Hallowed is the past

If I was to say that time is carried by the light of the eyes and space carried by the black, would I be accused of trying to disturb the shallow people who want to emulate a presence, and attract attention? Would I be attacked for saying all eyes hold both (blackness and light), and that skin colour is not a deflection allowing for people to attain views of the light and black, of themselves or others. Would I be attacked because that’s how people play, despite the fact that skin colour is on the tangent of human connections of stella, rather than a representation of ancient or today or stars and dark matter?

If I was to say that that time is the binary of existence and bubbles of now won’t change or alter the fate, would the seriousness of crimes which challenge the ability to see clearly and know the increments of maturity that are needed for both faith and common respect, go in-punished? Will the offenders be excused because some people see only their own space as being the most important thing, disregarding confinements of juxtaposition? Allowing the whiners to win instead of the tales of time that hold the turn and kill the game to be perceived as prime. Is it that to be kind rather than alienated, they act to be the voucher of mourners, rather than be a resistor of seduction? And that the cruel call the victims seducers and those with intention of bad will, delinquents, thus excusing their cuss ??

If I was to say that grey doesn’t feature in the eyes because each person has only the ability to see from their soul or not. That each eye has a quantum which is what makes humans apart of the universe. And within that quantum there are dimensions which should not be explored, exploited or exchanged. There is an unchangeable, character dynamic of and within humanity. Would I now be asked to find proof, especially by those who want to be more, to be greater than their walk as they become less, less because the rate of human population is so quickly exploding, they feel they can combat anyone or any character to hold the highest point of view?


I don’t think that people have learned to accept we are a part of an exist. A system, that was made long before the big bang, before the evolution of lungs and skeletons, before the dinosaurs’ extinction which marked the beginning of the ‘human’ rainbow. I don’t think people accept that the Earth hosts life and is not just a rock which may be designed to be rode by whoever can construct the deepest objective.


Anyway, that’s my gripe for the Samhain xxo



Just Thinking


If my babies were witnesses of the soul I actually am and they were stolen because a dictator wanted to shape my image, to be who he wanted others to see, thus allowing people to blow off the discipline of their own soul and work for him to complete a task, (my spirit designed), then there is an absolute problem.
Trying to keep hold of people who allow other people to decide for their heart based on the want of revenge (unjustly), only feeds their ego. Because what they want avenged is not a concept that can be changed, it is like trying to escape the convictions of the past that were sentenced in the right increments of law.

This driver, of what he believes to be his vessel, gives away the richness of the moral lines, he encourages immoral behaviour because without the respect for the metaphysical, he uses those people who are empty of value, he uses them to raise himself up, and encourage hatred in the energies of others. Conflict in the minds of those on a pathway of life.
Calling in achievers to try and denounce the Elder order, so he can perch himself on top, above the gods and taking the place of the Lord through semantical understanding of terms; like a blue wren who steals the wind of others to give to those who validate his wrongs, against the solid wings of direction, trying to create a drop pigeon.

The thing is, I don’t fight. I defend.
You see they can’t accept I see through my souls eyes and by refusing to adhere to the line I know, they try to curl it up, not wanting to loose it, but not wanting to accept me.
 Those wanting revenge still fight, by preaching goodness and denial, they antagonize and hallucinate trying to see outside of their own journey.
Influencing others they project my line of sight back on me. Those who have given themselves to reap the scars of revenge have no clarity, they are swimming in the eyes of those who also want to erase the past, erase the existence of me.
Filling themselves up, similar to delivering an essay without references, is how it feels.
Trying to defend against the bamboozlement of genocide recycled.
Like screen-shoting a private post and sharing it virally to people under another context, blocking that page from my view.
Stealing my identity, stealing my all.
Refusing to join the dots instead wanting to weave and give away what is me, making me fight. Accusing me of being obnoxious.
They don’t respect male and female, they want to destroy me, because they can’t be me. Arguing all the time because they want to capitalise on my alive, but not follow the knowledge, only take it in vain, causing so many pain.
They waged war on me because they failed to allow me to open a conversation with my family about what things meant to me. I aggravate when their influence sniggers people up reversing the truth, trying to wash it upon my aura. Accusing me of trying to alter the notion of lies that were churned up when I was entrapped by the very people who wanted to enact a stage where revenge could be perceived. The transference caused by insinuation.
Insinuation that tries to negative gear correlation and trick people to think.
My parental rights were stolen because those stage setters enjoyed my silence. Then used sex as an excuse. Confusion was the leverage of petulance.
I disappoint many when I cry, because everyday I feel that I have been exploited and those who done so are still trying to cover up their depth by pretending that I am a lessor.
Addicted to asking others about me, they use their opinions, I feel uncomfortable around others because of their intrusion. Influenced by the underlying want of revenge, crossed, I am thrown away. Considered too much trouble.
I deserve more than an apology, More than some ghostly effort to try and give me something to do because behind the cover-up, they know.
A am not some dragon fly, some nymph yet to form. That cop out is sheepish.
My needs are being ignored because of those who wanted to dance and deliver a story of time; those who wanted to insist I was a dead head and didn’t need to know; those who stole my happiness because they wanted to play god and interfere; and because of those who decided to boost them who were touched by my soul. Preventing them from connecting the dots.
Instead I was assaulted and thus the connections could not be ignored.
But, I will survive 🙂
Life is more than what is assumed.
Life is not a right to accumulate what you like the most, or to try and alter the shape of your soul. Life is progressive and time takes no orders from those who want to denounce it to fly in pockets of another’s light.


Memories of the imagine
Reminders in touch
Peoples past stories

Which can never be transferred
Onto me; into mine
To the aura of adverse

Who is anyone to refute fate
Instead to assume
It is to die

Playing to create destiny
Where desire turns the wheel
Defying the harmony
Instead trying to control the vortex

I wonder if my actions for existence
Shape these radical games

Where the depth is electively forgone
And mimicry the design

What idiot tries to steal an eye
To run the focus of a show
Trying to engineer the attitudes
Of subjects they squirm within

Locking in a room
A mother who does nothing but love her babes
Teaching them the respectful ways
Nurturing what they saw together
When they saw with her from within

Strands of life have pathways
Stands have spine and sin
The planet has a consciousness

All characters are absolute
Energy is planetary
Not universal
Yet existentry


Anjos have legion,
People try to create
In vain or in desire,
the mechanisation.
The summons of god and satan
The dexterity of Michael and Gabriel,
The purple and the blue
The moderate and superficial
The nothing
The gender
The Mars and the accords
Jupiter in transit
To Pluto and afar,
When the construction is broken by the question of validity
The tumbleweeds cry
Ignorant to the fact their quest for utopia was denied
Wanting to fake a sorrowful cry
Drumming blackness
For the victorious to yield and give to the lessor
Who was without a heart but wanted
There to be a cause for their fall
Something more than
Seeds undone
The summon a shadow
The angry one
In the transition there is scorn
There is the wind between the phrase
the insinuation that is invisible
Where darkness are acclaimed
The want for the power
The power which beat
An infusion of resistance
Along the wrong retreat
Like wishes and moments
They only come once
The sordid feel happiness
In refusing to be
To be the mended
so they can draw
harrow to me
What is is is
What is chased
Remains in the belong’ers hand
That made in delusion
Only draws demons to demand


stay ..

they made a mistake
they were confronted
they opened me up
so they could claim me
yet it was me who wrapped myself in attraction
the magnet of order and time
travelling in sacred unspeakable space
I have now to accept they accept no blame
riled up to stand in opposition
once again
instead they try to turn the finger at the screams of my pain
pain from their assault
their ignorance
their blind infliction
facing threats of being ignored again
like they were forced to perceive
to see that that’s the catalyst of the error
but still they are refusing
to appreciate the very heart of me
wanting to call every who can to demonstrate
whilst all I feel is plagiarism
the trespass of my soul
those who only walk to have their body
their privates
their instinct opened up by acts of fetish and copulation
disregard closures
boundaries and mark contaminations
when they assume they are on to it
stalking the crevasse of the brain
objectifying to fulfill
where they have emptied their own
pushed past what is
what was their zone


It was this place
That made me its wife
To convey,
To guide,
For life.
This place has given me strength,
While you have abused me,
Wanted more,
Hated metaphor,
And tried to smash the truth.
You just don’t agree
About things you see me to know
As you try to stand outside
Of your own capable mind.
This place won’t let me forget
And allow you to give,
To those who want their spirit in lights;
Their soul at height.
Their fairytale to be the reality
Instead of an anthology!
There is a rank beyond your drive
Your ability to perceive,
It is not to destroy mother earth
To take her as anything you want her is
To be,
Nor scratch and pound to turn things around
And make everyone see the illusion.
There’s no such person, right?
Just a poor abandoned mole
As you live to stick your head in a hole.
The law or lore;
Both are kept
They tell of her love and guise
The way she knows the planets tune
Of what is necessary for humans to do.
Of past and present,
Of love and prints
What expands and what contracts.
In all the refractions that you feed,
That revenge is worthy,
To gag
To jeer
as you do
Innocent lives are harmed.
The pure saturated
The banshee silenced by a sirens score
Yet the angel who suffers is told
It’s old.
lotus (1 of 1)


oh how does the earth speak to you?
from what you see,
what you have remembered,
or what you look for?
are your eyes full of wonder?
trying to find,
the problems,
you can call problems because you tried to see the place
through another’s eyes?
do you set out to frame a contest,
to make an excuse for your ill will,
to fabricate the flamboyant fuckery,
that scratch you itch of guilt?
do you seek to double down?
the convention to defame,
and refracting on capital, 
whilst your harvest a gain?
or dare I say game?
or possible
your shadows are obscuring
the strength of me
you could not see.
does the earth remember your energy as it does me?
do you strive to out pace the hurt from another time,
similar place?
do you blame the fragments of heathen an hell
and saw me to be the promoter
oh well.
how mistaken you are,
I am sorry you tripped in a heated car
plonked me into a vision
and begged when I said no more.
It is wild a man, who tries to use both discord with accord,
the ravages are unruly
and the cannons are unleashed.
in the context of the cheese factory
to label frowns clowns
may you someday remember I am visionary
and striped from the call of ground.
you may have tried to scar me
I take it as a writ
for my life and body bears meaning
and my knowledge will not retreat.

(c) 2016