afterward in the process to examine the pride I did not resonate to know or understand in basic concepts, not at the time. Wouldn’t be until later on in the tale when I realize that pride is the main reason I contain not one friend in this world, demanding not one woman—hell, I had never kissed a woman beyond the page age of fifteen! I was concerned about such miracles that I didn’t correspond well with the news editor at the time. As some might wonder in their distress at reading such problematic cultural sins, I figured I would explain with a short metered stick standing in the parking lot. “This here, humanity,” I believed in the course fix motion of mindful thinking as if I were talking having a decent conversation with an individual who plagues controlled substance into me every time I dance this round away. Both my arms stationed outwards, leaning inwards, I moved both feet in a process of quirking surfaced attention and playing the annoyance to beating both hands into a clapping action. What does man confine in himself when he dances the waltz before the woman whom I so do concern to love? I heard my name called out from behind me, my body resisted the actions I had persuaded to become adherent to. “What is it, Mikey?” I said. The man that ladled before me was a friend, somewhat casual in his amounted countenance, but his blonde dirtied hair compromised a stationary belief that the man did care about his appearance, though he had as of this moment not been able to maintain a relationship with women. Reminded me of myself. The longest he had maintained, and to be endured, was three months. Because of this I felt a friendship or accompanied reassurance with this man named Michael Conan, who demanded me to eat at reassurances with him. He deserted steak for the sake of flamed fish! “I’m coming over tomorrow, might want to find something out about that thing that happened last night.” “Don’t give me lectures about things that don’t have any reasoning behind them. Come, let’s head to the Wamin Restaurant, I’ll promise I’ll buy this time.” I noticed Michael’s eyebrows furrow downwards as if he were appointed towards anger for a millisecond of the entrance to his brain. “What is it?” I asked him, concerned. “It’s nothing. I don’t find it interesting to eat tonight.” “Well, the baby needs company anyway.” “You thinking about what I’m thinking?” Michael said. “Perhaps we should invite Trisha to join?” “And you would like that?” he said, shifting his shoulders upwards, rolling the bones to match the stress. “What about Anna? Do you do her still?” “Do her?” I questioned, but more diverse and subjective was the question towards an answer of complete utterance. “You think I do her?” I created a form of signs through fingers and hands, which mad the renascence, onto unconsciousness, a finger inserting into a sideways horizontal hole formed with the thumb and forefinger, literally saying the penis enters the vagina with countered motions. “The whole building knows, man---,” he dragged the word. “Look! You bring Anna and I’ll bring Trisha, it’ll be a four-cornered double date, and bring the dog too, if possible.” “Though we weren’t eating tonight,” I said, correcting his former answer into concerning conversation. “Don’t bring me the dog, the dog stays home.” “Ah---,” he dragged, again. “Look, I’ll bring Trisha, you take Anna, we all get together, as I have changed my mind.” “So eat?” I asked, making sure of the quick decision. “Yes,” he answered, motioning the word with yet another long prominent inverse, dragging measures of wording. I could not help but believe the ritual was contained resulting in a proper channel; change indeed occurs countless within the measure of human equality. Michael added, “Bring a jacket with you, too. We might eat outside, or just might be too warm in the restaurant. Know what I mean?” “Of course, I know what you mean,” I said in my mind, allowing him to hear the words, brisking in torrents of change, though, and action demanding retribution onto the pain and literal suffering that accommodated the answers and closed questions. I waved, entered my vehicle, and said, “See you later,” and closed the door as I settled in the comfortable driver’s chair, discerned with love. What love does endure me? What compassion concerns me? When I left the parking lot from our building property, I entered onto the weigh-line, entered the passage to the freeway, and maintained disorder towards greater extents of passive infatuation. The incoming traffic halted my approach. I was on the southbound freeway, and the accumulation of cars and vehicles of all sizes and brands were destined here in this location. I remained in traffic for a portion of three miles for one hour and seven minutes approximately, as I was on the concerned receiver of the radio, and it was, indeed, to understood basic love, very loud; divining the change and subordinate love to station against the incoming preferences that would astonish me. After I was able to leave traffic, and the moving vehicles were more adaptable to normal speeds regulated by the street authorities, I was able to reach home, change of clothes seemed in order, and a shower to accommodate a short period of masturbation. I thought, awhile I fondled myself, the expression and estate of the woman I desired, loved, and had told her that I loved her and wished, most importantly, to acquire through the reimbursement known as the constitution of marriage. As I concluded the self-contempt-ed session, with shame burdening me like heavyweights lifted into the ground, I pastured outwards and believed in mother’s expression of facial structure and motioning mouth. I decided to leave the upper-level bathroom of my household for a single reason more delicate than others. I would use the lower basement bathroom, not the first floor, mind you, but the maintained basement bathroom. “I don’t want mother to be in my thoughts right now,” I brushed off my curiousness, and masturbated, once more, for the extra tinge and thinking processing that comforts from climaxing, which more semen announced itself outwards than the first more erotic time of this stressful entry to my life. Who am I to think of such things? I tampered around the basement attempting to find something to achieve, something to allow my thoughts to progress naturally, almost instinctively, claiming nature and land among the tabletop games I have conducted to brief intervals of challenge. But, as I continued to move soldiers and items into the basement with their terrible sounded ideas, I came across a battled wretch of a thought: Mother’s soft glowing skin, almost like radiation, to an extent of proper reform. My emotions towards these types of thinking do prevail to gain a foothold inside of my stomach, floating there like the predominate butterflies with wild wings squirming and stitching themselves into my intestines, upwards through anxiety, and possibly escape through masterful classed acts from the mouth, but they avoid it—why do they avoid the nature of my mouth! With the loose words transformed, intrigued onto a street of fluid, the unconsciousness prevalent onto me, I attained white-colored wedding dresses onto the formation of that small instrument in our mouths—dressed the tongue with words saying, “Now they sing songs through the walls of my mouth, upwards, upwards towards my mind into the pink brain that changes—need, change is drastically provocative.” I shuffle forwards, feet stranding in strands towards my certain direction, on-route towards the greater esteem that belonged to a younger youthful me, determined and evaluated. As I command the trust of mankind, I switch forwards into another more mechanical gear and temper forwards into explanatory excitement: “the music I had once listened to had become relevant to the world. Now, as I drive towards the restaurant… (what is the name of that place?) ...I channel forwards and sing alongside Al Jourgensen, thinking casually about the difference in our politics, but the same message applies. But I wonder who is wrong in their thoughts if there is such a thing as an answer that is neither right nor wrong—I answer oneself with zeal and challenge, and I said: “that’s called an opinion, and all Americans have one, like an asshole that isn’t cleaned or is, it’s still an asshole, but one is dominated while the other is immaculate.” I silence myself before I continue onto a conversation with me alone, silent, and despair visiting me like some scarecrow in the Middle East. --- I continue to drive forwards into the burden of the land onto the world, the children slaves are considerate, the timeless answers are defined, but still, humans suffer from their emotions and their decisions are on par with the emotional distress that castrates our minds and brands us into mental institutions. What can be done to me that can not be done for others? On the same ends, I can help others with the same measure of kindness and respect that is endured each time I look a person in the eyes, chin downwards, and eyes lifted upwards like an elevator without a signal barking in sirens. What can be done for a hopeless boy like me, thinking concerning ideas such as dying and living; living and dying in this posture forever concerning solemnify with delicate remembrance of what used to become, be, and was all in the togetherness accompanied. |
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