Monday, March 7, 2011
The Colors of Emotions, Loneliness, Solitude and Rapture, Exposed To Imagination and Details In An Adrenaline Rush Of Catastrophic Rewards and Occurrences.
Open your eyes. Close your eyes. Did you see the flash of green, and blue as the light died and your mind entered the darkness that is the upside down perfect chaos of the world? Your mind, this reality, this life and utter dependence on despondence is a sieve; this is a merit of inane questions and observations represented in the most humbly obnoxious and conciliatorily provocative manner which I could pull together and piece together in a jumble of thoughts ideas feelings senses intuition…contradiction. The colors of emotions in all acts of thinking speaking judging perceiving, they shimmer with complexly simple and tiresomely equal significance as the lonely caged and gentled solemn heart, that which should beat at the same pace as that of a wild untamed free gloriously free animal. That which can taste moonlight and inherit the beastly and lovely darkness of the night and loveless hateless prideless detailed day which; there right there; all the way there; is the absolutely wonderful beautiful majestic glory that is life liberty happiness. The rush of words spoken by your deadened tongue, hush, as words are silenced then profoundly magnified. Our Emotions seek to overcompensate with my words that they cannot express in mere tone or acknowledgements…
As time flies by, and the molten mottled moldered modern precipice floats over the rocks of indifference and indistinguishable intimidation as the unprepared metaphors and poetic devices clash in personification and the human Emotion catalogued as simplicity or humbleness, the mere will to give up your being, to regress to a time when instinct and learned behaviors were the cataclysm of evolution and indignation and as that of the holes in the timely unfurled space where past meets present shapes future, there the continuum of pride and deathly sins of humanity and confusion, there the core of our flawed and fatal language, manipulated countless times every nanosecond, used to assimilate what it would be like to see the colors of these alien emotions, so cold and loving just the same as warm and postponing. Those which format and extravagant all the lies that may collapse at any given moment as the diluted truth is filtered and brought back into correlation.
Imagine this. Loneliness is a person. She is small and fragile at first, meek as a meerkat in the survival of the fittest plaintiff that is the Earth, this world, its entire life spent within the confines of a beautiful and deadly savanna. So you ignore her. Lying there swathed in strips of cloth, there in the corner she watches with innocent amethyst eyes. When you doubt she grows, when you are doubtful of everything and anything and many times and when you do, you present her with plates of imaginary food, a vial of inconsequential blood, a tighter grip in your loving hating faithful weakening mind....
And it’s undoing.
She in turn gives you bright green ink, poison in the most diligent and deferring distracting dominative way, the ink that stains and marks and mortalizes your soul in her chaste claws of continuing calm and in the shadow of her iridescence the perfectly formatted rays of the sun expand and twist, pliable to the most extreme, and form a coverlet cloth of coincidence…its iridescence enables her to grow. To mature and to grow expand explode into something much more volatile, and deceiving and panicking and destructive more so than the most heavily guarded tears of truth. Time flies by, time never stops, the river flows, as dangerous today as it was yesterday, and even more so than it will be tomorrow…not very long has passed since the day her chokehold tightened on your bare sensitive flesh, and she has enough strength, enough will, to control your taciturn mind, and start dismembering the mechanisms of the most delicate chemical imbalances. Your mind. Your heart next. Then your senses. Soon your life is inclined and controlled by the most purest and kindest evil, she turns and twists and her honeyed lies and candied truths extend and touch and grip your Emotions…oh yes your Emotions. Those yes those. She overturns your mind, and the little important things go wrong, the little things the little things the little things that go wrong amass into the bigger things more important things, those bigger things bigger things, which writhe in archaic pain and glory slashing severing seductively suggesting several degrading marks which in turn consume you into slavish informality. She uses you, reduces you, confuses you….she defines your whole being and situation as the moment when the handgun becomes your only means of escape from her painless torture. Her clearest path is into obscurity, which is loneliness’ most horrendous and hideous dastardly devious demeaning drawing and dreamless interpretation of an idea.
Identifying her is much harder. Like all other emotions she lives in the brain, dispersed in solemn silence by chemicals, and as was intended…well…she is the exact same shade as all other emotions and all unforgiving delinquencies and incorrigible truths.
She is white. She is pure. For her innocence is never quelled, even as she murders you with your own hand…in your own blood. The truly lonely thing is that not one criminal is denounced, not one criminal arrested, not one criminal convicted because Loneliness is a cloaked assassin made up entirely of noxiously harmless fumes, and as brittle and dependent on diversity and adrenaline fueled alibis as the putrid and Emotionless smoke on noxious harmlessly harmful watered down lies.
She a cognitive reflex and a chemical imbalance. She is that which coerces you to the next level of assimilation and indignation. Parading about as a citizen when she, all her primal existence has been a witch and a healer in the depths of renowned Solitude.
The peachy beauty once known as Loneliness has progressed and morphed into Depressive Standards. And much as the substances which your eyes cannot define, they blend in and become that which does not obey. That which does not bow nor curtsy, and is longingly seeking the cure of indifference, whilst pouring her heat into a mold of devotion and shrouded layers of imperfection. She is that which is not afraid, brave as a lamb caught in the glare of the feral fearful folioed king of the jungle, pressed in between the book of Eli and Job, stressed to the point of incongruous desertification and impurity. That which is today keeps a calendar of when Emotion last ran amok and the colors of sanctification breached the fine line between vanity and conceit, plaguing all that as an opportunist would behold, lies in the eye of the beholder, or in the stained, bloody hand of the forgotten soldier….
The colors of the most genteel Emotion, is often forgotten and replaced with democracy etched in a charcoal and ink rendition of monarchy…all of which have forgotten the exact date of tyranny and oppression, whence only a few at a time can shine. And only a few at a time can live. Most never see the light of day, or meet the frantic pulsing pounding perfection of a human heart thought to be above that of Animals’ yet, as each of us forget, we are all Animals’ and we all, Animals’ of the like which have not progressed since the days of hot fears and fire, when the north winds, vaguely suggested obeisance and piety…each of us underestimate the abilities of tolerance the preprogrammed diversity of Emotion and forgetfulness.
Will you throw your own self into harm’s comparatively contrasting ways?
Ethos. Pathos. Logos.
Think of Solitude now. Think of her glory. What does she do? What does she divide? Conquer? Contrast? And Diffuse? She thinks, she plans, she uses, she…enables. She can do anything and nothing. She can compare all and everything. It is a matter of will, obeisance, and piety that she can love like death, and can poison with life. Just as insubstantiality itself cannot exert the same exact shade of white, and clarity, instead choosing to bare a scarlet and iron choked version of a knight, shrouded in a dragon’s blood and a tunic made of starlight and burnished copper gleams. She is clad in a veiled cloak of diminutive ursurpence and with the politest nod of her daring eyes, colorless to the colorful and colorful to the colorfilled each is a given, a ray of excuses used to cast upon Solitude hells’ fire, and the ruby encrusted gates of Judgment pass their holy virtue’d counsel on her own beguiling and deliberate smile.
She pays no heed, no mind. She is…the same kind of sophisticate and conniving beauty as talent, ignorance, bliss, tranquility, danger, loveliness, purity, courage, brilliance, timidity, daring, knowledge, science, religion, security and the most of all freedoms, in that which she plays her part, mindful of the most heretic choice and the softest sigh bath’d on a swollen and happy bed, filled with the excitingly voided mindful of mirth as all other chemical imbalances combined and as well.
Deliriously, that which is called Emotion will strangle and dissolve and depend and love all the exact colors of itself, but as our own fragile and captured souls writhe and plead and tremble, trapped behind a stunning, simple, strong shroud of silk that covers a beatific and archaic wall hidden in the dark recesses of our minds and heart of hearts where chemicals combine and solidify thousands upon thousands of imbalances to great and meek and powerful and humble and strong and arrogant, so much that even the most detailed and careful of words, cannot fully describe or detail how miraculous and wonderful these are, even with the most precise and eager words, all is lost and all is won, all shall fear and all shall hope, more beautiful, and treacherous there is nothing save nature, or glimpses of passing gold and loves undying flower, all are grouped into the same colorful extent as the bronze tipped sword which as a beatific smile alights upon her face, her crown of lavender looking to all the world as the queen of faeries and bottomless lies, hidden deep within a forest of elm and holly, we all cannot break through the of glass and dénouement.
Tis’ only abstract thinking which separates the two and each is identified by our own seeking searching stumbling souls seeking guidance. Everything who we are is a marvelous, contradictory and ironic yet right so oh so right combination of disgusting, delicious, absolutely imperfect ingénue and perfectly intriguing mystery. A combination of instinct and learned behavior that dwells inside of a pile of hot, roaring coals, hidden deep within our blossom’d breasts and ruptured captivity to the world which is known as hollow and round, even as marvels are raised and torn down, these colors identify all that is, isn’t, and ever shall and shalt not be, in the midst of advances and impurities the most desired imperfections come from these Emotions, termed elaborately and explained enamored eradicated imbued and ephemerally senesced and brilliantly, cunningly, aptly, mockingly, oh so beautifully named and described in a flurry of colors, senses, and imagination as Emotions, and more specifically Loneliness, Solitude, and Delirious Rapture.
Sunday, March 6, 2011
True Beauty
Wednesday, March 2, 2011
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