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What I am told. But what I am told is built on a canvas of lies. So, what should I believe when my belief is shaped by what I am told? What I am told, and I say that that is so even when what I am told is not possible for me to know.
Believing in the scarcely credible is giving yourself false confidence, and the unlikely to be true is what I am told that I should know. I open my heart and empty my mind so that what cannot be verified I can accept without the handicap of a questioning mind.
What I am told is what I do not need to know. If what I am told is not realistic, does not make sense, and is not uplifting and enlightening. So, what am I to believe when what I am told is designed to make a fool of me?
Empty is the head having a mind that refuses to think for itself. Where any and everything can be dumped into a hallow shell and find comfort within it. The things that I am told are not about the truth. They are about their unreal reality.
What I am told goes into one nostril and comes out of my behind. Yet what I am told is the foundation of my beliefs. A fantasy foundation that crumbles under scrutiny and falls apart in the slightest breeze.
What I am told is impossible to know without having the faith to believe that it is so, and faith without knowledge is like a shadow that appears without any light to produce it. So, what I am told I believe by faith without proof or knowledge.
I feel the warmth of life when I am in her arms. She is strong. She is beautiful. I do not need faith to know what I know about her. What I am told has nothing to do with her because I know she is the woman for me.
The empty head is filled by her presence, and all my questions are answered by her touch. I know this without being told when I investigate the smile for me that is in her eyes. What I am not being told, I know for sure.
I know that her dark brown skin makes my dark brown skin tingle. That yes and no means yes and no. And that the reality of she and I is the reality of nature as it is meant to be.
What I am told is that I should live in an illusionary world of shadows and that I should make this shadowy world my reality. What I am told is that I should adjust my life to conform to someone else’s standards and not even try to create quality standards of my own.
This is what I am told. And to what I am told, I say no. But what am I except a breath away from death? My thoughts and feelings are like falling leaves having no place to rest. One moment is all moments this I know to be so without being told as I hear and feel the fragility of my heart beating.
My path is defined by her outstretched hands beckoning me to her. In my mind, I have no wits that are apart from hers. The things I tell myself are all that I need to know about her.
And what I know about her is good for me. Darkness is the path to perfect blackness, and perfect blackness is the cosmos singing in harmony.
I live. I die. I die. I live. As one is the same as the other. And so, I kiss her hands, and I kiss her feet because what I am told cannot compare to doing this.
My fantasy world. The good thing about fantasies is that you are not harming anyone if you are mindful of what you are doing and do not allow your make-believe to become your reality.
Your Imaginations are like air fresheners that you spray into your mind stimulating creativity.
Unreality is a good thing considering you do not live your life based on it. A dream will not pay bills, and an illusion will not put food and water in your mouth.
Compared to the people of my fantasies. The people of reality are a disappointment which makes me feel uncomfortable around them.
The world that beasts have created has transformed everything into non-sense. So much so that many people desire to get out of it. I can get out of this world without harming myself or anyone else in my make-believe world.
My Fantasy World
In the dark, there is strength. In this strength, the make-believe world is no longer necessary. In this world of black, I caress soft, warm chestnut thighs and know that they are real. The curly hairs that I finger between delicate legs are my knowledge of authenticity.
It is much better to daydream than to wallow in self-pity and anger. My illusion has the purity of not having beasts contaminating and degrading it. A beast-free reality is how the world was six thousand years ago and will be so again in the future.
The good thing about fantasies is that they are not finite, lasting long after physical life within the electrical charges infinitely. The world of black keeps me from losing my senses as there is a way out of this suffocating white noise.
I am the one who defines myself. I am the one who must live with myself. I choose not to be influenced by newcomers that have polluted the world and its people with white rubbish.
The good thing about fantasies is that they are all mine, and as such, I will take black by the hands and lavish in our world.
The Image That We Call Earth. Shimmering like an inlaid jewel on a black mantle. The wonder of all wonders in the known Universe. A crystal ball is a perfect sphere. Rest the Image that we call Earth. Vibrant, active, thriving, flourishing. Teeming with life from its heights to its depths. Majestic among all the bodies in the heavens. Sanctuary and home to the gigantic and the microscopic. This is the Image that we call Earth. How lonely and lovely it sits among its barren neighbors. Orbiting within space and time in a magical radiance. So extremely paramount it is, which is why mortals should honor and preserve this crystal sphere. All its beautifications and adornments make it special and unique among the Stars. And cherish and respect one another with all that is dear. This is our oasis in space. This is the Image that created and sustains us. This is the Image that we call Earth.
Being alone and lonely is not a very appealing situation to find oneself in, but for some people, this is the best place for them to be regardless of how awkward and distressing it may be.
You see there are those among us who are not compatible with anyone. Despite their good intentions this type of person always reduces well-meaning into a pile of rubble for themselves and for the person with whom they have become involved.
The days are protracted, and the nights are even more lengthy for the hopelessly forlorn, and they deserve it because they willingly and unwillingly make life a disaster area for someone else.
These people do not mean to fill another person’s life with adversity and misadventure, they simply cannot help themselves because they are endowed with the tragic nature of the weak mind.
This is the mind that means well but always does wrong and the mind that thinks but does not investigate and dissect.
Tears are running from the eyes of the lonely. The lonesome exists within a world isolated unto itself and even within that world, there is a heart-rendering solitude. And they deserve it because they have hurt and harmed by design and unwittingly.
Sympathy and compassion are not due to them, and all their life memories make them shutter with anguish and grief because of the things that they have said and done.
In isolation and solitude, the lonely abide, and in seclusion and separation the lonely die with no one to grieve for them as they are deserving of indifference. The worms abhor them, and the stench of their decaying flesh is a pleasant-smelling aroma to the gods and goddesses of horror.
The nights are sleepless, and the daylight is filled with darkness for those who are alone and lonely, and they deserve it because they have been a waste of time for the composition of cosmic matter that created them.
The clock has stopped ticking a long time ago but the lonely refuses to evaporate, and not because of some strong will to live but because the dead has never been alive. In death, we live, and in life, we die, and no one cares because we are no more than a vague shadow that floats on vapors.
The fantasy world that the alone and lonely creates for themselves as a means of companionship gives them some measure of comfort but always there is a void in their lives that make-believe cannot fill.
Millions upon millions of people crush against the lonesome and yet they feel desolate and deserted, forsaken by all, and trampled to quash by many. And it is just and fitting that the remote should feel and be in this predicament because of the contrary things that they have said, though, and done to themselves and to others in their lives.
So, the fundamentals of being alone and lonely are this. Without warning, all dreams will come to an end and in that instant, you will cease to be. Hurray, for light and darkness are no more, and never again will you shed a tear because of a lonely aching heart.
The worms gaze upon you with distaste and disgust but they munch anyway as their job is to sanitize the environment. The stench of your decaying flesh is repugnant beyond revolting and will repel the most nauseating of odors.
Nonetheless, be of a cheerful spirit because eventually, you will be at rest, and those with whom you may have happened to stumble upon are left in peace because you are not there to trouble them.
It sounds implausible, but it’s true. There are certainly malicious and self-centered elements within the United States of America; governmental and corporate, that are at war with the citizens of this nation and other people in the world.
The goal of these troublesome varmints is to reduce what they consider to be the trash beneath their feet into mindless, obedient, puppets. Fortunately, the victory is not theirs. The painful knots on the head belong to them if we become mindful of what they are surreptitiously and in-your-face doing to us.
They distract us from contending with them by entertaining us and by causing heartaches and troubles where there would be none if it were not for their inciting.
We know who these noxious people are because they smile on our faces every day as they are poisoning our food, water, land, and air and genetically modifying us into whatever happens to develop by constantly bombarding us with harmful light, sound, microwave, and radio frequencies.
These smelly dog puddles are so self-satisfied that they earnestly believe that the average Becky is too stupid to distinguish the difference between “Mary had a little lamb,” and brown water running from her kitchen faucet.
The present world system is grafted upon lies and sustained by even more lies. So, how many lies can a structure support before it starts falling apart? The fool and his or her warped head are soon departed and what will arise in their place may be better, or it may be worse.
But whatever it is the people of the world and its land, its water, its air, and the animals desperately and deservedly need for them to fall and fall horrifically.
Force the governments and the corporations to release the cures for natural and human-engineered diseases and viruses that they claim that they do not have a cure for.
We should have ceased driving on tarmacs and tires decades ago. Paper money and the banking system are a fool’s paradise that only creates greed and wars. Women should be women, and men should be men. The darker the skin the more in tune with the cosmic order of creation.
The present world system is only a fabrication created and manipulated by the deranged and the deluded. A fish should be able to swim without choking to death on human waste products.
Cut down trees only when necessary because they give us the air that we need to breathe. And there is so much more we can be doing and should be doing if we take the donkeys by their tails and fling them away into outer whiteness where there are only week-old turtle soup and day-old chopped livers for them to covet.
So, what do you think? Do you really want to continue to be a happy-go-lucky? Be an ardent beer-drinking sports fan. A person seated comfortably and glued to the trivial.
A database hacker who has nothing better to do than to muddle software that works reasonably well, or a force of wonderful destruction and magnificent change. The universe awaits your answer.
And so, he consigns himself to loving her from afar because he is HIV positive. Safe sex practices and procedures are his norms. The personal safety and well-being of others is his rule. Therefore, despite his love for her, he keeps to himself.
From a faraway place, his heart pours out for her. And so, it is that the remote is very close and the near is far away. Sadness is a joy because love is happiness even when it’s concealed. In a secret chamber, her jeweled smile is with him pushing away self-pity and despair.
From afar she is close to him, and therefore he loves her because she is. Within the dimness, there is a vision, and in the light, there is the sparkling of the darkness. And so, it is that far and near as it is combined into one. And in that one he adores her.
The creep is on the crawl, and that does not frighten him. The look is over there yet so close he can feel it. He smiles inwardly to himself as he thinks of her. He thinks of her and smiles privately to himself. The knowledge of his love is not for her. The clue of his enchantment for her is to her an unknown.
A breath away is death. A breath away is life. Paradise is a breath when he sees her. The thought of her empowers and comforts him amid whatsoever is there. There is life, and love, and darkness, and light with HIV. The rude has been put to sleep by the brightness of her adoring. The radiance of her darkness has vanquished the crude.
And so, he conceals his love for her because he is HIV positive. He is HIV positive, and so he veils his love for her. In his heart, he rejoices. In his heart he is sad. She is unaware that he is making loving to her because this is not for her to know. Her peace is in his nostrils, and her safety is in his mind.
The boat is adrift and refuses to sink but the moment will come when it slips away. Today he sees, today he sleeps, and today his love of her is whole and complete. To himself he keeps, and of her he loves, and there you have it for whatever it is worth.
How sick do some elements want to be? When they see a black panther before their eyes, they willfully perceive it as being a white pig. To what extent are some willing to lie to themselves? When their vision of the Universe is only a product of their mind. When their reality is only an illusion that they have erroneously produced, that gives them a false sense of superiority over human beings.
How sick do some elements want to be? Why should human beings care if the choice of back-ass-wards elements of the natural is to live in a lie? A torrent of lies that are systematically falling apart at the seams, and there is nothing that they can do to prevent it from colliding with facts and reality.
Genetic anomalies have brought nothing but conflict and sorrow to the Earth and all of its many life forms. And not being satisfied with ruining the Earth, they reach for the Stars to spoil them as well. Biological deviants have transformed the Earth into a cemetery populated by the animated dead because there is no transcendent life within them, so they want to kill the people who do have life within themselves.
I saw the diadem of perfectly harmonious impeccable order on her head with the points of departures and the points of beginnings being the foundations for her feet. The pneuma emanating from her bright brown eyes melted away the light into a bountiful blackness that shines brighter than the mortal mind can conceive.
How sick do some human beings want to be as they happily wallow within the warped paradigm of the unnatural that by all accounts would be extinct had they not broken out of their ice cage and attached themselves to human beings?
Why have human beings allowed their honor and self-respect to be taken away from them by beasts? Also, why does a human being look to quirks of nature to give you what they have strategically taken away from you?
Likewise, why does a human being covet praise from biological degenerates that have no concept of what true praise is? And why does a human being find acceptance in the smile on a bastard of nature’s face that is tactfully concealing the contempt, scorn, and laughter that they have for you all the while knowing that a lie disguises itself in many forms?
I saw the apex of love and joy on his head and the steadfastness of the queen of the harmonious universe supporting his feet. The pneuma emanating from his bright brown eyes merged with her perfect unsoiled blackness and transformed the voluntary dead into self-thinking, fast-moving energies of true light and life.