Start at the bottom people

Fulcrum Shift

Vile, Rampaging, ANGRY!
And the world has ended, for now.

A colossus appears on the plane. Of a quick temper and a voracious stamina. Hmm... He is evil. But a strong point to the effort. A shape metal. Into liquid steel! Pour Pour... and more to Pour... what is the endpoint? What is the mold of? Am I still a seed? Was I ever?

Hmm, to dreamland... Let us tromp along in a lovely way. Mmm and perchance to dream. A warm smile this night. To dance and sing and SMILE. Not a wry grin or a tiny chuckle. UPROARIOUS LAUGHTER echoed through dreamland. Hours of merriment... and so forth.

It is, as always, a diversion. Sundays are a pleasant time, yet still formed and tabulated and regulated.

The Feigning of Duality (or how I learned to stop loving the bomb)

A luckily rare corruption, this one. Too new to see as a necessary force. But a force to be sure. A false duality machine. The heads and Tails I hold so precious reduced to a mockery.
Of what I love: Beauty in faith. Check to that. Selfless sadism. A sugary sweet phrase that rolls froma  tongue but is not found here.

In this place, the sadistic smile. Laugh unto the merriment. Dance! And an uncommon ammount of singing... AH! The Song! One of the saddest parts to me... A tune of hate. Cadences of unleashed... The word does not exist but if the word obscene was thrown into a bag of broken glass with the image of someone's spirit being dipped in acid, the juice that dripped from the bag would be close.

I do not show faith often. Or excercise much tradition. But i respect them greatly. And in this place, a place MADE of tradition, the cadre pay what hardly ammounts to lip service to what has provided them their well-beings. I support no one nation above another. But I will support and stand up for any flag. Flags are one of the few perfect creations of man. The moment a flag is created it is imbued with the entire history of mankind. It's beauty, however, is despite that history, it only flies for one part of it. And shall fly until forever ends, with its own history being crafted forward.

         But back to the issue...

This... place... is not a creation of jusitce. It is a living, pulsing, self-replicating, nightmare. I hate this place... for all the power hungry ones it holds.

Arrival

In continuation of previous, these entries are somewhat episodic... all written shortly after they happened. Some melodrama about what's going on in my head and in my daily routines... but mostly straight from my thoughts.

Seed departs. Seeds arrive. To be processed...
Processed? AH! To be made ready! Special seeds into a special factory. A... War Machine.
Combat combine harvester reaper of seeds. Long, Noisy, Hard Conversion. Screaming, Spitting, VIOLENT tremors! ANGER!!

I've seen Him. I've met Him. And He shall try to destroy my seed. To grow without water. To rise without dirt. ARISE! Steel branches. Hand grenade acorns! Empirical reign! Dominion! WARSHADE.

Down to a somber tone...

This is not my place... not... for... me. It is not the difficulty. It is not where I am meant to be! Not my place. It's... sad here. With its imposition of sterility on a place so filthy... A sparkling vulgarity. These, are corrupt. And it's saddening.

And now i must see the Why. Why is the situation sad? Why are these people sad? I see it...

On Approach

I wrote this while in the airport on my way to Fort Knox Kentucky to begin Army basic training.

Sitting quietly in an airport, watching the movement around me in its hustle, its bustle. Trying to form a picture. It starts to become easier to see. To learn peoples movements and actions and continuations of conversations.

A man in a suit talking with zeal into a cell phone about things that made no sense to me but mean the world to him... beginning to understand. To understand the ebb and flow of a crowd of random strangers. It is not a series of singles going on about their own routines. An airport is an entity. An entity of non-purpose chaos swirling in place with a million tiny, selfish causes.

As it were, a chaos form. Purpose found! Exclaimed loudly! It is to spread Itself... To spread seeds... SEEDS. In winged peapods. Kwanis Acorns! But new airports are not born... no no no... more chaos is born.

But beads of hope are strewn, laced, interwoven. A mother and her children off to vacation. Few more words to say... Airports are evil forces of nature.

Escape comes quickly in one of its many pods, perhaps ironically. Into a nonsensical streamline. Chaos in neat. Little. Rows. The seeds interact and mingle with their seedling neighbors, but not mix. No mixing! But he asked to change seats! Okay then... MILDLY mixing. More chaos? TANGENT!

To disassemble an Airport

Forget the buildings.
Forget the planes.
Even forget the people.

Remember what always matters most! Bold letters say CONCEPT! Always break to the concepts...

The alluring influx to cull a mighty herd of people various walks apart. Family, business, criminal... All to be digested and spit in anger to their locations. Magnified or dulled, never improved... Going to the airport makes no one happy.