poise and promotion

lust will not satisfy the love we search for

for the former comes from the devious delves from within

at the core of carnality lies cares unawares unbeknownst to the knower but

lover, tis over.

heckling and hurling about with haste to finish but 

stop

and feel the cool breeze through trees

shut lids, see the unseen, feel the unfelt, and dwell amongst those who search for the soul.

should you see that they are spaced away, with a hedge of protection around you

reassuring safety and comfort.

and it all fades away

to stray and hold at bay the noise and commotion broken by a door

from which pours a single man, dark as the night, blue as the bright

bidding a good evening

CLS 330

This J.R.R. Tolkien class simply won't let me believe anything else than the fact that Tolkien was a literary, philological, etymological, creationist, cartographic genius that somehow poured far too many names of places and people into Middle-earth as to make it simply believable and true.

The anachronistic nature of the world blends his England with Medieval times and births the ideal world in which adventure is not just a necessity, but is king.

col, id, age.

the wrecking ball stalls the call to follow the 

bent and twisted destroyed and crisp-ed rainy

days are ways aways for strays stay for layman

hey, man, really?  

for a pretty penny i’ll move it (tow) two (to) fields.

try a fourteen thousand pennies plus

i must bust out of the doubt and shout

the clever fever rises in me.

to cry to try to bide my time.

i’ll find a way when my heart doesn’t strain with worry sorrowing

continually borrowing green hit the lean teen with my machinist’s creation

i was going to fix but now it’s left for picks nix the nacks flack attacks.

the mark

sincreasingly taking my heart and pushing the spirit

idiosyncratically devolving my love from inside to deeper

as a son sets inside itself, cause and effect assume position, respectively.

known it was, but symptoms rarely spell the superfluous rituals false

it must be torture, delving inside to something that does not exist

inside the self.  to look for meaning where it has been pushed away

the meal

simple food and drink to ease our re-minds

serving to everyone, preparing the way, calling to die.

striking the core of what is left, re-minding surroundings.

salt-filled hair, hearts and eyes holding it down.

telling the times, staying the table golden.

give up, forget to remember.

the mess.

it calls for trust it calls for breaking

responding with tears at my heart blistering stone until it is no more

hard granite melted mightily, raining does not delay departure

found it is in that gran granorum, corpus corporum, vita vitarum

gras y pas find a home in the heart of hearts

in the heat of heat it brands itself upon a miry, selfish and hopeful souladarity.

to blindly trust in hope of knowing.

it won't leave me.

I live in a constant state of disarray.

Of perpetual sorrow.

But I choose it every time.

Fight you say?  And to what end?  To fail again?

Perhaps.  Is growth ensued through victory, then to merely be tarnished and trampled by defeat?

I fear this is the case, and that my lot in life has been cast in the cosmos.

Perhaps there is hope in what little I know of grace.

My catharsis. Ramble about your sodding feelings, why don't you?

My soul yearns it’s burny and churny

Like Bill Ferny’s who was sent to attack with the Riders in Black

And I can’t put a finger on the feeling that lingers 

Inside my mind the rhyme of time blinds and finds the winds of my minds eyes

I want that love I want it back I want Billy Ferny to attack

But I want it different I want it smarter, barter?

Beards and weirds and fears and tears.

My heart longs for You.

Won’t you fill me up with You?  

Where are you?  Why do I doubt?  Why does my mind’s eye have a looming snippet of faith that wants to hold but wants to be bold and told to mold to knowledge, not Knowledge.

Distraction is the faction and reaction of action and passion

I want to hold it.  I want to be, I want it.  Won’t you fill me up with You?

Won’t You come if you are?  If you will be, if you ever have been?

I find some solace in tunes and grooves that move my delight the flight of brainwaves that acknowledge Knowledge but follow shallow, hollow, willowing thoughts and action.

Why can’t I find the reason for pleasin’ my cheesin’ teasin’ teeth, but really.  Not partially, in a way that I feel is real but kneel to peal the eely, oily, coily, boily scabs off of my soul from the wounds that hounds found round the town of my deepest, utmost in my lowest, drowning farther down than you could begin to find meaning or reason or despair. 

But it is full of despair.  One that is found but not identified.  That is prominent but has no face.  

You cannot recognize this feeling.  It looms and wounds the soul pull towards lulling and mulling myself into a reason feasible enough

tou

gh You

say.  Maybe you care.  Maybe I no longer recognize it as a name, but an entity that maybe does indeed hear me when I cry out but does not answer in my time.  in My. time.

How selfish for the selfless and barbaric for the civilized.

Should I waver, should I stray?  No, I’ll stay for the promise I know you gave me.  But is it there to bear: a beautiful mare?..

Ee age.  

A signal too subtle to single out the stupid.

Snippets of wealth in an otherwise wordy structure.  You’ll find them.  Keep what you like, discard what you hate.R

Some things seem such a beautiful opportunity.

But the better judgement inside my head override that of the heart, speaking leagues of knowledge about the heart, protecting it.

That is something I need to continue to lean on.

As long as I don't get too heady.