just a quote

i took this from a friend. Jake Swain.

" I have an idea of what the purpose of consciousness is, not life or the purpose of the universe, but i think that consciousness is the seemingly inanimate universe reaching out to know itself. To see itself in all it's glory "

Definition

Cotton weaved fantasies.

A lie, a lie.

Burned.

I need a dictionary.

This worlds to small.

The dust to hard to breathe.

My nose plugged arms wrapped around me.

Can't find the inspiration I desire.

Lost, the coals not on fire.

Keep dreamin, society wails.

Keep being, my body tells.

Through thought and through isolation.

You just give up, put everything down.

Little hope stirs in the ocean.

Dark blue waves have crashed my sails.

A white flag is all I've got left.

These clouds, the heavenly features, rain poors, my mind theft.

Statements you believe built to deceive but through them I see.

Just how depressing this world is to me.

To live life free, impossible.

To take what I can get and to give what I can take, plausible.

Stuffy wood, cracked dried seems, and pitch dark air.

The world we open our eyes to is not there.

To wonder through darkness till the lights on.

To fall and stumble, it's what we've built our world for.

If only you could see your dreams.

If only this world wasn't so clean.

Cotton weaved fantasies.

A lie, a lie.

Burned.

The Foundation

A lot has gone by of which I pay little attention.

The pivotal excuse is the price of my ascension.

I disguise activities to fool my mind.

Relentlessly I follow an empty road.

No road lays before me.

A books pages fly back and forth.

The wind reads, the chapters passed on.

The life span and through man life is passed on.

The story told although none may be true.

A man with a book written for few.

The book written about anything one desires.

Man could not take it, a test was made.

Man through knowledge and through spite could not fathom.

The stories foretold of a book about everything.

Man failed, the author insane, for these blank pages he explained.

" You are too weak, too thorough, you've all lost sanity. what a pity, humanity ".

He went about his days as the book was forgotten.

The only sane man his deeds forgotten.

His book, still out there with one secret.

On the hard cover back it says " all's beginning"

His book you see was about imagination. Every author since writes in this mans pages. The only sane man left is on blank pages.

There she lay

The deepest sigh.

The regret.

The thoughts of contempt travel through your veins.

Nothing but alibis.

Thick batter of excuses, Denied.

Is there only one or may I choose?

Dead leaves flake beyond the sky.

Stars illuminate, but why?

Trees cold, branches clash.

Ground full of leaves at last.

Summer days and spring nights.

Heat waves and amber lights.

Smoke rises through the laughter.

Quiet still, the morning after.

Calling time machine

Inconsiderate and intolerable.

No longer the will.

No longer the faith.

Beyond selfish acts and the cape of insanity.

To dorm through life coping with humanity.

The perception of indulgence.

The flawed ignorance.

An unequal weight weighs on the heavy soul.

No for none, the abundance of specialties.

The pent house dreams built by weaker means.

The layers of people we lay on.

The measures taken to deceive our fellow man.

With disgust we ignore it and live by ourselves.

Consciously here, though blind when awake.

We wait for fear, our lives they will take.

Living by us is but only a means to grasp the world by them.

To live and to congregate.

The groups weave.

Inconsiderate retaliation of our ignorant brotheren.

The leave of absence of our minds and all because of the capitalistic world that we call home.

The world may be free, but ignorance will forever surround us.

The beauty in words have been lost.

The world now is no longer about pride.

Or maybe it never was.

But the materialistic fashion in which our desires are based, only create and further a more empty hole in our souls.

Because we are human, the earth cries.

Because we are human, reality is not perceived.

Because we are we, we will always be deceived.

The world we know is different than the one we wake to.

We do not exist but to destroy and leave behind the wake that others must overcome.

We are selfish, we are ignorant, We are human.

Nobodys

surrounded by thoughts of refusal.

Where's the drive, where's the ignition?

Brain, argues.

How is it that it seems like i care for someone else more than myself.

How is it that i just don't care.

I want to know the answers but i don't have the will to find out.

I'd like to know who's that at my door but my body is glued to the floor.

My hair falls out.

The grey spreads thin.

A conscious being of being conscious within.

The thoughts of true mediation.

The point of false relation.

The joke of perception.

The worlds correction.

The leader no longer leads.

The peoples mouths bleed of stupidity.

The true warriors gone.

The tech war on.

The fascist state.

The trapezial mind rape.

The recognitioned fate.

The lustrous superficial black-male date.

The interpretor shot.

The days where all see eye to eye gone.

The corporational thieves.

The capitalistic greed.

A world built on the so called America.

Deep in our constitution, the right to bare arms.

The capital world built perfectly.

Born to be sedentary.

No revolutions, no causes just.

Just human greed and lust.

The curves of our legislature.

The stupid waves of citizens.

The difference in monarchy.

The field of hierarchy.

The place where we die.

The beginnings end.

The lie behind it all.

To protect the bruises when we fall.

The clash of clad pasts and the darwinian exposure.

The home of the brave and land of the free.

You people are sucking the life out of me,

The lies, the curious endeavors.

The checks that bounce.

The quality of your soul.

The character of your kindness.

Everybody rude, nobody gets it.

The capital world wants you to forget it.

We die, we cry, we lie, and nothing happens.

We breath, we'eve eyes, we live and nothing happens.

The stuttering thought of air waves.

The beached whales, that's suicide.

They choose when to die.

The tangent slipping.

Micromanagement gripping.

The minds appalled.

The world beautiful, if only we weren't we, it could still be.

The effort lost for our selfish need.

sclera. 2/19/10

An already tired soul

Heart reduce to coal

Skin that of leather

Eyes crazed like weather

Fall often Springs

The giant nomadical phone rings

Your head contemplating

Everything, irritating

Pure of heart instigating

Cold now never relating

Time coming to a close

People your own foes

hate, hate, hated

wait, wait, weighted

Lost and found.

Picture with words. Third floor.

I've got a real passion for this stuff. wrote this today in english and didn't get caught. I like this new style I've started, its like taking a breath of the freshest air after hopping out of a shower. No matter the setting, as long as I can paint it and have people see it in their own way through my words then that makes my technique and writing style complete. I'm not saying this is a new writing style, just saying that I like using it.

I don't know what I'm thinking.

Constant attack.

Dirt, my past recollective.

My mind feeble, my heart weak.

White noise clouds my voice.

The center of the screen black.

The sun rise, shadows hollow like wind.

The power of light moves my hair ever so slightly.

The couch I waste away on.

The seams broken, my skin pale.

My eyes wonder with doubt, tracing the outline of shadows.

Bags full, my chest heavy, hands weak.

Eye brows waved, the darkness dilated.

Shirt stained, flies curious.

Suede shoes gleam to the right.

The light although bright, my shoes tattered.

Many miles in the past, my pant legs wet with disaster.

The fences I've climbed, the walls I've scaled.

My shoes, barbed wire, my body failed.

This couch once seated three.

The only cushion on it now is me.

My eyes dry with sorrow.

Skin, dirt holds my scabs together as my scabs hold me.

My skin tight, scars never mending.

My past, these thoughts never ending.

The grass outside, yellow and pale as I am.

weeds flourish, seeds contradict the blue sky.

Heat waves swallow the white fluff.

The disastrous flower carried across the street.

My eyes, my eyes, blood thick painted across them.

White noise screams at my body.

The light withers away.

eyes closed, blood no longer running.

body white, the sun glows.

curtains wide, my heart disposed.

Forever my last sunset, shadows cast.

The only life i ever lived, done at last.

Second floor.

For people, what people, who people, see.

As if something has changed inside of me.

I'm mad and mad at the same time.

to only be mad means to outwardly express.

which, i don't.

I can't.

but lately, i can.

The embers that are my heart have only burned to ashes.

wind roars through my body.

Cynicism.

Cynical.

A cynic is what i feel myself becoming.

Worthless, life to me now, the meaning is truly changing.

My meaning is truly changing.

How could i change so much.

Hope to hopeless.

As if there's two sides of me now.

There's me and everything i stand for.

Then there's me who questions everything i stand for.

I question reality, i question, faith, i question gravity, i question life, i question steel, i question sight, i question priests, i question oil, i question fact, i question opinion, i question childhood, i question your mind, your past.

I question how karma doesn't exist, why life purposefully has no meaning, why it is our responsibility to live.

The only thing i truly enjoy beyond belief, is sleep.

Silence. There's nothing to achieve, there's nothing to believe.

There's nothing.

I enjoy living nothing, does this mean i enjoy not living?

52 button panel. first floor.

Meet the world, meet me.

Greet the people, greet me.

Sing with me, dance with me.

Let me serenade you.

Notes, soft like air, kiss at your ear.

Your soul glowing, your face an apple red.

Your smile as cute as can be.

Eyes as deep as ever, so beautiful.

Meet me, meet the world.

Greet me, greet people.

Dance with me, sing with me.

Let me serenade you.