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This evening.Shall I describe to you my favorite colors?
There are two of them, quite ordinary if you ask.
The first is the shade of the underside of a hawk's wings, as an autumn sunset hits the feathers.
It's liquid copper sunlight, woven by God into a glorious shape.
The second shares the same season.
It's the clear autumn sky, at twilight.
So cliche, I know, but that's what makes it ordinary.
The pale yellow on the horizon, going down the gradient into chilled orange, blue-gold.
And then that first sight of navy, that first instance of stars in the velvet.
That is the second color.
A blue so deep I could stare for hours, did it not last only a few short minutes.
They are my favorite colors.
Mine and my own.
Ordinary, and commonplace.
But fantastic and lovely.
Essay, unnabridgedThe year is 2013 and my high school, the hypothetical last refuge in the area against the undead, has been breached. After the first of the zombie scum entered the building, through a door left open by a scavenging patrol, panic spread quickly. I abandoned my friends in the crowd, grabbed my schoolbag, and sprinted with the flow of terrified people. I broke off into a nearly-empty hallway, populated by similar minded people desperately attempting to find a hiding place. The had nothing with them but their adrenalin-heightened fear; unlike me, they had not planned for a situation like this, a situation where the safety of the last haven in Frederick would be destroyed.
Unlike the sorry souls I turned my back on, I had thought through this scenario countless times. In the corner of the cafeteria, where my friends and I set up base, I found myself with ample time to think. I'd hoarded small supplies, filling my school bag not with the now arbitrary textbooks, but with survival gear.
the Companion taxGive me breath, give me life, but don't give me your validation, I know I'm right.
I know that what I feel is how I should feel, and I don't need you to tell me I should feel guilty or proud of it.
It's my essence and I'm not ashamed and I don't need your opinion of me for support; I stand on my own.
So let me breath and let me live and then I can give you my devotion and myself.
That is all I ask for me from you, from me to you.
Wild RideTry not to lose your place in your life
We'll be returning to this page
But outside the book is a world unwritten
I'm here to free you from your paper cage
Buckle up and strap in
Just fake it for a while
Remove the silicone from your fun-dip
Give me a great big smile
You've always been one to turn
Your stubborn face towards the sun
And question "why" when people said you couldn't
You'll have your answers when we're done
Outside your pages is a world
That they don't want you to see
A world of "why's" and "what if's"
A world where you want to be
By the time our time together is complete
You'll have your answers my dear
This world unwritten has no rules against it
But your answers may not be completely Clear
Find them yourself, I'm only your tour guide
I'll hand you nothing but the means
When I return you to your routine written pages
Pick your book apart at the seams.
New Age SocietyI remember distinctly
Yes, I remember quite well
It was neither the last time nor the first time
That you told me to go to Hell.
It was that middle time,
Somewhere on Memory Lane,
When I said "see you there, bitch,"
and suddenly I saw the insane.
In our New-Age society,
Where even the label-less have labels,
Children are taught from birth
Skewed, hate-twisted fables,
Of greed and strife and hidden morals
That the Only way through life
Is also through battle and quarrel.
You're twice as likely going to find
Someone pointing legislature, rather than a gun.
It's equally as dangerous,
Two-times the reason to run,
Such a major cause of so much anxiety
So much discontent
In this New-Age Society.
In this New-Age Society,
I have no memory of better times gone by
Instead I have a childhood of discrimination
Sweet Nothings'if i could, i would devour you. i would eat you whole, consume you mind, body, and soul. because i am a selfish person. i want you all to myself. no one else may have you.' he said to her, as they lay tangled in each other.
her reply came with a sleepy smile.
'there is a part of my mind which understands the intended romance in your statement. that part is wooed by it. there is also a part which insists upon my realizing the reality, the literal. you, my dear, are a cannibal.'
he placed a kiss on her head.
'well, we'll have to work hard then, to make sure that you are only wooed. we will make you want to be eaten. we will make it so that part of your mind which is literal, is quiet, so when i whisper sweet nothings into your ears, you are completely swept away. lifted off your feet by my obvious romantic intention.'
The Useless PlentyThey pass us every day. On the streets, or in school buildings, they'll nudge by us on their way to some place else. Some place, not here. But we're already there. Our minds have taken us father than their legs ever will.
And they don't understand. They try, certainly, but their have their mundane drama and appearance while we concern ourselves with whatever fills the spaces. The little cracks, filled with stray passions like windows stuffed with cloth in the winter. To keep the empty out.
This is for the girl with cuts up her arms, raised from the skin, and the boy who drinks bottles of cough syrup for the alcohol content. This is for the girl who dyes her hair to hide, but in doing so, says, "Hello, World. Here I am. Suck on it." This is for the boy who lives for his image, cultivates it carefully for the public eye, then will go home and watch anime or a sci-fy show, and doesn't care who knows.
They pass us. There is a distinction, the "us" and the "them." Within the us, there are s
Jerky“Dad, is that guy jerky?” I ask as we pull up alongside a car, towards which my father is throwing dirty looks. He ceases, and exchanges a look with my mother at the comment.
Minutes pass. It may have been days, but it does not matter, because I am again in the rear passenger seat of our first Honda. Strapped into the back, but not into a booster seat anymore; I am a big girl, and the laws are different in Canada. My father is again driving, my mother occupies the seat in front of me.
“That guy is jerky,” I say with conviction, sure that this time, I am right. I even point so they know who I’m talking about, the man in the car that caused father to growl for some reason. Again though, mother and father say nothing. The giants in the front seats simply exchange another look. The kind of look that makes me think I shouldn’t have said what I said. But I don’t understand.
Father calls other drivers jerky all the time, especially when they act like
And best of luck to the boysAnd best of luck to the boys in the band
on the rest of their lives
I wish you all well while we sit here
trying to get by
without the music that kept us alive
And let's give them all a great big hand
a rowdy applause for the boys in the band
we'll manage and make it somehow, I'm sure
sick and dying hospital patients
without the music that was our cure
Inspired ProseWe all have things to say, most of us have something we really believe, or multiple things we could talk about for hours at a time; things that manifest themselves when you’re in the moment, when you’re not distracted with redundant information masquerading as truth and news. When you have a moment with yourself, and your life, and life as we know it is shifted into focus, put into perspective, you must realise how transient it all is. This increasingly dominant westernised way of thinking, and acting is not only promoting ignorance, and stupidity, but solidifying our stunted growth as humans and as our true selves –– whether that be a soul, a spirit or an energy.
To some this may be exhausting to think about, and to read about –– to me it’s exhausting to be surrounded by those that don’t think this on a regular basis, as they’ve already been poisoned by something; by the media, by experience, by the government, by societ
Lost in the Spiritual WorldMy Darkness:
I have been meditating since I was 12 years of age. It was not only to escape the world around me but it helped me a lot in doing so. A world full of bullying beings addicted to matter of all kind. At that time I lost sense nearly completely. I really was cut up from the world at my young age, seeking shelter in astral travel. Just to differentiate from them, not to put myself with them on one level, to detach myself from material the best I could. And I felt that I did not need it. There was no contact to other people and I neglected my body completely.
I came to know that it was a wrong way and I changed to another extreme that looked like helping others at any risk, running against walls, bashing my head, giving all but receiving mostly nothing, self-sacrifice as I was not able to help myself.
The last change took place in 1995 and I feel that this is now the right way for me.
During my astral experiences over three decades I have met a lot of entities out there, on the
Redemptive SufferingThe fear of suffering, pain, and death seem like unconquerable mysteries. My time here at CPE [clinical pastoral education] has helped me to understand, via experience, that they are not necessarily things that need to be conquered. No amount of faith excludes us from experience pain, loneliness, and death. Money, power, and other earthly things makes these three experiences even worse. With this in mind, I began to wonder if the words of Qoheleth were not as negative as they appear: “Vanity of vanities! All is vanity” (Ecc 1:2). Earthly things will pass which also means these things, both good and bad, will pass. Yet this does not ease the blow of the mystery of suffering and death. Even if they pass away they still remain with us our whole lives.
For me, this mystery is one that is only solved by the Cross. The cross is, for me, the foundation of my theology the ministry I do. The cross is the Incarnational moment where love and suffering meet. Love because
Infinity Complex.Infinity Complex.
This is something that has been on my mind for a little bit. I would like to share this complex with everyone, and find out if anyone else has thought of this.
The infinity complex is just that. A complex cycle of infinity.
Let's say I am traveling space, and 'ascending'. I reach far into space and reach a sign. (Theoretically) The sign says "YOU SHALL NOT PASS". The complex begins.
Why is the sign there? Who made the sign? If not whom, what made the sign? What made what made the sign? Why can I not pass the sign? Is there something stopping me from passing the sign? If so, is this the end of the universe? Is this something beyond the sign? Why would it be there in the first place? Is there something it doesn't wish me or anything to see? What created what that made this barrier? Is there something beyond what created what? Why can I read the sign? Why is it in my language? Is it in different languages depending on the thing that perceives it? If so, why? If
THE PROMISED BAPTISM WITH HOLY GHOST"And when the day of Pentecost was fully come, they were all with one accord in one place. And suddenly there came a sound from heaven as of a rushing mighty wind, and it filled all the house where they were sitting. And there appeared unto them cloven tongues like as of fire, and it sat upon each of them. And they were all filled with the Holy Ghost, and began to speak with other tongues, as the Spirit gave them utterance. And there were dwelling at Jerusalem Jews, devout men, out of every nation under heaven. Now when this was noised abroad, the multitude came together, and were confounded, because that every man heard them speak in his own language. And they were all amazed and marvelled, saying one to another, Behold, are not all these which speak Galilaeans? And how hear we every man in our own tongue, wherein we were born? Parthians, and Medes, and Elamites, and the dwellers in M
Deep downDeep down inside ourselves
we can find the infinities
of the universe revealing themselves
in the light of darkness.
in the ocean of the dark unknown
we can find the high sky of enlightenment...
28/07/2014 Dywiann Xyara
Don't Get Me WrongIn the old days the quickest fast track to fame and glory involved sleepless hours, relentless drawings, painting, and studies month after month, and years of work to create a single masterpiece that would insure them that their name would be carved on the marble pillars in the great hall of history's famed and legendary artists. However, (and not all that surprising) one would only need to create MLP Fan Art in order to cast such a great shadow over all other artists that came before them.
Deep down we can find the high skyPoetry can be such a powerful expression
that it is capable to give extreme deep impressions
which can lead to the infinities of the sky
or deep down to the abyss' of the unknown oceans.
Is the deep down
actually the sky high above us?
And is the sky high above us
actually the ocean deep down?
What is, if I told you
that contraries become the same
the closer you reach their extremes?
What's hidden in all the deep seas?
What's far beyond our Solar System?
They all share one thing:
...the darkness of the unknown...
Why are we afraid of such infinities?
Why can't we grasp such dimensions?
Why are we even afraid of the unknown?
if our reality is only bound by our own imagination
and the fear of the holy unknown.
Yet the dark is so inspiring and touching.
Deep down inside ourselves
we can find the infinities of the universe
and experience it in all it's power and majesty.
Deep down we can find the high sky
27/07/2014 Dywiann Xyara
Rules of the Bronydom1. Do not talk about EG.
2. Do NOT talk about EG.
3. We are Bronies
4. Bronies are fandom
5. Bronies love and tolerate
6. Fandom can be a stupid, childish, whining monster
7. Fandom is still able to stick together
8. There are no real rules about censoring
9. There are no real rules about copyright infringement either – enjoy your C&D
10. If you enjoy any other TV show – DON'T
11. All your arguments about the show not being 'just for little girls' can easily be ignored
12. Any original work you produce can and will be stolen from you
13. Any original work you produce can be turned into something else – clop
14. Do not argue with haters – love and tolerate
15. The more you try to be show-accurate the more you'll be blamed for OOC
16. If you get OOC in epic proportions, you may just create a subfandom
17. Every fanon gets canon eventually
18. Everything that can be shipped can be hated
19. The more you hate, the more shipped it gets
20. No storywriter's tweet is t
The ProblemThe youth today does not know how to talk. We do not know how to talk to one another nor do we know how to talk to anyone outside our age group, capable of articulating but not transferring meaning with out spoken words. Yet we have profound conversations through text messages, using less than 160 words, and know exactly how to transfer our feelings and thoughts into abbreviated words and sentences so that others will understand them easily. However, they have no depth. Any actual conversation, two of us face-to-face, is awkward and harsh, unless there has been left enough time for the two to come to know each other. Upon first meeting, it is rare that eye contact will be made. Jokes and jests are made, in attempt to connect, and numbers are exchanged, maybe. That is when the communication begins. Not when two people have the opportunity to talk, unlimited words, pay nothing, but when they have limited words counts and little chance for actual connection.
The Coffee GodThe Coffee God behind the counter shuffles foot to foot, a dance of steam and espresso. Black painted fingernails, inch gauged ears and a gray striped sweatshirt, hood crooked on his back. There's a cigarette tucked behind one ear; it bobs and twitches with each step.
“Non-fat caramel latte,” he calls, just as he always does, part of a spell, part of a mantra, toneless (just a tuck at the end). I reach. He looks up.
The espresso maker hisses.
There's something like a grin, something like a spark, something like a shared secret linked eye to eye. When he passes over the drink (rough cardboard sleeve hot to the touch), he lingers. Our fingers brush, a shiver, a jolt, a ten-watt shock.
The Coffee God tilts his chin, shouts, “Hey, mind if I take my break now?”
and ducks around the counter without waiting for a reply.
He slips his cigarette between his lips without taking his eyes from mine. I follow him out the door.
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