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I am that I am, and all my thoughts is all to be, and what I see with this I take and transmute into art... it is the gold, and the form of my higher muse. I've woken to the alarm of no- time and in this space I've come to realize that I have not left the dream simply have woken to a new perspective of the same reality. Art is the magic, art is the syntax that I use to re-write the program, art is neither in nor out it resides on the borderline of what is, and plays with the idea of what isn’t. Through balance and great use of knowledge and a touch of understanding I’ve come to manifest light onto the path I have been unconsciously paving and all that is left is the dance. ART IN ALL' ALL IN ART'Shall I fly over the mountain of hope to the dance floor of abundant possibilities and never give into density of title and question.
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“Unless you turn back and become children you cannot enter the Kingdom of Heaven “Matt .13
anyone lived in a pretty how town
Sat, June 16, 2007 - 1:38 AM
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(with up so floating many bells down) spring summer autumn winter he sang his didn't he danced his did Women and men(both little and small) cared for anyone not at all they sowed their isn't they reaped their same sun moon stars rain children guessed(but only a few and down they forgot as up they grew autumn winter spring summer) that noone loved him more by more when by now and tree by leaf she laughed his joy she cried his grief bird by ... read more
trusting in this commune i now give myself to the word of nature to allow the truth through me to flood out the light that dispels all blindness to awaken the fellow soul in a trivial game called life so jump to howdy human role of drama peacing space for minds of time unholy paradigm burning to be real within the eternal seal of my heart is a flame single and stll smokeless and feircely pure throughout all drifting illusions oh ma of webistry everything about this existence is ellusive and ...
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Sat, June 16, 2007 - 12:05 AM
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The Children of the Night
Wed, March 7, 2007 - 12:53 AM
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DEAR friends, reproach me not for what I do, Nor counsel me, nor pity me; nor say That I am wearing half my life away For bubble-work that only fools pursue. And if my bubbles be too small for you, Blow bigger then your own: the games we play To fill the frittered minutes of a day, Good glasses are to read the spirit through. And whose reads may get him some shrewd skill; And some unprofitable scorn resign, To praise the very thing that he deplores;... read more
Until the 20th century, reality was everything humans could touch, smell, see, and hear. Since the initial publication of the charted electromagnetic spectrum, humans have learned that what they can touch, smell, see, and hear is less than one millionth of reality. echoes the drone........
Fri, September 8, 2006 - 2:48 AM
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" I stick my finger into existence - it smells of nothing?
Fri, April 14, 2006 - 6:08 PM
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where am I? What is this thing called the world?" kierk. "being is what it is ... the being of for-itself is defined, on the contrary, as being what it is not and not being what it is ... is that non being be a perpetual presense in us and outside of us, that nothingness haunts being." ssizzling sartre > burning age of philosophy ! I am but a a drop in the storm of poetry and so a flux upon the universe of art countin... read more
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