You chase storms-of-people.
thunderstorms.
rain showers.
heat lightning
with light mist.

but I am a hurricane.
I am all necessary destruction
and eerie calm.
I am the uprooting of trees
centuries older than myself,
I am the burning of homes, towns, and worst of all, bridges.
I am rain upon rain upon sheets of rain.
I am winds the break concrete,
that break people.

but what people often times forget
about weather and people alike
is that we are constantly changing.

I am a hurricane
on my darkest days.

I am sunlight
and clear skies
and the smell of mid to late spring
on my brightest.

I am crab-apple blossoms.
I am lilacs tinted the scent of the breeze.
I am daffodils
popping up from the dark soil
to greet early spring
with a bright and fierce
yellow passion.

you're used to
thunderstorms.
rain showers.
heat lightning
with light misting.

they all amount to
partially cloudy
sunny with a chance of rain
a half hearted dismal drizzle
on their good days.

my heart and soul
is the hurricane
and the spring sunshine.

I am destruction,
and I am creation.
it is the very essence
of my being.

if you're a storm chaser,
you're in for one hell of an
adventure.

Thanks every one and may be my last type idk maybe when I feel better later on but the deep whole I'm in I can't seem to stand up anymore  ......I'm giving up um yea I might not be on or might be on more now but yea theirs a lot going on and my body just doesn't want to move anymore ppl have hurt more than a haurt on me I'm broken into little tiny peaces that are not even seen by an eye I might be emotionally sick and broken I have so many problems idk if I'm normal or I'm just going crazy but all I ever wanted are the dreams eve had being with some one having my own place having kids later being happy nice friend that just doesn't excist for me in the real world anymore theirs always a fault a block whole in a situation that I can't coup with anymore onces I hit that black whole I sink deeper and deeper every black whole I fall into and I don't have the strength to fight it I think a lot about life and when well mine end tbh right now I dont care about my life where it ends where it starts or what it well be like I just want it to end

Sung to the melody of Our Great God

In this temporal universe
Worlds in worlds spin 'round
From galaxies so wondrous
To the smallest quarks they've found

From dwarf stars on to nebulae
To birds who wing the poles
As far as telescopes can see
The Eternal Story's told

HALLELUJAH!
They Sing to our Great God!
HALLELUJAH!
They sing to our Great God!

From ocean's trench to deepest space
From phosphorus fish to star
Comes invitation to our race
To praise this God of ours

There is music in the spheres
And birds who fly above
If only we would lend our ears
They'd tell us of His LOVE.

Chorus

He paints the sunsets and the dawn
He beckons from the moon
He tells us heaven can be ours
If only we would learn

If celestial bodies resonate
And waves sing in the sea
If all the mountains can relate
This Story... *why can't WE?

Chorus


SoulSurvivor
(C) 1/12/2017

so many people seem to be only limbo dancing...
fat-diagnosed                         meta-humans,
                   and juxta...
they the are scorn of a thousand
chinese labourers...
                      who later squirm...
    i forget what speaking english was about...
it's this carelessness
  that somehow surmounts the ideal practicality of it...
  it's somehow shadowy...
  somehow removed from all need to:
extract a core of struct cipher...
             long before the software makes
man his decrepit-self, there's
the metallurgy of the conclave...
                           and the is the minor statement:
if man is to breach a culprit worthy of being denoted:
a meteor.
                      prior to the hardware,
there needs to be a software insurgence...
                  a fail-safe mechanisation,
with us, imprinted as: beyond the death of god,
the death of sleep... and the capacity to dream...
                      nihilism revolves around retracting the
last ******* cursor...
                               all machinery rests,
it's a question of whether organic matter ever
    contradicts its inorganic humanisation...
             if i am bound to rest, then i bound to not
be woken from such a rest via a nightmare...
   erradicate nightmares, thus erradicate the organic
cursor bound to invoke...
  all other contradications that counter the
originally intent escapade...
                               if indeed $ is a symbol that is insomniac
when 1 - 9 symbols are used toward no signifying σ...
that there is no actual prefix in arranging a - z
as there already is, perfecting arranging the 0 - 9...
   with the σ being the more: well addressed... in being
                           what is the reigning smmation of
the symbols a - z, as the simply unknown cradle...
   so if the symbols 0, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9 can be governed
by $...
            what number can govern
                               a, b, c, d, e, f... r, s, t, u, v, w, x, y, z...
if not Ø?                   emtpy talk...
                       0 is a symbol for negation...
                  say of 0, Ø: you get affirmation..
  and you can say as much as you want...
        it doesn't mean you'll get the proper mediation
of being nearly human in the endeavour, a mediation
that demands: losers and winners, paupers and kings...
    man outlived the concept of letters and words
having any worthy construction...
    anything worthy of collaborating with...
                 there is no higher grownd with words and letters...
   it's the five-sense endorsement man that's
at a loss...
                    as long as
  there's the fewest numbers
                        to posit, once the
              hierarchy of 0 is stated after the comma...
and the number of crude denials are mustered...
  toward the million-shared among the 1% and not
the 0.1%...
                  once the Tolstoy's opus is worth:
0.0000000001 readership...
                      and a poem is 1.000000000's worth...
    we'll continue with this warfare of symbol...
       hierarchy:
               the one denied by the many: is the hierarchy...
and the one acknowledged by the many: is the monarchy...
   somehow it was worthwhile reading Kant,
given he suggested 0 = negation...
meaning that 1 = affirmation, but that was the least
   bother for me to attest...
                       i just found
    disavowing myself from the argument of god
as befitting man: who had no standard in a termite mount...
or an ant colony...
                         if man was indeed prone toward
such perfection, i'd have no concern to form a politics at all...
    man, as a political animal, as an animal non-intuitive,
as an animal overcome with conscience,
  has no place in man: guarded by such angelism...
  coinciding with duty and fakery: for the worth of prayer
and an albino amnesia.
and never prone to intuition and a synchronisation of the senses,
but rather their divergence... epitomised with
sharpening them in the sphere of intoxication...
        if man was indeed prone to such perfection,
    i'd have no concern from a politics at all...
  man, as a political anima, as an animal non-intuitive:
as anima ego-centra...
    could be neither a tangens or an omni-servitude
divergence of all the species, on the palette...
esp.  wondering if he could be:
  insect prone, rather than bedroom fuelled by mammalian
        jealous prods into: ******* gladiators!
                          religion only relapses into upkeeping
this utopian dream of it never happening...
   of a congregation...
                    imagine the Koran or the bible in China...
    common-sense numbers of China said: nope!
               the Chinese would have said: me mongol,
and slaughtered each other... for the bride to be!
  i really didn't want to write this for a reason that it might
be made dogmatic, or kept for posterity,
or a welcome inquiry...
                              i simply wonder why we dream
of world peace, and yet come up with such
diabolical schematics as Jung's collective unconscious...
    and all that: as if dreams really did require a 1 + 1 = 2
rules of interpretation...
    and all our dreams where: **** or phallus dreaming...
protruding in the oven of being flacid, once, so overcome with
thoughts, than in dream, or Buddha's awakening:
pretty correct in being: full blodied,
  stood up to overcoming shyness...
                                     and at least said: an astronaut's hello...
     ego to hyphen, non-complex word... complex
word to Houston... why wasn't it mission Hermes 13?
     i don't think we should believe in those gods...
but it would make great strides in asserting them
as best in a modern vocabulary...
                              Hermes overrules Apollo...
               there was a message intended in that vanity project,
surely!

It was a sturdy ship that I
went down in, and it felt like
rebirth when I drowned and
emerged from the tumbling
surf to wring out my hair and
tie a knot in my skirt. (I learned
to breathe by nearly drowning.)

Not feeling much pain today
Don’t know why
Am in pain,
I think.

Don’t feel anything!
No feelings of love
No feelings of hate
No feelings of hope

Feeling neither
pain nor peace
Peace or pain,
the same to me

I should care
I don’t care
I do care,
I think

Love or hate?
What’s the difference?

I don’t care
Does anyone care?
I don’t

I am neither in a negative
nor positive mood

Maybe, I would like to
be neutral for a while

Sounds like a
fine position to be
Neither in pain nor in peace
Neither loved nor hated
Neither alive nor dead

But, on second thought

Neutrality would be painful
Too painful just existing

Lord, please give me the
pain of a true heart

What is pain?
What's this world to me ?
I want to leave this world ?
I know nothing who am I ?

How many of these old notebooks
have I thrown away?

How many times have I told myself
that I’m not worth putting down on
paper,

that hell,

I’m hardly worth putting down?

I keep picking them up,

99¢ at any good pharmacy.

$1.25 at an office supply store.

No matter where I get the pulp from,
it’s medicine.

Any time I doubt it,
pitching them
is fever.

Tylenol won’t work,
only ink.

*

- JBClaywell
© P&ZPublications; 2017