This is a letter to
the future.
No, it can't be that
important - it puts too much pressure on me. One day when I am really hungry I
will be able to go to Joey's Only for the Tuesday night fish and chips. That
and the billion dollar museum of the bible is in the air tonight. These billionaires
are throwing money and not asking any questions. These people think that they
are building a great mega-church and making a bountiful trove of treasures for their flock, but they
are breaking international law. The news changed now, so I don't know what they
are going to talk about next.
People's choice is
the righteous indignation. Tomorrow will be a good day of writing and watching
the news. These notes are not worth the salt they are watching. These notes are
of soft dreams and major thoughts. I have the righteous blame to light and they
have notions of crying might and I have threats made for modern light and they
have treats made to know of the fight and I am a soda and you are a bear and
you are a running joke within my matter.
Just is.
Just be and is be.
Then it will be okay.
Hope.
The reference to
turmoil.
I hope Max doesn't
ask for those poems, because I haven't written them.
Thanks to the eons
of massive weight that takes the hopes towards the morning sensors
These are the rakes
of light
These are the
weapons that watch me
I turn towards them
with hope, there is little faith for the mortals
These are the
wretches of war
Perhaps that could
be a poem.
Well he doesn't want
to, so I will drink a glass of wine by myself. It is kind of interesting how
quickly that feeling changed. It is Friday night, there is fun to be had
tonight. Where is my fate? We are marked by the masked men, who watch in the
night. We have happiness, but the fear is taking the tasks of war and smashing
them against various fences. These people want their intrigue, but only because
of the water that needed them to fear the reality. Thankfully the hope is
belonging to the water marked pride. I have to belong to the hopeful sorts, and
because of this I will happily grasp at straws.
The
days have become short, but it is still warm out.
The
cold careful shepherd watches me. That
warmth is a realistic one, tired for the real world. These people must belong
to the better world, and I must have to belong with the better worlds that mark
my mind on the walls that watch my heaven and the saving grace is the I leave
like the world that watched me. I have to belong to it, because I have nothing
less left to find and if even the desperate ones find me then I have the shapes
that remain with the weapon and find the beat to write the whole book. That
really was the key, wasn't it?
It is
cold today.
Just that, I guess.
Someone told me they
had never felt the lake so hot. I don't know if I'm worried, this could be some
sort of cycle that is changing over the course of thousands of years, so I'm
not concerned with the end times like that lady was. She was even concerned with
zombies coming to eat our faces because they had taken bath salts. That is a
strange thing. I wonder if those bath salts sooth people in a bath, or if they
were just a crazy drug. I guess some things I will never know.
This is not an
article, but it could be. This will never make me money, but do you know what
will save me money, stopping smoking. Do it for the light, make it so that you
have seen it. Make the steps that I still calm and betterment into you. Do good
always. Play a stock market game. Enjoy yourself.
This could maybe
work for the closed captioning thing. It would be good to try this for that, it
could work. Maybe I will be a better person then I thought I could be. I am sad
because I cannot belong to any group, it seems. I want to really enjoy life and
make a permanent difference and make world peace, that could be nice. I belong
with nothing in them, I want to change the world for the positive. I want to
write something that is used for hindered people everywhere. What I need is
money.
I will save over
250$ per month when I quit smoking. This will be worth it for my health as
well. I should not buy any more tobacco for the sake of the yellow scales
tongue that if left to my own devices I will definitely gain. It terrifies me,
I am terrified with the real reactor who what where when why?
Now, days later, I
don't know what to do. She is not a smoker. She is a real person with ideas and
thoughts, but life is silly and I know now that really, in the real world, I am
here and ready to belong and learn. There is no way to make sex more interesting
than to restrict it. Make sure that the real world is looking when the reality
and thoughts become reality and beliefs and therefore we move forwards, ready
to belong to a great kind of person… Where do we stay here? What do I do? Am I
high, or just hiding the real book that is below me?
How do you write a
book out of this thing, so that there is a sensible form of disaster made to
believe in writing and soviet letters. "The Society Letters" are
grasped from this type of space. I must make something like "The Society
Letters," the blasted work is the greatest book ever written. (In case the
idea that a I am trying to be as good as the title of my book may be humorous
and a good idea to create a theme of desperation would be to always be hoping
that the book I am writing about the characters is as good as another book
called the Society Letters, when in fact the Society Letters is the name of the
book that was written by the narrator of my new book, but if it doesn't come to
fruition this evening in this file then I should say that I never have seen a
book with the title "The Society Letters," although it would be a
good title for a book that I was trying to write a book like.) It really holds
the room together.
Confusion towards
the letters is the Society's cross, but what, you may ask is the Society? The
court outside the the Society looks like the other ones on the block. The
Society meets in a stuffy old room near the Capital Building of Festin, perhaps
- but the only real thing about it is the ghosts of the men who walked it. It
is no longer a place to most of them, Including Horus Gogeb and other people
just as fancy. Remember the Dog is an end in itself, not just a bunch of human
pleasures. This is the beginning to humane moral standards.
The haiku is like
A rainy notion for
us
Because we are there
You will just be a
person made from possible humans and then you will fall from the earth. Then
you will fall from the sky. Then you will fall from the earth. Then you will
fall from the sky.
What is this? This
world we inhabit that is fearfully blessed to speak to the mortal kind of
people. People need others to help them sometimes. It is good to do so, in case
one day you are the other kind of person, then you can do that same thing. For
some, it is the light of the day. Some others cannot get out of bed.
I don't know what is
happening anymore, I feel like I have nothing to say. This is my radio show,
this is the palace on the airwaves that I let the fine listeners feel like a
rope of silk that dances for the breathes of air. That living kind of ghostly waif,
the wanderer. I believe the day will come soon that will allow me to create the
kind of art that I wish to, but for now. Here is a poem I wrote a long time ago
while either being secretly drugged by a thief or under the spell of some sort
of poltergeist.
