Describing the indescribable. It seems to work fine for H.P. Lovecraft. The trick is letting one's imagination fill in the gaps of what horrors the characters are encountering.
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only counts as an adjective
if you an indescribably apathetic author.
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Tall tales of circular decline , it sure looked like a dream and it was loaded with hidden meaning. I think that as we grow we learn about all the things around us. We become masters at some skills and with technique, when we are focused on something that our hearts love, is willing, it will become passion.
The way we view are happiness is a ratio of time’s peaceful passage per time’s passionate desire. If the desire is unending and we rise, to the highest levels. Well above average skill, it gives us individual focal points of attention. It’s the face of one addiction shaping our generation’s lineage line.
Popular fortunes become the next thing to crave and the cravings do not go away, unless we ignore almost all our emotions and identify the thoughts that our perception labels with danger’s tape and caution signs. Run away! No one changes lanes and the bravery of our youth is lost on the repetition of education. Hiding in plain site, the fate we pretend is what we are, is yelling and screaming at us. It begs us to look. Look this way or look at the world around you it says, we don’t though. How is it that we reach out to have another Taste of pain from misplacing ourselves into the flames of unattainable repetition.
Going on, we feel burnt and ashamed because the injury’s we sustained are keeping us out of the game until we find our dreams have become someone else’s fame. On the couch we revisit it again and again. All ways cheering with the home team even though our home isn’t inside the dwelling that our for fathers built.
It’s not from a fortune or endless power because of our last name. The true destiny is alive before this life and it’s been the same for us forever. There are not any short straws and the colors we hold outside our ability to love is what our destruction
has decided to separate our hope from our drive with. It’s where hate takes root to become fear.
Angry fear is a fight for survival between the classes and the wise. Living in this life brings us death. Our death is strong enough to take the intention of each breath and drive it like a stake through our hearts. We love it too because it is what most people do to each other. Punishing our failure with a lack of knowledge is giving us up to the enemy, to get up in the new expectation isn’t popular, so we keep it hidden, then we try very hard to change nothing.
This world will not not know what gifts I have because I don’t feel it’s my time to use the vast arsenal of strength I was given. My bullets don’t kill lives, I kill confusion with things that think and feel right. It’s a perfected longing, here i sit inside of a huge sphere. The sphere is here to collect power from need and it derives from the light. It finds the lost dreams and replace them with inspired hope. If it’s god will that we survive, then in a chair, behind a desk I will find the letters of alphabetical resolve. Problems to solve, Do I keep it real? Not really, I keep it free from the stone cold locked in idealism that is tearing the soul out of our species one selfish act at a time. I can see the way, it’s illuminated, a path of what I was built to become, I hold on for the ride and the task is written into the words that can flip the switches which heal damaged intention.
I am afraid of the masses and in a vault like safe place i fail at things that are easy for me. Inside the failure is the comfortable silence of Death? My work is meant to be read, yet I never can set it free. I never give the gift given to everyone through these parables of metaphysical meaning. My me, is not up to it and I can’t care to share. It’s global selfishness that will destroy our
species in this form. Will we see what we call humanity? or will we sell out to digital calamity?
Maybe “greetings program” wasn’t too far off into the future then. I’d rather be light, than be electrical impulses on a board in a plastic box of other impulses.
Chip off the old block indeed!!
Down the hill and over the range.
It was now the 11th of January and the cold wind cooled the coffee in Jacksons hands as the snow went in and out of as the sun rose. The sun was a golden color as it rose over the mountain range and to the right of it was the new addition to the solar system. Niberu is what most new age spiritualist were calling it, scientist too. It was a blue plant with patches of green and brown. The rain clouds were black and frequently visible. With telescopes one could even see the land which was full of lakes, villages, people or at least that's what most people thought the were and mountains. The thing that really caught Jackson's eye were the new anomalies that appeared in the sky from time to time as a reaction to the new planetary body in the solar system. Streaks of yellow and red streams of what looked to be silent lightening quietly stroked through the sky like birds flying to their :"winter" summer homes from north to south. The clouds even gave off a orange out line and golden glow almost like Biblical paintings of jesus and streaks of light shined through the clouds and also around them and the sky even gave off a sound, like trumpets too. It was today that Jackson knew that the world was going to change and there would be no more evil and no more pain.