involuntary_sensory_signals Death of a Rose To believe is to not question. Heraldry upheld against the hardened leather of an unknowable future. Even scars fade, reliant upon severity. These are the fortunes thrown at. They melt and flow, sometimes haphazardly; at others' discretion, they can solidy into blue reflected mirrors. Too clever perhaps to transfer thru your open life, a variated consequence fulfilled. Even the sharp smell and closed mouth have endured, against the sanguine endowment. Yes, I flip another page, eager to learn what can make the class struggle a callous one. Does it make envious the explosive calm? Or scurry in creative furrows? A question, or may I say, inquiry can only broaden this gliding finger in the soft yeilding of curving skin. And yet, would I be your emergency in default of recognition? Scavengers may be the door to door broken light that darkens the heaviest loss, in seasons passing. You can even take a rampant state to task, and a stargazer can dream in floating thoughts, hesitant in regard only. If dictates are more your passion, scratch at the passage of word_sex. Invent the transceiver that ebbs in the moons passage. Words are jealous in extremes, a love lost to the deisel burning. These are the tests you and I shall stagger through, a rough sprint in the name of the game. Only when this night shall rest will we be content. I place my commas with driven pleasure, an easy test, one of a bargained sphinx. Simple quivering in embrace, survival in natures markings. By soaking this sleep in blinking astonishment, the forward journey will pen only the gathering of modernized contrivances. 040813 ... pete It is the stargazer who knows the true path. While the others fight over who should steer the ship, only she with her eyes to the sky knows the true path into eternity, across the boundless seas of sensation. And who better to lead the armies to war, than the young girl who observes the ants with such careful wonder that she would not disturb there movements, and slowly, through deft indirect commands, lead the colony to dominance over all others in the yard? Will we let our kilts fly freely as we dance between the broad swords on the parade square, with the strasthpey marking time behind us? I sit silently in my bed as the rabbit hops along the floor, dodging the clothes and unpacked boxes. It stops and listens as a bird calls from the tree near the window. In an instant, the rabbit is gone, hiding away. And I sat on my roof, crawling back and forth along its length, careful not to slide down, staying at the top. What was I thinking? I stared, futily, into the sky, trying to pierce the overcast. Yet there were no stars, and I could not make out the spaces_between. 040813 ... zeke and yet i task the remaining light sidereal in surrounding; the glide of laughter on focused roofs slither. all majesty is collected in tiny boxes, lasting in darkness until captured flutterings are persued - the way is open. outside there is a statue of no proportion, measuring height against myth as archetypes do. and she is proud; love floats in view as darkly as wheel grease and machine oil are applied. only the lasting is preserved beyond depth. solid, and its trailing edge decays. is the range and permanence applied? or have another remain after sinuous collapse is ruins. and in the fires we burn. lower now, the wings hover, wafting in sleeping hour. bright blur in cold somnolence is the when we came from. we last, transparently and wet. and stops. 040813 ... zeke run! in small houses is the light ineffeble; caninewhispers signal the coming end. doors lay open and swimming with light from hearts and hearths outpouring. struggling inward, we push through the illumination; incandescent currents blast by and over us as we enter, pushing with intangible force towards the outwash and diffusion horizon. in cool fire we swim, feet float up bouyed by lumens and brilliance intense. the current is swift. eddies and vorticies flash in forgotten corners bleaching hue and value, ending perspective. the wave of brightness crests, houses flooded to rafters. we drown in the effulgence of it. floating, faces pressed to ceilings, we are carried on brilliance, rocked gently as it subsides, and deposited in dimness growing. darkness claims all. and stops. 040814 ... () (well of darkness is filling as we waft under transient decay in lasting stutter of all length and duration past meaning in passage of dust lake bucket empty and stops) 041102 ... z no lost datum exist under scrutiny and lasting is the gaze done with red fire eyes on almost melted dish at host of totemic randomness about five children who ate and laughed in synchrony as all agents do on darkly shorn vessels alone with the vast and heaving ocean of life and stops 050131 what's it to you? who go blather from