Emmaessence

The crude alien oils download into my scalp denying me full passage to the land of the dreamers intercut with prophetic images of the future of what the full awakening period will probably be like attention on contention then you rise and find and figure out it was all pointless and nothings happening now For whom do the phantom bugs might for a mite bite? Depends on the night unfortunately this appears to apply to that of the earlier ones the afterstays of the sun and artificial heat left on too long have lingered violently caressed me as I have tried to shut out the world with my eyes a quick cleansing has not clipped me of this feeling I feel it all still steaming, teaming, at, away at me the crude alien oils…they are thicker thicker than the water used to purify banish them too powerful an outer source a creature not from space but sourced from a single dish condition from where ones stews a steward a queen of an unlucky night where such plights take frightful

Stop reminding me in your lack of existence that you ever faked it in the first place just reminding me of when before I could say I am something that is/was you denied me of that by not being real now you remind me of a past non-existence I had been and that you always were so cease already pulling me back into your enclave This isn’t about earthly kingdoms or infernal damnation it’s about internal torture as directed by others so blind they have no idea they are declaring warfare burning you in terms of existence, spiritual, religious, philosophical throwing you out of it with the curse of doubt or thinking at the absence of existence I got round to existing in my perception of the soul edged sense I didn’t need man to accept me, anything just to not fail and remind me of that failure that lack of inner anything you had or anything actually real At least I can be attached to something that does exist as it spoke to me and I perceive it now constantly

I want to at least stick to this, something in general sense of loyalty while also giving the payback of sincerity And so to abstain from contradictions to my existence I continue to refrain from performing that very action in which partially represents that I never threatened myself because why would I? That could only serve to place me on the level of others that give two options then will not allow freedom of choice In this I do rightly think accordingly in sensible sense If I am tied to walk a plank put out by others I’ll still keep myself intact and in other ways I have not failed myself Even distracted a resonation occurred with this night’s film choices leading to this written reflection for viewers and authors see words shown back to them This is not the black pit of the others this is in line with your in keeping liberated existence as one of resistance to certain reaches because you see the hidden blade how strong it all is… I want to at least stick

A smokey lowkey Spanish hamlet of schoolhouses candlelit and drab resistance wives, kindly yet stern teachers Played by Penelope and Pedro respectively a vault somewhere I did not know what it contained I remember in my own time those not of the civil war days when the vault-men accused me when depositing my gift I was but a thief Rebellious children, red colours protected by the schoolmasters as a slaughterer was said to roam from the falangist fringe I slipped off into the maze like university seemingly more modern could not find a subject passed by,by a face frozen in time I had known before surely looking different now I let myself get distracted from the events going on outside I heard a shot, what does it mean but I’m not involved The skies have lowered and darkened after I leave the vault opened the populace of the schoolhouse no longer seen A black clad figure sneaks around the exit corner before I have a chance to completely process It was the war years

One called it insincerity but I like to call it something a bit like sin stab wounds and hells brandings upon sincerity taking away the charity of truth and genuine That memory that comes back now and then of a future that never happened and let’s be thankful for that that images of everyone together in that single building even then, that wasn’t a solemn promise I may have thought it was its the ones we make our self when we convince what’s real, will be Before we really wake up and even had things gone such a way you’d never have opened your eyes still in sins realm insincerity/sin inscrutable But nothing can be muted anymore the mutant strain is on high for hire,offering itself out everywhere many have grown far if even never aware of a sincere word in their lives given how they have been raised more to the ground while appearing tall they spread and they tell that which they were embedded with from the start masters of a forge everyone in the

There is a certain unspeakable horror when the side of the angel is misappropriated and misspoken by absolute monsters fills me to a fueled core of the fiercest of ferocious frights As I imagined myself sitting in lost towns window cafe I and my fellow patrons make about turns as the red flags go by the glasses the fascination stops us mid conversation a platform, mid mealhouse a body of a pillar, began growing out of the floor an infant at its top, marked abandoned a woman embracing the pillar’s form wearing the sign of a lonely madonna The barkeep takes his frames building larger ones around them just as we are the frame of the establishment and the flag bearers within their own so now were the mother and child three, trinity panellism in parallel In the corner it was then formed a fourth frame and it was then we understood where the traitor stood three representations of myself converged upon that figure for not one of us could take him any longer…

I wonder when I become an observer no longer of this earth And said earth is no more Will the wind still ring the bells ? Will the sun still shine? Will the wind wait for another to walk among it? Sound, will sound survive? something suddenly hits me when I think about that A portrait that doesn’t melt still hanging down their an object and a weeping bell the chimes echo, encore, song there’s something very hard hitting about that a world of cobwebs but never a fly caught in a trap waiting, for someone to hear or maybe its for us the ones that died a reminder given to us of where we came from this odd emotionally affecting gift burrowing into us when it hits our ears so we never ever forget that while something was taken from us likely with reason we are allowed to reminisce the gallant gong that I’ll be able to record in my ears It’s not imprisoning it won’t be it’ll come as beautiful, of a once was, had been The bell, is not a weeping one afterall it is

They speak of fanatics and single minded conversation loaded with repeated cursings foaming at the mouth themselves at the ridiculous and ribald rabidness you just look on with quietness or a grin that funnily and tragically I’m not sure which they do register the whys I hear it and simply to myself go “here we go again” simply wait until it dissipates Last night’s nightmare involved a maze of restrooms decrepit, naked armies of malnourished hags telling me their spaces invaded They quickly turn to dust all the background images are painted on I overhear now returned to reality the magus of flame still uncaught as ordered another storm But none have moved against him I look over at the table where someone has a bottle of poison yet stabs the already bruised apple without even applying it then proceeds to serve it for the purpose of enticing, increasing angry mobs the killing element goes unnoticed, so much more foul though the gathered go insane of the lesions upon

You held your opium and others but told me my internal mass was the opium of such, an unliberated crutch Though I never saw your put downs as much I brush them aside with a confident smile I have consumed no poison but the poisson guards worth of open eyed knowledge in the emotional awakening sense of the term There is no opium of the masses only what is dealt and consumed on the elevated steps one might say a stairway to heaven on angel’s corner no deal is being done under the table no powder, no pills The of the masses you accuse me of your world more closely resembles the drug-dime-store-description the crack conspiracy conscription how’s your prescription going? I’m on Catholicism’s subscription though you won’t get it at any head shop or odd turn up there and church chairs ain’t the likes of what you’re at almighty never demanded addiction that was more your predilection…. so tell me now what’s really the opium of the masses?

Her heart took to the whims of kite strings slithering out for an exposed float And so inside, where possible he would keep her washing that very heart with the aquatics the monsignor delivered attempting to protect it from rot Additional issue persisted in the form of thought bulbs ensuring the continuations of an apt mind must be quickly maintained, replaced when needed less the light fade too quickly an all hope for restoration lost broken bones restitched by beads bits of necklaces spines opened and repaired by crosses in the place of would be disks Of the heart he took the most precious care to prepare and acquire the means for the ritual this was the aspect he never wished to lose of her There’s was a strange existence albeit one of sincere connections to be maintained in the most peculiar of ways Her ashen hands the palms develop as such can now hold an imitation of life hers to give , be granted in a miraculous sense That plastic existence adopted

Wake, now The dead of night The dreamers, dream The dreaming The dead spirit The ghost of soul The undertaker Bone collector Body snatcher Of the soulless Of the damned Rise once more Once again, from the grave Exhumed, from the ashes Like the rising, of the phoenix sun The dead star, eternal darkness Dark Angel The waking dead Awake now, from your dead of slumber A living nightmare, the living dead

Validation and recognition become the worst kind of addiction. Try to trade likes for all oxygen. Look at the lives of your beautiful friends. Comparisons made. You know it’s wrong, but nothing else confirms you belong. You aren’t the best, can’t measure up so you get depressed. Never enough. The internet lies. Question what you see. You can’t trust your eyes staring through a small screen. Perspectives are skewed. Don’t let yourself wither, ‘cause photographs will never give the full picture.

Oh, dear one I saw you in the children today. Glimmering in light and enthusiasm. Traveling in exciting adventures, possibilities, and discoveries. Curious in the spontaneity. Oh, dear one I heard you in the children today. Bursting in the joy and imagination of their dreaming and creating positive change in the world. But mostly in the unlimited potential and the innovative poetry. When these strengths of yours Are met with criticism You escape to fantastical worlds. Oh, dear one Your spectral energy reminded me That I understand you. Hyper aware, thoughts racing gripped in your stress Muscles tensed, Stomach a mess Irritation, anxious distress. Carelessly harming others and self Putting personal accountability on the shelf Baby just please take a breath, slowly I’m not saying make a forever plan of that I know you are not a fan. Maybe get some help with the math? I’m just hoping you find your path.

The black dragon flew among them For the first time he felt a belonging His heart filled with joy as he flew For at last he was among his own kind They rose and fell in an acrobatic dance Powerful wings gliding through the air The air in this world was sweet and pure And below the land was filled with life Yet, he wondered who had called him From across the silent reaches of space With a love that was not to be denied For he had come to answer that call As he flew he was suddenly aware Of another dragon flying besides him White scales gleaming in the sunlight Green eyes staring at him with an answer In his mind he heard her call to him Somehow, she knew his true name The one written with fire in his soul And he answered her with her own They broke away from the group then Flying closer and closer together until Their bodies twisted around each other Singing out a love song in dragon's fire