CREATIVITY & KNOWLEDGE

Starting Blocks

Half a breath from speaking a thought in a cadence so close to the etheric pulse driving all men, physical collapse is imminent, -only autonomic function allowed to heart, diaphragm and brain; shutting down general cognition, accomplishing silence.

(This began in a dream where I remained motionless in darkness until my physicality disintegrated and each tiny fragment of my being shot tiny tendrils of roots into moist ground.)

===

-A friend of mine calls Bluegrass "White people's soul music".

This became quite the feature at their shows, with the guitar mirroring the refrain. This is the best of the live versions I could find.



Blood

Sunlight lime green through a broad leaf, and in a deeper shade to delineate veins.

Last Edited by boutreality on 07/31/2020 02:29 AM

A Letter in Regard

Don’t let the thought catch you. It’ll contort your back, subsume your will, slightly twisting nerves of the spinal column upright gradually over time, -it comes on strong in sleep, triggering an unconscious cause to turn the head opposite the direction it’s being forced to accept atop the production. Your mind dithers in soft invisible pieces, yielding to the internal grasp, falling suddenly to too-deep sleep, trying to not embrace as black becomes substance tugging in rivulets clinching the optic nerves, ogling the backs of the eyes, moving them under the eyelids.

Bulletin: Enemy moves in shadow and wisps of air you’ll discover no source for, they’re in the arrange it all for you, narrow all fate down two options then make you beg for a third choice racket.

Strange air -it wasn’t a green mist, it was sunlight confabulated with emanations from your hand’s screen projecting a template for electromagnetic manipulations; sunlight hits the field projected then formulates a subspace monstrosity that grows longer at the same time every day once established, no matter social media presence. -And that’s the insidious disregard, biting the tongue to keep smiling lips closed type of emotive trigger they need to thrive.

Each follower’s a victim once they’ve caved to the green gelatinous head with its features mushed together atop a body slithering inward through the torso, superimposed sub-physicality built out of the confluence of a solar field after it passed through the atmosphere caught in a cross-interference pattern set by continual relay between the nearest towers and any enabled device. Handheld technocratic singularities making life to desiccate then dissolve, clouds shuddering at the invisible violence, the brain convinced it can sense it, caught in massive waves of fields built to ground their own creation; it and your mind, for every mind.

The dancing invisible, it through its host, the myriad intoxicants deranging each huddled mass, every sense every smell, you solid but all the air’s what an empty head can swim in, all carrying charge. All sent signal. No one’s on the other end because no one’s interested in receiving. Transmission attempt Zed.



Last Edited by boutreality on 08/01/2020 02:40 AM

Approximate Nautilus for Personal Use

Self-definition set aside continually, to take amorphous yet solid positions per instantaneous display of conviction, serves as a subverted mating call among darkened orders of higher functioning sentience, spills neural networks like invisible lattices stretching outward into a fragile atmosphere; everyone becomes brittle at the surface, inwardly claiming to be seized -secretly set upon by unacknowledged results to never known investigations- and torn into by the first predator they meet. (We all recover.)

Oppositional torrents, with air disappearing into vacuous spaces only sensed afloat in unoccupied areas of any room, coopts internal orientation but the weather’s a constant:

“Staked a flag up that hill in 72 and it held till last night’s wind”
“Sorry for your loss.”


[link to www.youtube.com (secure)]

Last Edited by boutreality on 09/10/2023 09:55 PM

Now for someone else's words paired to music:
(Words second vid)

if we humans spent 5 pct of our time actually doing something productive instead of , festering in our own misguided illusions , = misery. heck we would be home steding and flourishing the galaxies, but no , we want kill and lash out at each other like blind sharks, but hey , talk , is cheap.

Sure, if you care to expand? (Not directed at you):

There's a tendency lacking in general cognition of people, it is "patience of mind", an internal sense of presence solely allotted to the individual by the individual used to best comprehend a situation.

Any measures to get people out of that rut are just attempts; it takes people with the where-with-all to face issues from enough angles and eliminate enough superfluous detail from the process. -And that takes patience of mind, this thread is about how useful creative expression is to shift our internal frame of reference.

"Talk" is more than talk when content is directed and required to best understand our situation (content can always be dismissed by the claim "it's all talk"):

Thread: HOW IMMIGRATION POLICY REFORM COVERS FOR FED RATE ACTIONS (WHY TRUMP IS THE NEW REAGAN)

Last Edited by boutreality on 08/10/2020 09:15 PM

Attempts to Report

(A nervous twitch in the back of my hand makes my fingertips wrap on the tabletop repeatedly in turn, it travels up my shoulder in spindly signal growing to warp my vocal chords.)

When they took our breath it was an invisible, atmospheric smothering, levelled through the body and chest to take the diaphragm of each target. In mass respiration was redirected to unseen minions, growing from sediment gathering along the walls of our frames to be born to a sub-world complete with newly working lungs -our creations are water flowing over green-white mineral deposits built into the walls of metal pipes; someone’s at control of the tap.

(A forced gulp triggered at the base of the tongue slightly bulges my eyes, draws all air from my mouth, and while inhaling through my nose, my insides seize along the extremities of my nervous system.)



Last Edited by boutreality on 08/25/2020 01:41 AM

Problematic Certainties

(It is raindrops trailing the window pane making the glass of the window colder, not the constant pummeling, and with one side of the face pressed into its smooth surface you can tell.)

Small children over the school year make friends with the old stump they compete to sit on while waiting for their bus ride into school from the country, and with the still silent quality of a post-rain morning, even at midday you can tell.

(Sun dries the ground through cracks in broke-down cloud banks, torn apart after struggling to hold form against insurmountable torrents, softened into less-heavy bodies as they lost water then shredded into vaporous chaotic trails giants may walk.)

Things need to be thought out from more involved angles than how many views one can have of a screen at the center of the room, and with the inside half of the viewers’ bodies gone numb -prone to subverting signal, you can tell.

Last Edited by boutreality on 08/28/2020 01:56 AM

UPON APPROACH OF THE WEB, THE PREY BECAME CLEAR

World valuations, never been nothing to it.
But the daily ticker of claims suited, always crawling, comforting across the bottom of all screens.

Believe I’m begging.
Don’t tread where no one can stand, pretending it’s safe.

…Eating at the walls of their barrels as air contributes to rust, letting them believe we’ve not become the moisture (in their complacent frenzy, -used to the tide).

“Too many fissures” was the latest global valuation.
People rushed to market. We took the ground.

9. Gold-backing will not rectify the situation either because nowhere, at any time, is a person who will be using the currency (whose valuations would then be set to mathematical equations measuring one country’s national gold to all others) considered in the valuation:

First currency: some metal, let’s say gold. You buy people for gold, you get paid in gold so you can buy what you need or want (even if it’s a person), but nothing about the person using the currency is considered; it is a “non-living commodity”-sided valuation of what a living person can obtain with the currency. Fractional Reserve valuation: This amount of gold is worth a fluctuating amount of dollars. You buy people for dollars, you get paid in dollars, but nothing about the person using the currency is considered: it is a medium of exchange -a “non-living commodity” valuated at the regularly calculated end result of national trade balances and deficits (in gold if exclusively gold-backed); it is a currency-sided valuation for everything every person is needs to live in the world.


Words from: Thread: THE 10 COMMANDMENTS OF KILLING THE USA (UPDATED FOR BIDEN)

Last Edited by boutreality on 09/15/2020 05:18 PM

Internal Seasons

Fingers tremble at the frigid chest, and while tracing the outlying space surrounding your hair, jawline, then lips.

(We both knew it was time.)

Images leave sub-physical echoes, and remember?
You were my first confirmation.

(Goodbye)

You have no fucking idea what you, or anyone else, is actually doing.

-That is the illusory "king stance" unable to observe boundaries of subjectivity, and apparent in the words, unseeing of the internal frame - a view through the physical as one's physicality.

After that happens, you shut up, "speaking for another" is absurd and still a frame of mind everyone is prone to adopt without thinking.

The psyche is its own beastly arrangement, and it's nothing to swim in, but few drag their selves ashore, instead wading until the end.

Last Edited by boutreality on 11/25/2020 09:55 PM

The artist made one album under this name, then changed their name to "not be associated to solely that sound", or so I heard.



Substance and Poetry

Been sending new work to your family, it solves physics to the point of achieving consilience (the unity of knowledge), as applied to one topic and process. It is impossible to escape accumulating formulated patterns, and drowning conveyances of import- am in conflict with procuring an income apart from what is owed:

A latent acknowledgement splinters kindling off a log at warm dusk, building into a puff of wood dust climbing air to take moisture from the worker’s mouth.

-It is of no material, something at the core freezes while the skin enflames and this, the state of galaxies of flesh gone aged and pale, in its truth:

For lack of a currency… forever subsumed.

A note to the future (continued),

Processes began ticking thoughts apart, reassigning them to holographic internal frames only the subconscious knows, and pairing smiles or scowls to shades emanated from their screens, over time it is proven:

Emotive structures are often only as solid as weaves in that type of paper.

Last Edited by boutreality on 11/28/2020 08:36 PM

That was nice. Thanks

Reading your poetry changed my life.

Thank you.

Evidence flows in one of the best cadences of all time, a song paired to the words, then a song showcasing Evidence. He's second on first song.

A Word from Our Sponsors - Thanksgiving Day 2020
“This epilogue to society has been brought to you by those unworthy of culture.”


Dilated Peoples is still one of few hip hop acts with its own DJ who spins wax.



Last Edited by boutreality on 11/28/2020 08:25 PM

Open letter to GLP (for those who find it - it fits here)

How many questions have actually been answered?

People who frequent forums like GLP come here to consider what anyone who is not them has to say in this regard. -Answers to anything. Plenty of these are people who are conspiratorial in secret, and they are just testing the waters to see what’s what -privately. People come to forums to read and explore new ideas.

With paid members at GLP, people unknowingly read what a paying member decides can be posted to their “glorified blog” -if it’s started by a paying member wanting ostensibly a “cool kid’s club”, where any idea not sanctioned gets deleted, because from there where thought is allowed to go becomes enforced. -Ideas now unable of organically spreading and growing to possibly encompass or challenge other ideas, which may have provided a growing context to readers, get eliminated because “cool guy who paid says so”.

So, to you glorified bloggers who claim it’s a “glp” member’s right to eliminate others’ comments: You destroy general discourse.

People want answers, people can and will find them, but anytime they visit a paying/editing member’s threads, they get inculcation, and if they fight it they are dismissed. -I hope “computer button likes” offer real comfort; it’s all you’re worth.

The majority of actual traffic most forums receive isn’t from posting/paying members and it isn’t from writers - the majority of people who traffic forums are here to read anonymously. Then there’s the “social idiots” who see forums as one more place to spew their dancing icons and emojis - as if it’s real communication! Those types do well on threads started by glorified bloggers, it’s nothing intellectually challenging, it requires no thought, and cool guy “glorified blogger” gets to believe it’s in admiration of him.

Why don’t “glorified bloggers” start a blog? It would cost less- It’s because they’d get precisely the amount of attention they deserve - none.



Daily Instructions

Be prepared for an attack from all sides and remember you’re always safe.

Don’t be afraid to fall into your handshake. If you must you can hold onto where we found ourselves; keeping a straight face without dissolving into circumstance.

Don’t be afraid to swallow your disgust in favor of a life so powerless it feels empty without news and entertainment to help you avoid what you will not face alone.

Don’t be afraid to look away, to borrow your shock and dismay from unconfirmed sources.

Last Edited by boutreality on 01/11/2021 02:34 PM

365 Words

Crippled territories inside depleting structures, dirty white matted strands built atop strands covering a snake-like edifice grown to house pockets of empty space surrounded by otherworldly flesh, muscle and nerve, where disassembled fragments of ourselves reside - whole construct builds from the living inside the living unnoticed, say about eighteen inches down and to the right from the collar bone, as pieces of daily experience, thought and emotion detach from the urgency of maintaining a sense of momentary being to find residence in depleting structures, swaying whole bodies in their tow. Us against ourselves with everyone demanding it remain secret, state of the norm for the sake of a stake, because there must be something hidden in everyone no one has the right to see, the myopic plague persists like a rising tide, making people easier to corral - or at least it will seem so for every age.

The millennia spanning view is sunken beneath blackened thick scintillating membranes, they’d have you call it the floor of the universe, and gathering abrupt stoppages to paths of light travelled eons to be reduced to flickers before being subsumed in the tidal void, the substance would appear to provide death to stars - cover to ancient seers, playing the ends to tricks of light emanated by searing plasmas light years away, they’d have you certain they’re murderers, certain they own it all from positions secreted under the floor of space.

They’ll creep up through you, find you and your crippled territories, take up residence, monsters to scale to strangle and contort - you and your every account - stealing your breath, with every act glorified by your secret choirs, the whole lot violently suffocating but still struggling to sing with every gasp. Make this production what you host. Catch you listening. This is not subconscious movement, as destructive-disintegrating and steady as entropy, it is an empty haunting making you solid from the outside, confusing parameters, there was internal distance, there are screens for buffering, with all their emanations eating though us to play across the surfaces of depleting structures whose walls are filled with black scintillating membranes. They’ll have you from the floor of space, questioning.

Last Edited by boutreality on 01/25/2021 11:14 PM

If you’ve never noticed a singer’s voice that is cable of hitting all 8 octaves, you’re missing out.

-There really is a difference. A voice like that is just so damn capable of indirectly conveying meaning, emotion and intent. First selection is bound to be any fan’s favorite, and try comparing Leonard Cohen’s version (the original masterpiece) to the second selection. (Words in between end with a quote from William S. Burroughs)




Dialectic 2 (At the bar)

“With so much sweet, sometimes I need the bitter”
Bite back my throat.
“How I 'm sure I'm alive.”
We all see with light.
“Tomorrow the Juniper will rise through my pores.”
“Eons cannot track dawn as awakening.”

What we are- cyclical conversations with each point invalidated by thought,
‘Gargoyles are winged demons that offer protection.’
“Gin over many years, forever blossoms faces.”

Heard on television:
“The fault with the space program is that it continually looks for more space.”


-Changed that one out to his original, it better showcases his voice and features less things "any non fan" would probably not appreciate.

Last Edited by boutreality on 01/29/2021 02:25 AM

Prenuptials

Quintessential apparitions, we talked too long and got nothing done.

They became their custom and on the outside we were always comfortable looking in, laughing as they searched our persons for their stones.
(Necklaces underwrote rings, embittering pre-deposed views.)

Compensatory arbitration is set to last for so long as the mandated supply of polyurethane crowns; as long as the mirrors’ glass withstands loved ones’ scratching tests; or until a settlement is reached in the interest of saving common space. Title this backwards.

Morrissey's music and I had a time, I was into him from about my junior year on - back when you weren't cool if you claimed to like an artist but didn't listen to them! My favorite song of his follows the words (a perfect capture in my opinion).

A Note to Disarm the Critical Mind

Who are you? Not acting stoic or showing off with words. -Trying to laugh inside and out at the same time. It’s more difficult than it sounds. A conundrum: how to lose my best admirers to single out my one beloved. Certain subterfuge has no meaning save what others have invested. Stock market crashes; I wish to evoke more than bodies laughing and much more than spirits rejoicing. “Alignment.” -If ever one word could build a sentence.

If ever… nope, too many words build ruminations. Eyes think on their own, too often bodies follow, and by now you may have gotten the point. No point in your fanciful dead-ends. Why not finally stop and admit you’re lost? -Savor the remains until there is no bitter; no sweet, and you long for neither.

Sounds like confusion, you know so I won’t have to. Sounds like perfect apprehension, or I’m just playing opposites. Well, however, but- do you get it? Does it risk arrogance to say: “I know more than you dream because you dream more than I know.”?

-If that is not the understanding that misunderstanding is basic, then don’t mentally replace the word ‘basic’ with ‘banal’. The process fills cathedrals and stadiums weekly. It inspires songs of glory and dances of madness; arguments become sanctified and regret is surpassed by relief. Only one of the three deserves the sigh, and a sigh is not a laugh. For those presumptuous enough to hold ceremony of one or another as target: When creation is conceived it takes no aim; pulls no trigger; fastens no bow; carves no arrow. It is better to say there is much we have ‘forgetten to remember’ than to say our educations molded dunces from students who never knew they were teachers.

There was a collective dream we shared, more than passionate speeches- more than microphones and PA’s ever amplified- a dream that soured into a pursuit to better our individual positions at the cost of not just our neighborhoods, not our villages, but our being. Our reverie putrefied when one collected gold; any medium, indeed it could have been mud were water so scarce, and fashioned it into a crown; a necklace, any adornment made not to be worn but rather used to set one upon a pedestal and mimic our heaven as a dwelling intended for mortals.

A clear as a bell day and white feathers riding the wind doesn’t mean a dove was shot. At any moment, one may be given to death. Time takes a more succinct toll than pennies or pence- so dance in what falls from heaven, and may it never again be ash.

If an essay on lighter notes became too heavy for you to lift your eyelids then rest is assured. This symphony of cacophonous structure lays the foundation for palaces yet to be discovered. It’s easy if you refuse to put your mind to it- your heart is better suited to the task.

You children in a clubhouse, -oh that’s right, girls play the doll, boys play the club: A house of cards is always meant to fall, a puzzle is always meant to be undone. There was always warmth, friendly chatter, and soothing music to condition the air outside. There were never detractors from the pageantry until a few decided a pageant was meant to declare beauty. Plato spoke of the forms - from there the arguments chose shape. Might this be the settlement he intended? The decision is not mine. My definition of self is comfortably ineffable.
Who are you?



Last Edited by boutreality on 02/17/2021 02:47 AM

Constitutional Authority

It will shiver uncontrollably on the inside in countless, unending undulations building a tapestry of events performing together as if they were a solid front, in a vertical plane bisecting its every cell, and with every act of the foreign, other people will become prone to thoughts and emotions that without explanation lunge them forward.

It’s laughable.

Last Edited by boutreality on 09/10/2023 09:56 PM

Perhaps

We each dreamt we heard each other’s laughter from the kitchen in bed this morning.

-What year’s passing would allow for it?


In psychology, the "Fall" occurs in romantic relationships at around 3 years in, -that's when each person is forced to admit what the relationship is to them outside of sexual/social comforts.

(Often used to illustrate that lust lasts longer than most admit.)

Last Edited by boutreality on 05/10/2021 12:26 AM

And now for another testament to plain quality in song; more often than not, people/artists who win Grammys actually deserve them because of the nature of what they've created. There are several perfect examples.

Here's one:

[link to www.youtube.com (secure)]

Six Way Accord

Met a man without a name, he became a windstorm and blew the desert around all day, told me he’d assure safe passage if I kept his presence a secret. The only catch was his demand that a percentage of my wages go to his house.

Met a bearded man, he said he’ll take my suffering but the thorns of his crown will have to stick into my brain. Not as painful as it sounds, suffering traded for suffering, but it froze my blood in my veins. He says this way I’ll learn to endure in grace.

Met a brown-skinned man, he said he’d dissolve my emotional quandaries into my body, as long my heart belonged to him. The guy vanished on a spot where they built his home. His last demand was to love with an empty chest.

A yellow man with his blue wife found me. They claimed they were the same, offered a palace full of half animal-half people looking creatures to support me, and each demanded a little shrine. Provide light to see their images, burn enough incense, and they’ll reincarnate me.

I was told to shut up by a fat man, if I could manage silence I’d get a woman to fill with my worry. Desires are less the issue he said, it’s more about being caught in their pursuit, close your eyes. We’ll make it go away for you if you desire we get golden statues and ornate temples.

Stuck on the roof, fixing a leak in the rain, I heard my family in an uproar below - lightening had struck our neighbor’s tree, and my wife thought it was me.

Last Edited by boutreality on 05/30/2021 08:53 PM

Terms

I accept your surrender whether or not you recognize it as defeat.



Update to post at midnight, night of:

I use this often to celebrate a new post or series of posts to other threads of mine. This time was no different, accept the post was hacked.

Check it out if interested:
Thread: HACKED POST & FIRST THREADS MISSING - UPDATE: A NEW HACK

Last Edited by boutreality on 07/16/2021 03:05 AM

Peace (A song we would have liked to sing)

If we pick cherry blossoms will the tree bring sweeter fruit to bear?
We twine wreaths of apple blossoms and we change the atmosphere
Of silence building distances we can’t cross without shedding tears
I never thought the world was sadness I just thought joy would appear
We all make our own mistakes now we believe they’re why we’re here

Chorus:
We argue like we’re the weather
We only laugh when no one’s watching
We argue like we’re the weather
We only dance when you're all standing still

If we could speak a secret language we could erase all of last year
Water in the clouds is friendly, the raindrops start the confrontations
Of puddles making our goulashes that cover up all of our fear
As we walk to avoid the mud that gathers in between our houses
We still try to never question our treaties we’ve agreed will hide the sun

(C)

If we planted all our pippins could they bring us back to life this year?
We could kneel at no one’s feet in hopes that enough light will reach
Between the clouds and deep enough beneath the ground
To give our food stronger roots than we would like to have
We all fight with ourselves to force upon us reasons to be glad

We argue like we’re the weather
We only laugh when no one’s watching
We argue like we’re the weather
We only dance when you're all standing still



Last Edited by boutreality on 08/06/2021 07:17 PM