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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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new again3:02am saturday, 30th may
did you hear of something new in the world?
it is called “love”
it was made 2000 years ago by a carpenter
when he died of torture
and did not miss the chance to be perfect
his name is Jesus Christ
IS, not was, because before everything, HE IS
he did a few things
but left it to the rest of us to do even greater
he rose from the dead
not in story like the rest who were told did
they were not the Christ
for i myself am a witness to the Resurrection
even as i am unworthy
i am witness to the truth of what is “love”
and there is yet more
what is love shall never be spent its last
the face of eternity
he saves us, not from danger, but ourselves
to life everlasting
blessed is the one who sees Heaven–everywhere

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fingers2:06pm monday, 18th may
i imagine fingers emanating the aroma of wine
like a whisper that things are not as they seem
i am a subversive truth, with hints of another world
verily, have i dreamed so very often?
i cry out that darkness will not withstand our fire
but these are only candles that we wield
symmetries broken as we learn to doubt
though will i find asylum in the memory of my rose
time is a vagrant air we ignore till it becomes deadly
swirl the possibilities till they all assemble
in magic does life imagine the smallest of destinies
and i breathed of the high smoke of eternity
to return, still me, wearing the soul of a saint

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NotArt #25:43am sunday, 10th may

Another photo that inspired me to add some text to it. What do you think?

Click above to get a larger version.

I finally figured out what the Black Iron Prison actually is.

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drop4:18am monday, 4th may
to drop into the lap of love
dancing within the secret life of flowers
like angels on the head of a pin
and to bring out in your step a mastery of life
(concern ourselves in the fashion of ephemeral troubles)
have you not heard? the Good News to riddle?
the best story wins
the pieces made to fit together
we cut no corners
it’s meant to give at each the open edge
what tune is it in the susurrus atmosphere of the Movie?
the music that makes us sound
(as i waltz with a burning one)
i know, for one, luck is no beggar
i to have fashioned my own very hands
to have been favored to dip in the gravity of it all
the rose without art i dropped in her lap
the story composing itself past anxious first maneuvers
this dream does not end like you think
the best story wins

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