Sunday, August 21, 2022

The Color of Partly Broken

 

Part divided, eating medicine, part unsavory. Many will say, most are polarized, many are fighting ghosts. It must feel good to feel normal. Not a shame game—more a celebration. The torch is held higher. The broken leaf is left alone; it soon shall perish; we relish in good arts. To feel lucid—better—to be received as lucid: this is earned.

When a person lies something happens on both sides—the inner and the outer. When captured repeatedly, dialogue becomes suspicious. The reader knows that; nothing extra has been given.

The sun is the phoenix. The maze is home. It requires character—to remain upright.    

“No one needs to hear that!”    

At minimum—we exist in two worlds—one is undercurrents, the other is overt.     “No one needs to hear that either”—except for Little Jimmy and his sister, Rochel.    

In cultures, spirituality/religiosity is a given. The mechanics are intuited; some are sent through orientation; others are left chasing—or a little of all the above. Nevertheless, we speak to parts broken, known as such, by the disposition of the vague people.

Some impolite shadow is swarming through lands: part right, part unkempt. To live in spaces, evolving in spaces, compelled to examine spaces.

The curtain removed; so many elements; the people are with motives.    

It tends to hurt, seeing as it happens, deaths caused by broken parts.    What is the eschatology of the parts broken? This is a question no one needs to hear, nor ask, nor answer?

“We know these things. We don’t need to examine them. It’s pointless.”     Part divided, eating medicine, part savory; the ghost of her eyes—the pleasure in her voice—the tension between media and observation—moreover, the tension between perception and the rules.    

Trust is initial, until shattered, or earned, until sewn. With a partly broken soul, are we asserting trust, excluding immediate family, while it’s gray?     A partly broken soul chases dreams, becomes a success, different eyes, old spirits, the cells have been removed, the perception is renewed.     We must survive. If uneasy, answer it inside. If comfortable, know why.

“No one needed to hear that.”

I’d Save The Reader Years

    The beat becomes sickness. A long crucible—a drilling ecstasy. I was losing focus, feeling forbidden, if to self, if to mirrors. So curs...