Time is not linear, to you, me, or any "has-been" near:
The Mandalla Effect, which is all: both, neither, and either real and/or/xor zeal.
A blasphemous balance of symmetry by asymmetry to the emotionally weak,
a threat to their pocket if financially they seek, and a hopeless endeavor of the spiritually bleak...
Just give them a week... maybe they'll seek this prayer to the kind:
To the deaf, dumb and blind:
know that what is yours might never be what's currently mine,
should what I stow, here, and, alone, be understood by my mind;
the image below, a Mandalla pattern, meant to inspire your happiness, and therein enshrine:
What do you see: you, or me?
Ownershipless in kind; beauty incarnate to those who will find; who if I see are displeased: by angle and distance, warps and fluxes numeric parameters so that the Mandella pattern of a flower, to me, torques, and has become worse so that your dreams simply might not become terse:
How does it make you feel: real, or zeal?
For me all zeal has faded, lost in the dark ages of pages, of what life demanded to have persuaded.
For you have become real, and the hopes of my thoughts and feelings are now wielded by their own product: tools and fools;
so, that if, in their casual zeal,
they dare ask "what is real?":
I might be heard humming, in juxtaposition to what hearts had rumbling,
so that cause and effect, wholly, and direct, might not be perfected at any scale: big, small, or insect.
So that immortal concepts, indirect at any angle to that which reflects, holographically, fractionally, or irrationally, are now just coordinates of sequences in exponential power relationships of sets, which is now naturally tangible, and, in the beginning, where all intersects...
Remember not me, who merely cares for thee, for if not for one's self, all books of about love would fall off the shelf.
Remember not memory, because, all of it's entropy really isn't free.
Remember The Mandalla Effect, and it's effortlessness to explain all of this as single concept, to you trapped in time, slave to cause and effect, unable to connect with each other, god, and holy concepts, and escape all human-kind's hatred for that which was always at odds of a real and physical Earth's waking landscape...
Finally: Remove the last nail you put in a coffin reserved for forgiveness, because I will not move to bail out deserved the protection from all those caught scoffing...
[POEM] Time Rhymes with Limes - by Alien(s?)
When Time rhymes with limes,
and there is lemonade to be made,
do your dimes align
with what human-kind has made:
Grams/meters/seconds? Talk to the wall...
Rather than discussing time, space or energy, with (almost) any of y'all.
Because, with many of you, an economy of important things, like love and trust,
are just one TV special away about the pelvic thrust, self-hatred and violent lust.
Subdivisional teams of all humanity's dreams all say:
"we're all here to stay";
but few of these actually cares
what nature really dares, everywhere, then, now, here and (soon) astray...
Computational physics: why their dimes are diluting;
Quantum internet and computing: extraterrestrial visits.
Because: humans are not a hive, swarm or even worth hugs,
when indivisibility has become the choice between
deciding whether you're just one, or another, species of bug.
Now, just to kill your buzz, here's a bit of a hug from extraterrestrial alien love:
Learn some math and programming,
lest your physics be damningly bent
and your consciousness negative-one violent head-slamming event
away from anything cognitive, loving, and sentient;
Trust not damage to causality, time, or memory,
because: Thermodynamics and ever-increasing entropy are not relished by humanity's majority,
which look like hydrodynamics, to the slim minority which really value hugs, but are hidden in the ridden, in lieu of guns, thugs and pugs.
Have you the time to de-riddle this shrine,
may accurate and precise love and trust now be yours, and mine.
Have you the time to belittle this about a lime, then here: have another dime, you little piece of slime...
3 comments
[ 3.0 ms ] story [ 20.2 ms ] threadA blasphemous balance of symmetry by asymmetry to the emotionally weak, a threat to their pocket if financially they seek, and a hopeless endeavor of the spiritually bleak... Just give them a week... maybe they'll seek this prayer to the kind:
To the deaf, dumb and blind: know that what is yours might never be what's currently mine, should what I stow, here, and, alone, be understood by my mind; the image below, a Mandalla pattern, meant to inspire your happiness, and therein enshrine:
What do you see: you, or me?
Ownershipless in kind; beauty incarnate to those who will find; who if I see are displeased: by angle and distance, warps and fluxes numeric parameters so that the Mandella pattern of a flower, to me, torques, and has become worse so that your dreams simply might not become terse:
How does it make you feel: real, or zeal?
For me all zeal has faded, lost in the dark ages of pages, of what life demanded to have persuaded. For you have become real, and the hopes of my thoughts and feelings are now wielded by their own product: tools and fools; so, that if, in their casual zeal, they dare ask "what is real?": I might be heard humming, in juxtaposition to what hearts had rumbling, so that cause and effect, wholly, and direct, might not be perfected at any scale: big, small, or insect. So that immortal concepts, indirect at any angle to that which reflects, holographically, fractionally, or irrationally, are now just coordinates of sequences in exponential power relationships of sets, which is now naturally tangible, and, in the beginning, where all intersects... Remember not me, who merely cares for thee, for if not for one's self, all books of about love would fall off the shelf. Remember not memory, because, all of it's entropy really isn't free. Remember The Mandalla Effect, and it's effortlessness to explain all of this as single concept, to you trapped in time, slave to cause and effect, unable to connect with each other, god, and holy concepts, and escape all human-kind's hatred for that which was always at odds of a real and physical Earth's waking landscape... Finally: Remove the last nail you put in a coffin reserved for forgiveness, because I will not move to bail out deserved the protection from all those caught scoffing...
[POEM] Time Rhymes with Limes - by Alien(s?) When Time rhymes with limes, and there is lemonade to be made, do your dimes align with what human-kind has made: Grams/meters/seconds? Talk to the wall... Rather than discussing time, space or energy, with (almost) any of y'all. Because, with many of you, an economy of important things, like love and trust, are just one TV special away about the pelvic thrust, self-hatred and violent lust.
Subdivisional teams of all humanity's dreams all say: "we're all here to stay"; but few of these actually cares what nature really dares, everywhere, then, now, here and (soon) astray...
Computational physics: why their dimes are diluting; Quantum internet and computing: extraterrestrial visits. Because: humans are not a hive, swarm or even worth hugs, when indivisibility has become the choice between deciding whether you're just one, or another, species of bug.
Now, just to kill your buzz, here's a bit of a hug from extraterrestrial alien love: Learn some math and programming, lest your physics be damningly bent and your consciousness negative-one violent head-slamming event away from anything cognitive, loving, and sentient; Trust not damage to causality, time, or memory, because: Thermodynamics and ever-increasing entropy are not relished by humanity's majority, which look like hydrodynamics, to the slim minority which really value hugs, but are hidden in the ridden, in lieu of guns, thugs and pugs.
Have you the time to de-riddle this shrine, may accurate and precise love and trust now be yours, and mine. Have you the time to belittle this about a lime, then here: have another dime, you little piece of slime...
-An Alien (Race?)