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Fly Vida Jul 2011
I am aware when my hips ram into the corner of the desk when I walk down a row and I double over in pain.

I am aware when my **** knock over the glass of water that was in front of me when I lean over the table.

I am aware when my *** doesn't fit through a tight squeeze in a movie theater or party.

I am aware when my hair gets caught in the limbs that I walk underneath.

I am aware that my thighs have no choice but to take up the empty space that would otherwise be in my pants.

I am spatially aware.

I know that my shoulders are not the smallest, but **** are they strong.

I know that the space I take up when I dance makes the air feel full, and loves me for my caress.

Love me or love me not, I do not care.

I am spatially aware of air.
Kirsten Autra Feb 2010
My bones never got upset when they fractured, when they shattered. They only proceeded to heal.
It is the serenity found after the storm that keeps my faith alive.
Choices all around, and more importantly within.

My bones never got to decide if they wanted to rehabilitate themselves or not.
They only proceeded to heal.
It is the acceptance of all that is, and that which is not
that keeps my faith alive.
Choices all around, and more importantly within.

My mind is not spatially located, but my thoughts prove it’s existence.
I see a smile, I hold back tears;
Frightened when I know the truth can no longer be held captive.
My mind is not spatially located, but my thoughts prove it’s existence.
I choose to smile, I choose to cry.

Truth so often believed that it will set us free,
But I have come to understand that it is the truth that binds us.
Leaving no room to escape,
unless concealed and disguised under lies--
Lies that are known, even when they become a placebo.

“I shall please.”

Now that I have buried the one recurring thought in the earth,
I have learned to survive with mouthfuls of dirt.
Dirt as dry as the bones I will leave,
the bones that did not have a choice.
Dirt as filthy as the mind that chooses the gutter.
Dirt as impure as the deceit I can transform into honesty.
I will not be frightened any longer, For the truth is no longer my prisoner.
Mahatma gnaws at World War hungers
Reincarnated forms of Wild West lungers

Spatially realigning to a kosher and beloved state
Krishna stands ignored, can’t help feeling irate
Walrus tusks dig into the carpenter’s brow
As an eight armed saint is revealed as a cow

Scriptures packed and rolled, exhaled in suspicion
Prophets praised for violence incurred, act of sedition
Carlo C Gomez Mar 2023
step right in
where commodity and fiction
are deliberately blurred,

electrostatic dust collector,
after-shower body air-driers,
a spatially disconnected
from the world roll-on wife
complete with a dining table
that sinks into the floor;
don't tell her she's an android;
just don't.

she is captured
and ever ready,
she was a stenographer
but quite unsteady,
her mouth a spark of vowels
when her far off places
are aroused.

repeat this soothing motto — space, place, memory.

outside is scenographic sensation:
lightology. unbreathed air. porcelain skin.

she's the soft electric assurance
of a better life — the life which rests on device alone — a strong, sweet poison which infects the blood.

she is "the light of any home"...
Sam Temple Jan 2015
reconnected images
toes in rich soil
toiling under the yoke
spatially
fleeting fancy of freedom
fades
pages turn
returning me to the ground
I roamed as a child –
forgotten foothills
beacon
as property brokering
binds me to the earth
monetarily
owning my homeland
by the acreage –
white privilege escapist
seeking grid-less domain
sustainability with a suntan
in the cool Oregon rain
draining the infrastructure
through government backed loans
forever indebted
as the backs of my fellow countrymen
are buying my dream in America –
wrecked inspectors trek Tibet
for the almighty dolla dolla bill ya’ll
signing off on trash
commission driven misgivings
serving up dry rot and mold spots
on a flooded lot
I shield myself against the tide of *******
seeking information
in the age
namesake
heartbroken realtors
dot the horizon
holding contractual obligation
waving it frantically
begging –
seeking perfection
sneaking suspect-tion
any direction
needing contraception
fleeting misconception
leading to direct loans
hearing the same groans
as she is reading the next home
listing……..
throwing fists into the air
I swear
if I didn’t care so much
to handle the deed
I would rent
for
life –
To concretize my theorized love,
I could play the accidental odds and strew
slippery tongues of spotted petals
onto thickly trafficked highways,
or use the best predictive modelling
to deduce when and where I can poke out
a well-heeled boot to trick unwary spills
and ****** a kiss from the unsuspecting
lips of any suitably compatible
passerby oft times inconvenienced and passed
on by.

These well-oiled and crudely experimental
methods do produce expected results,
but not the breakthrough nor the looked-for
satisfaction of appropriate reactions,
so I'll keep my dotted eyes tucked in
their pulpy stems and my shoddy toes curled back
while I beam my bits of invitation through
circuitous routes spatially arrayed along
parallel paths where one might search
with an extra-terrestrial inventiveness,
and wait.

I know the trials of these errant waves
won't add up to a guarantee
my burpy blips of a pulse can reach
the receptively comprehending and responsive
soils I seek, but it's the remoteness of a stead
to come stalking that appeals, and despite
the Hawking drone of unveiled warnings
I might regret such contact, I'll risk it all
on vaguely washed wishes this astronomical
anomaly with an alien sensibility has
one match.
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 3.0 License.
The odour of the dandelion spin
raves nonexistence as the train wheels brim:
with a speed as mesmerizing and encapsulating
as hollow tin.
The mind is temporarily frozen with pleasure,
spatially driven with west-headed pressure.
It is questionless; it is speechless...
It is only mildly, yet surely aware of its presence.
And so: ride is what it loves.
Ride is what I shall her give.
june Sep 2019
wondering if, i can make something so seamless turn reality into a dreamland

thats enough of the talk about it
instead of the being about it

youll never know if you dont try
and keep trying
and if you fail over and over
while people succeed the first time

maybe your just a rare breed
that will make it in time
the clock is standing still just waiting for you
Tristan W May 2014
Omnipotent, audacious in power. A craving I hold, though intangible to my fingers. Able to bellow with ions of energetic magnificence and allow power and eternity to pass through. So strong. I am not.

Immortal, suffering throughout, inner galactic warfare wages on beneath my crackling skin and steams out my pores. Cursed to bleed eternally, withering into a shape made of dust that would but blow away if not that it were nailed to the ground.  Undying, undamaged, eternally ****** to live. I am.

Omniscient, vastly knowing, swimming in the sea of a mind, aware of such actions that could overthrow a universe, but would falter in awareness that it need not act pointlessly. So full of self control. I am not.

Alone, wanting, hoping, reaching out to a father and a creator of whom I wish I could love. Clawing with infected stubs at a ghost. I pass through untouched by the divine and am left hallow. My emptiness providing my only company. Cast out amongst the endless decay of happiness, dark pain fills my hovel. I am.

Omnipresent, existing amongst all things. Spatially filling the gaps of the universe, existing thoroughly and throughout. Seeing and hearing and understanding. Procreating happiness in the minds of the hopeful. Bringing purity into the world with eternal hands, and spreading it throughout the cosmos. So present. I am not.

Banished, outcast to lead a sorrowful existence. Cursed by meaningless actions that could not prevail and see the light of anything. Walking an untraveled path that I alone must aimlessly stumble across. Blistering feet bleed and crack beneath a decimated body.  Everlastingly succumbed to Hell. I am.



A God. A powerful being that could not but shine His holiness on the universe. An entity that could make the multiverse bow before his divinity. Who could spread his arms and cast a deafening roar of purity. His spirit, floating through the minds of his children.  A deity, blessed with the power of creation and given the job of fulfilling such desires. I am not.

I am an outcast. An unwanted empathizer of evil. Master of the demons that crawl beneath your withering and faltering mind, finding sustenance in the sin of a world full of hatred and wrong. Bringing whole worlds to their knees and casting away any angel who dare spread his wings before me. Willing to rip off the feathers and burn them so that I may cook the pain and swallow it. Allowing the pain to seed itself into my system and metabolize into something I call a soul. I am no god.  

I am not God.

I am the Devil.
Rough draft. To be edited.
c quirino Jul 2013
up here on the right,
no, no, you can stop here.
I don’t mind walking the extra twenty feet.

I had a nice time,
it was quite the evening,
especially when the moon descended overhead,
staring us both in the eye,
rough lover, sunday morning, and my chin’s all whisker scratched.
is some body you’ll never touch allowed to make you feel that way

centuries earlier,
people staggered their sleep,
dormant for three or four hours,
and around midnight, they’d wake,
swathed, international blue moon lit
while lovers were conquered,
and neighbors addressed as if it were morning,
fresh and jovial, short-lived land angels
connected to their bodies,
to our moon, to floors,
turning in them,
below them,
spatially, elsewhere,
never having left the gap between your forefinger and temple
under duress
vamsi sai mohan Apr 2014
THERE IS ONLY ONE TRUTH THAT SPATIALLY EXIST;
THE TRUTH THAT DOESN'T HAVE THE CONTENT.
Onoma Sep 2019
ask yourself this...

while you become

the hypocritical that.

as always--to those

concerned, what power

drew your eyes to read

into these words?

what made them a doorway?

they mean something to you.

they want to show you some

kind of way, they're spatially

unchallenged when they look

dead in G*d's eyes

for your Self-sake.

the first and the last breed, breed

sons not of Man.

as women bear birth,

so they might feel for themselves.

these two hands wash the

blood out of water

to clarify nothing.

except...

the Word of their

mouth to dash across the

tongue of their drink,

ever parched.

only visions of water.

Jeshua too passed out and

in with the devil while

roaming.

~Aum Namah Shivaya~
Daniel Mar 2018
N onsensical enigmas form a queue
O ntogenies where time is in reverse
T wo sides to everything but why so few?
H istoric catalogue of multiverse
I nfinity that's frozen on the spot
N o change of entropy if all were still
G reen engines which produce but don't get hot
P recise, deterministic style free-will
A spatially dimensionless time-zone
R eligions with the freedom to evolve
A lthough I have to own I have my own-
D ogmatic attitudes I'll not devolve
O ne hopes someday to hear someone propound
X marks the spot where everything is found.
Traveler Jan 2021
So you claim you're highly
"intelligent"
In which category would that be?
There's "cognitive" and "emotive" intelligents,
I'm sure your in the driver seat!

Or perhaps your
crystallise intel
is crystallised
Somewhere
Between heaven and hell
We can be
Influentials when fluency dwells


Surely
"Kinaesthetics" is poetical flow
This intelligence come and goes.

But obviously "linguistic"
is our intellectual clutch
Along with high "aesthetics"
But you may still be out to lunch!
Because
"Spiritual" intelligence
can leave us drunk!

"Interpersonally" where are you
That and "artistical" intelligence rules!

"Spatially" we navigate
this "mathematical" understanding
of our universe.

No one possess all
11 intelligents I have mention
So if you believe your above
You've pathologically decended!
Traveler Tim

Part of the lecture I give to a think tank society in my area

Humans have up to a dozen intelligence
Some of yours are higher then mine!
The physical and psychic entities undertook to split each other from the deck of the tetracontero Eurídice, the disparities were uneven with the swirling undulations, without objecting extortions that were spatially independent of different causes of deviations. Everything was gray but lively and full of suburbs that praised the elations of the memorial, and everything alluded to the dream clovers that approached levels of feasibility between material form and space that became antipode when invaded by fewer quantities and accumulations. , believing that they could be dissimilarities of forms of speculation or its counter-architecture of Entasis verging on mechanics of concentric psychism. The Hexagonal Birthright; in its new physical form it traced itself closer to each other amidst bulbous and explosive nebulae, which displayed the agreement of matter and form by means of the Zivug or copula from a completely emanating obligatory law. Raeder and Petrobus were attracted by the law that would make of all inanimate things the new creation that would surpass the imagination and predominance of Mashiach that would finally descend from the Iridescent cloud to invest him and create the emanating body of him as the greatest necessary force of the Creator.

In any case, you must understand that even though the desire to receive represents a compulsory law in the opposite creature that is the essence itself in it, and it is the Kli adapting itself to achieve the goal of substitution of Creation, however, this completely separates it from the Emanating. The reason for this is that there is a disparity of form to the point of existing in total opposition between the creature and the Emanant granted in Vernarth, this is due to the fact that the Emanant is pure bestowal, without any trace of reception; and the creature is pure reception, without any trace of bestowal, thus there is no opposition in a greater way than this. Therefore we infer that this opposition of form is necessarily the one that separates itself from the Creator. A Titanic salvation would make the oceans move that would rise up to one meter the global sea level, snatching coercive in those countenances that exaggerated their actions on all the voids that would derive from the hole in his pectoral, even so of what it deprived him of in the light with the candles of Delos, and of the passers-by of Cappadocia who would concentrate in the rear of the Himation, this being dim and deprived of light in which the Ohr was already more light than all the Lights of the Apsid Manes that crossed the perimeter.

Thus, from the Seven Baptisteries of the Apokálypsis, the titanic separations of its cracks would make Othónes or screens, which would make the quantum shock light of Hashem as it adjoins Vernarth, interspersed with the cypress trees that burned with blazing lights of the Ohr Hozer or reflective light between them, thus they carried the Hebrew garments like a Stampita Gaeta; From where Vernarth, in his past lives, a turbid little picture that came loaded with the silt of Mount Orlando in Gaeta fell from the under bench, it came dancing through the tenement that brought the prosaic wind with a beautiful Sephiroth, which pushed them back with those timid luminances that they were snatched by the Kelim or series of vessels from their Falangists when they enlisted with the florid Larnax of Alexander the Great.

Beyond the Advent Wreath and its four luminaries, it was fought in the Fifth Candle, like the Fifth Chalice of Elijah, entering them not very far away with all his desires to welcome them and consider that under my initial "V", they would find the synchronization of the Fifth Cirio and the Fifth Chalice, which is my "V" in the fifth dimension of the Fifth courtyard and in the shady Fifth of Helleniká! As established in the geophysics of Delphi, close to the elevation that will occur with the meeting at 583 elevations whose essential number will be 16 and six plus one is Seven, and the Profitis Elías is 565 adding sixteen, and its number essential is one plus six equals seven. This numerical command will unify them in reality when their talents would be flooded in the unification of both and composed vaporizations of the Hydor or blessed flow source of the Mashiach, thus creating all the wonder that would explain the allegory for those who want to follow after leaving. the Purgatory of Kathartírio, or the very tributary that would emanate from the frontispiece of its appreciation with the albiceleste presence of subjection of the azurí, creating hanging scales of transfers with the Exile of Ignominies. Higher up a Seraphim was flying, inviting him to a cake, leaving his hands everything he had to attend to immediately so that he could not decline it, but the Mashiach already in front of him pouted to accept the Bizkóto, and that he was also close from him, a few meters from his right, Saint John the Apostle insinuating him with decisive gestures that he will satisfy his restlessness by tasting the Bizkóto of the Lands of Patmos.

All the curious went out to walk through the hills, to generate the favors of the breezes that began to travel the vicinity of the Megaron, which now no longer made themselves unknown with imaginary unbelievers coming from the Siblis towards a present that always devoured them. Their reception position was designated for each one in the same habits that invited them to gather around the Matakis, very close to the twelve shadows that hungrily flaunted, in the essential or preliminary of what they intended to appropriate a primordial one. What else could be said if the same portions of matter extended over them, conceptualized making the memorable ones go through, and collisions that would restrict everything to a totally new beginning, very freed from the exclusivities of dressing soon with the Himation full of clairvoyance, which as a first reason was He would present in different bowls that flew alone through the zephyr of Patmos, like the elements of the Eurydice to be installed in the Matakis or entrance tablecloth of all the souls that would accompany him from the Kathartírio or Purgatory and faithful Falangist's Hoplites, providentially making signs to meet in the Profitis Ilias gorge once again to restructure the Syntagma. Undoubtedly, the mass of the Shock of the Masach or Screen of the luster of his new soul that was being presented by the Seraphim of the Mashiach by Bizkóto himself as a source of pleading humility, so that it could then be transmuted with the divine evaporated water of Hydor that would transform it. in the Alef, or sequential of the number Seven that would emanate synchronously with the heightening of the frame pinnacle of Delphi 583 and then that of the Profitis with the essential of 565, to be instituted in the ranks of the Alef as seven primordial in the plurality of these pinnacles, and of the wafers that the Mashiach instituted with the Seraphim of the indicated beginning of the procession of the Himation or Máza imátiou. Bios was the placement beyond the one who can never be seen behind the infamous lattices, which only extinguish in Lives that are our own, those that are worthy of us, of Bios, of the "V" Beyond death, and of the Verses of liberation, Transformation, and pacification, to channel her towards Vernarth through the skies of Greece.
Deus Himation
Against merry christmas premature blowout,
(or otherwise) ******* galore burnout,
hence I feel like the odd man out
neither yours truly, nor the missus
spends money and/or
time at checkout

avoid madding crowds like the plague
elbowing, hustling, jostling,
pushing, racing, shoving...
seconds before blue
light special closeout,
though neither of us

reformed practicing Jews, nor devout
mass consumerism capitalistic fallout,
we steer clear taking refuge within
our underground (arched)
all in the family bunker hideout
remain hermetically sealed

courtesy NASA tested grout
hunkering inside spatially
roomy subterranean getaway
created viz 3d printing
immediately after rollout
ready to take nesty plunge

steeply, perpendicularly, giddily... south
to go down rabbit hole,
where we carouse, cavort,
thermally heated cavernous redoubt
reaping efforts after donning
(MAGA) hardhats constructing roustabout,

whereby protruding innocuous periscope
allows, enables, and provides
mean ways to scout,
since Marshall Mathers Law
declared, mandated trumpeted
courtesy special ops stakeout

regarding our subversive
passive actions hashtagged illegal
if perchance discovered vis a vis,
we Americans express timeout
before changing role as seekers
playing wargames no matter

suddenly Nor'easter creates whiteout
futile search until spring thaw
melting snow exhumes
mister and missus Santa Claus
thank you climate change
regarding attributed drought.
Ram N Oodle Sep 2020
They say to find yourself
I found myself lost
I know I can leave
I keep myself here at a cost

Self worth
it decreases with my inaction
but I find that inertia keeps me complacent
when I am lost I can hide from my troubles
my fears not existent

You see I'm not lost in position temporally or spatially
I'm lost in my ways
I know who I am
Just not what I want to be

I have a road but I don't want to pick a direction
yet the more I wait
the bumpier and uglier the road gets
what if it's gone one day?

Then...

Then I'll truly be lost.
John Prophet Nov 2019
What will
we do?
How would
we cope?
At home,
myriad ways
to organize.
Unlimited
paths could’ve
been followed.
A decision
here,
a different
one there,
all would
be different.
Different
outcomes
played out
in parallel.
Infinitely so.
Some
unrecognizable.
Some familiar.
When they arrive.
Arrive spatially
from afar,
temporally
or dimensionally.
How
would they
be?
How
are they
organized?
What would
they see?
How would
they think,
relate?
No commonality.
None.
No thread of
connection.
None.
What will
we do?
Evolve!

— The End —