maybe a sensation or pins in dolls or revving interior — as to reach so deliberate a sound in essence. most purified, as we fail to examine, such capacity of the lowliness we ingest. it must be beautiful, always gorgeous, so squeaky clean. most are on layaway, hoping by dear heart, stung by shock!
I need turbo or resilience where it morphs into excellence. I watch us like philosophers like souls with training. at times a soul will amaze us; a tethered magician, a monk mystic, or bold, outrageous, oxymoron.
what are souls consumed by? it’s often a mirror. it’s rarely Aristotle.
we
study to show approval where one is qualified else fever is a fight against
stereotypes. we have a private world a private endeavor such earnest souls. one
book opens doors. another hurries in denials. or another, an author doesn’t
fit.
what happens when you meet you? so
empowered so enchanted such endless affection for one’s self. what seems
perfect must be reanalyzed if one avoids self-hurt. a creature responds or
shuts down. nor have we ignored our needs – in such a battle to hide fantasies.
what happens when self can’t be trusted? – a need of monitoring, a feeling
pleased by measures but eager, I mean starving to journey against walls. deep
dungeon desire – if but to sprout – while a soul must rest. such fierce arguments
such normality accordingly where onlookers are envious of total disorder. our
forgiveness those bricks inside while loathing a part too steep to climb free.
aside a sycamore outside but inside aside a furnace.
hibiscus along country roads. gossamer inside of rosebushes. a farmhouse filled with horses. as city folk we ease into anxieties. or souls feeling a different way about others. so located in a few family members. engines on chains, pistons rebuilt, tractors out before harvest.
I imagine a ventriloquist. he speaks private domains. his voice is rough.
garments are aside a pool. apostles are waiting. they dress in all white. baptism is a confession, consumption is confirmation, as to have an inner polygraph. ideally, one is transformed, but a higher degree takes 6 to 8 years. something romantic takes place, a few gestures cover its militia,
while we know gold takes tilling. a plough to soil, a sickle to weeds, or a soul to souls. it seems uneven as by a mere act as to then be relieved from humanness (temptation). point in case, in any endeavor, one studies until discomforts erupt.
what do we yen from others? is it feasible? are we acting against self, causing depression?
we need order in society. we cleave to security. we know at best we have behavioral probability.
we adore each other, or better, need communication, or better, we need to procreate.
a
life is a legacy building its legacy where most are swatting beehives.
