± H13.com - Visions, Madness, Dreams...
books2:57am tuesday, 1st september
come, let us fill all the books of the world
for God is love, and love can be a fire
that drives the fevered pen, that lights far shores
on will come the crush of desire and of loneliness
and alone you have halted demons, but now...
the turning of the world stirs a wonder in you
is this the end? is this the beginning?
or just another day that drifts along the edge
i have been brighter than this, and quieter
(hush now, let all sound find their source)
i have knocked on doors some have feared to open
you cannot prepare for the worst, i have found
the experience never tastes the same
flowers that celebrate every day like spring
(to escape from the hush, the quiet of snow)
they cannot find where you are: believe
there is love that can come from nowhere
because it is everywhere, have eyes to see!
it is hard to turn the tragedy, the memory
but it can be done if you touch the greater love
i have seen the fire, how the seraphim burn
time being mystery that unfurls endlessly
what is the magnitude of the wonder of change?
beyond all things that ever were, and yet
the merest sliver of what is given in this world
the shyest light before the rising of dawn:
this is the bravest, that breaks the darkness
go forth, and do what is right, do you see?
you know what is right, or have you not heard?
Jesus sat with sinners, not the authority
come, let us fill all the books of the world
all that we were meant to do: it is written

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Luck3:23pm tuesday, 25th august
Everything happened because it was logical for those things to happen. Nothing ever happened that was not logical to happen because that was the way that things worked. Aught were taken for granted because of that, enough so that they said that this universe was inevitable, and all you needed really was particles and luck. No one ever wondered if logic itself was inevitable. Far from compelled to happen was it the whole history of things, which at times one could believe as if it all were written way back when, in the tiniest fluctuations of the original particle party, the Big Bang. But as the scientist posit that there might be places where the laws of physics are different, they think not of a place where nothing works at all, yet things still "happen". What might be thought of as the primordial chaos, in more than one mythology. They think not of whence the origin of logic itself, within which cause and effect may have meaning, wherein their equations function. They posit an infinity of universes where everything that can happen, does. They think not of an infinite of universes where nothing works at all in any of them. What are the odds, now, those of the particles and luck variety, when I envision an infinite number of universes where there is nothing but chaos, and this one, where everything works? Tell me why your model is more valid, because methinks you missed something. There is no such thing as luck.
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oblivion8:52pm friday, 14th august
the patron saint of oblivion
twirled zero cigarettes on each fingertip
with shadows scampering around the edge of existence
there is a list of things i have not yet done
wallowing in the limpid pool of lesser importance
they sit there and stare at me, and wait
growing more eyes as they brood
time is not an illusion, for change is real
distance i have dreamed makes me small like hope
and sometimes i am the dream of myself
like the smoke of prayer ascending to heaven
i breathe fire in its imaginary state
awaiting the Judgment in constant apology
sometimes disgusted by how much i actually believe
to light a candle and careful of its metaphor
how could it all make such blinding sense?
as ancient crimes still cry out from the earth
what have i trapped behind these eyes?
here i am, watching the crows make a murder
here i am, diving into my head armed with sarcasm
here i am, waking up as the dream slips away
hell never thought someone could figure it out
how to punch a hole into eternity
and i follow, out of all dreaming
where every action is a beginning
the engines of heaven where light is forged
i have given my soul to its proper owner
and i burned in love till only love remained

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the breeze1:51am thursday, 6th august
i find what moves me is the night coursing through my blood
the elixir, night, from vials where dreams are distilled
i find i feel naked without my chains, wandering on purpose
and the dreaming drags at my heels, me without my wings
the wind blows about voices which all miss my exact verbiage
so much sadness, pools about to burst in the house of wisdom
i have seen love come from out of nowhere, hope unheeding
even as the rocket's red glare blinded me of anything else
sometimes to crawl out of one's skin, momentarily nonexistent
until the moment when you meet yourself in the vast void
how cruel is the mirror to display whatever truth, how kind
there is power in the desire to be alone, mostly untapped
time as if unreal when no one shares the spaces in between
i have desired to taste the fire out of which desire seeks
and dreaming: it is to touch the world through the ether
have i understood not that innocence is infinite till lost?
the end of the world to be spectacular, unless it's yourself
i know where i will be when the sky splits open: flying
for fear is merely not to understand where reality ends
even the darkest of horrors can be approached with kindness
and where have i been to know the secrets of the changing?
i to forget myself when asked to lead down the path i blazed
only to be whole when without the self, except the humor
love i have experienced as a gentle breeze... that knew me

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Routine6:53am thursday, 30th july
So, in Standland, I am still in the routine of working at the day job, going home, ordering delivery food, then writing. After the two books I wrote after/about the Event (having been the end of the War in Heaven), I have been doing most of the production on a website, whose domain name I paid over $4000 for. And now I've started yet another website, which has a cool title, and which will end up being another book. Not much there yet. The website I mentioned previous, that about has enough info on it to just make it so that it functions as an informational site which, though supplemental to my books, stands on its own with a fascinating philosophy. Well, I think it's fascinating, anyway, stuff I gathered from my experiences as a soldier in the War. And it may be that the thing I was promised right before the Event, namely, the curing of my split mind—it may now be in the works. I have prayed, though: let me never forget the lessons that I have learned, nor the miracles I have witnessed. Word. Peace. Out.
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doves3:00pm monday, 20th july
i let loose the doves of my thought
a flurry of wings as the light scatters
i am busy imagining random apocalypses
remembering how i kissed the feet of God
have you been to where color is born?
it is between the light and the dreaming
it is where birdsong slows to whalesong
nothing breathed that wasn't once of heaven
fire once used to dance on my fingertips
and i told eternity to wait to celebrate
and it all came around, i became noone
even less than what my father had deposited
i had thrown it all away spectacularly
and forgot how exactly how that had come
shuffling through the trash, my home
not knowing: it is God who lives there
the words of the prophet had so declared
night became my womb, though what is born?
then there was a savior in my visions
i believed him not, even when he showed me
how it would look from infinity's sight
and miracles i believed not my own eyes
and there came a day that was not a day
a year that was more than a year, i think
after a lifetime, more than a lifetime
i saw the light, and it was good, that's all
to work out the kinks in visions of horror
but to end in the eye of a child of God
my own eye, having learned how i am nothing
still shuffling through the trash, you know
for God is there, you see, captured
not as a prisoner, but one who frees
in His eye, if one catches the right angle
life and death, beyond the highest heaven
the light which shines in our hearts
what exactly it is we find when we were lost
what it is we were capable of, all along

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flight5:17am wednesday, 8th july
in the opening of the endless word
the idea is rendered in the bones:
are you small enough to love the world?
the legend of me is many myths long
as wide as the road to destruction
time threatens to stop, in vain
it is written in my dna to doubt
to dream deep in the womb of the earth
of silver horses that rush like rivers
ground zero of my forgotten desire
that which lazy with gravity pretends
which no longer plays nice with pain
why did i return arbitrarily home?
where dawn steadily claims the sky
i surrendered to the most distant light
which returned me to myself, as if
i lived in the reality in the mirror
only to catch glimpses of my true world
and i find myself huge, made of knots
that i do not forget the lighter things
to gaze into heavens where stars fall
could i expect the sheer perspective?
in the eyelash of infinity, there am i
who ate a star and spit out a particle
just waiting for eternity to blink
it happens to all of us: we are born
the most extraordinary of ordinary
to turn the corner when shows too soon
the tunnel full of eyes, and the light
where we wake from this solid world
flight is to forget there are shadows

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NotArt #312:17am wednesday, 1st july

A third photo I added text to.

Click above to get a larger version.

Based on a dream I had.

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furious gesturing2:49pm tuesday, 23rd june
evil is much furious gesturing, and posing
a conductor's baton, a magic wand, a lonely song
we run in circles to dig a zero in the grass
and who am i? this dreamer exited stage left
i am behind the scenes as long as i don't breathe
evil is a quiet, waiting snake of an emotion
a fire that dies at its most brightest burn
this criminal saw the light through the scratches
the glass, black, from artificial nightmares
do you dream it can be so easy to fly away?
home is that notion you have found the center
evil is a drama that shakes down the audience
a wind that never finds rest, to dissipate
i have found the exact star that calls me
as if i could reach not so far to pluck it down
but like a dream, but seconds beyond my grasp
to awake to the rhythm of the churning city
evil is the world where cruelty is made cash
a spire that falls, how great is the ruin of it
none of us sure of the footing in the darkness
did we imagine we would escape the final light?
a fire to fear that burns all the sin from us
evil is what we discard of life, a simple no

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master sky10:25pm saturday, 13th june
master sky breathed in storms to save them till it was dry
and it threatened never to come a day they would be useful
time is lighter than the wind is invisible
the mysteries are not dark, as we once had thought
and wanderlust surfaces, as dawn dews every surface
there are no crowds i can lose myself in, i stand out
at once to find me a saint and a thief, pretending otherwise
i will dream of far places, where moonlight escapes
fly on wings that no one can see, except as whispers
fly to horizons where the city is grafted to the sky
where i touch down, roses shall grow without end
master sky is not who i want to be, such poetry
for my way is the road, even as the wanderlust i bury
i shall dig it up again when i am shrouded in darkness
and the fires are holy that light unspeakable places
and the typography of the signs are unfamiliar here
i will emerge, i think, from my imaginary chrysalis
more man than fairytale, ready always to begin
the archer at the twilight distance, whose aim is true

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The Wise Man9:34pm saturday, 6th june
a children’s story for grown-ups

There was a man who wrote a book of wisdom. “If you follow every word,” he said, “you will be very happy. I know because I follow none of it, and I am very sad.” It sold very well, and the man became very famous.

Many people tried to talk to him; reporters followed him wherever he went. “Why are you following me?” he asked the reporters.

They replied, “Because you are a very wise man. We want to know what you have to say about everything.”

He thought for a moment, rubbing his chin, then said, “Everything is rubbish, if you look at it in a certain way. Everything is precious, if you look at it in another way. I look at the world in both ways—everything is precious rubbish, the garbage of God. Now, stop following me.”

The reporters jotted this down, but they did not stop following him. Moreover, there was a crowd gathered around his house who would not leave.

He asked them, “Why don’t you go home?”

“Because you are a very wise man,” they said. “We want to know how to live life.”

He paused, thinking, rubbing his chin again, then said, “Many before me have already told you how to live life. If you won’t listen to them, you won’t listen to me. Now, go home.”

The people nodded, yes, yes, but they stayed where they were.

Then the man realized his mistake—he had believed them when they said that he was a very wise man. He would show them how stupid he really was. It happened to be winter, and it was bitterly cold outside, so he took off all his clothes and walked out of his home naked.

“It is a sign!” the people shouted. “We must all be naked, like he is!” And they all took off their clothes and stood shivering in the cold.

He stared at all of them for a little while, then as he turned his back to them to go back inside, he told them all, “Put your clothes back on. You’ll all catch a cold.”

He realized from this that no matter what he did, the people would think him wise, and they would do what he did, no matter how stupid it was. He was sorry that he had ever written the book, of which he followed nothing anyway. He just happened to know the heart well enough to know what was good for it, even if it was advice he’d never follow himself.

Then, he knew what he had to do; he began writing another book. This time, he told people to do exactly what he always did, which was the complete opposite of the first book. The publisher was confused, but the man was famous now, so the publisher published it. The people were confused, but they believed everything that came from the man, so they did what the book told them to do.

Reporters began to ask him, “Why did you contradict yourself in your second book?”

“Because,” he said, “the first book made me famous, so I wrote the opposite to take that fame away.”

The people outside his home were unhappy, since they did everything the second book told them to do. They cried, “Why did you do this to us? We did everything the second book told us to do, and now we are very sad.”

He answered them, “Now you are just like me, because I do all those things, and so you all must now be very wise. So if you have any questions about life or anything, ask yourself.”

He went inside his house, and eventually, all the reporters and other people went away. For the first time in his life, the man was happy. But he didn’t try to figure out why—that was how the trouble had started in the first place.

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