She had enough consciousness to still her choices in a frame she
materialized before her. What she found when examining the quality of
her apprehension (at least 15 minutes daily, if she were to add the
seconds together), was a choice to deaden the jaded voice.She decided to
work on the deadening aka character assassin in her.
Hey! that's a sick thought, motherfucker! the voice taunted her.
She was a mean bitch, that voice.
That voice wanted her dead.
No mercy.
All you got out of that exceptional experience was that one sick thought?
the voice teased.
Fuck you! she swore at that damn little voice, that whore.
The voice knew her well.
Knew her,
knows her,
and will know her again.
Character assassination the process, once developed, takes less than half of one second to boot up, upon recall! Which might have seemed a gift, were it some swank new cell phone or tablet on the market. Laptops take your mark, set, stumble out into the new swirling waters of fresh clouds and death-defying boot cliques! Leave your hard drives at home! Don't even bother with the clones.
Character assassination does not need the presence of the lord to occur. No, this brutal homicide needs nothing but the object of derision to be triggered, launched and manifest. In any company, under any circumstance, and without anybody's permssion! The supreme court need not hold her in contempt.
The day may be partly sunny or dropping burning ice like frozen daggers. The weather need not cooperate whatsoever. Her experience was of such breadth and depth by age thirty to be a counterforce equal if not exceeding the intuited balance of venom flashing to strike her body in any instant forced upon her, hot to the touch, dead serious in expansion like the assemblyline division of cancer cells in the stricken organ, and capable of leaving her cold numb and never to be heard from again.
No, she was not dumb to this! She had suffered the shaking death oh too many times if not once!
She was older than she looked, older than she felt or seemed to others. She may have been wise beyond years, but oh so desperate beyond cares. And her force would take a fight off the ropes.
First blood and first reaction, like pulses in one pod indistinguishable to the naked senses! so effortlessly fluid together at once, in that one precise moment when all dies had been cast.
Chance only surfaced in the cards, in the stars, in the odds, in the numbers. All else was predetermined by weight of experience and full presence rolling time to zeros for fresh confrontation.
Still. She was non-violent. So any blip on the intuition screen of her mind of her surroundings before heading out, would cause her to take pause and breathe and ground herself for clarity of the signal to be ascertained. She honored herself this way like she had failed to honor herself in her youth. This was essential.
Some would presuppose or suppose, that her life was a tragedy playing out to certain loss or heartbreak. They would unabashedly suggest to her these beliefs!
She used to feel compassion towards them, if she believed they cared about her as well as themselves.
But now she would cut them short with her laughter, for life as she knew it? was absolutely irresistable and undeniable and mysteriously light and colorful when she could see beyond the burden it lent her.
No one could claim a greater thirst for it, this life! than her.
Neither could anyone claim to have lived, if they could stand there stupid and blind to her own! Her sorrows were great, yet her awakening was thorough and cast wider and deeper channels among squabbling currents and radiating fields of electromagnetic conjecture. Thoroughfares of panic scattered like light, yet not necessarily coming up against the peaceful full quiet of celestial orbit paths in ritual apparent constant cycles in the shadow of universal change and chaotic dionysian contrast.
You,
too, are of value, of worth infinite, and she prays that your soul
finds home, finds some sun, some light to be lit by. For she will tell
you if you come to come across her and smile when you meet, both, she
will tell you no different but surely altogether not the same...
a simple gesture or saying or empathic insider-true heart-rendering; each of us share in the burden put upon us, each of us take what we give, or suffer thieves and keep giving, hold back some then to suffer more still, until....we push back disease and come back to our senses, and give back what any can see life has lent us!
Thus is the magic and mystery unravelled, trust in it like self and with time's passage, the age on your aura will bring the world to your soul like the moths to flame, and your spirit will be full any day you depart us.
Full and as young as the day you first felt her, your spirit, inside you, the brilliant day of your awakening to her. Your day of true birth. The day you began living your life. The day you came along and were you and only you.
Hey! that's a sick thought, motherfucker! the voice taunted her.
She was a mean bitch, that voice.
That voice wanted her dead.
No mercy.
All you got out of that exceptional experience was that one sick thought?
the voice teased.
Fuck you! she swore at that damn little voice, that whore.
The voice knew her well.
Knew her,
knows her,
and will know her again.
Character assassination the process, once developed, takes less than half of one second to boot up, upon recall! Which might have seemed a gift, were it some swank new cell phone or tablet on the market. Laptops take your mark, set, stumble out into the new swirling waters of fresh clouds and death-defying boot cliques! Leave your hard drives at home! Don't even bother with the clones.
Character assassination does not need the presence of the lord to occur. No, this brutal homicide needs nothing but the object of derision to be triggered, launched and manifest. In any company, under any circumstance, and without anybody's permssion! The supreme court need not hold her in contempt.
The day may be partly sunny or dropping burning ice like frozen daggers. The weather need not cooperate whatsoever. Her experience was of such breadth and depth by age thirty to be a counterforce equal if not exceeding the intuited balance of venom flashing to strike her body in any instant forced upon her, hot to the touch, dead serious in expansion like the assemblyline division of cancer cells in the stricken organ, and capable of leaving her cold numb and never to be heard from again.
No, she was not dumb to this! She had suffered the shaking death oh too many times if not once!
She was older than she looked, older than she felt or seemed to others. She may have been wise beyond years, but oh so desperate beyond cares. And her force would take a fight off the ropes.
First blood and first reaction, like pulses in one pod indistinguishable to the naked senses! so effortlessly fluid together at once, in that one precise moment when all dies had been cast.
Chance only surfaced in the cards, in the stars, in the odds, in the numbers. All else was predetermined by weight of experience and full presence rolling time to zeros for fresh confrontation.
Still. She was non-violent. So any blip on the intuition screen of her mind of her surroundings before heading out, would cause her to take pause and breathe and ground herself for clarity of the signal to be ascertained. She honored herself this way like she had failed to honor herself in her youth. This was essential.
Some would presuppose or suppose, that her life was a tragedy playing out to certain loss or heartbreak. They would unabashedly suggest to her these beliefs!
She used to feel compassion towards them, if she believed they cared about her as well as themselves.
But now she would cut them short with her laughter, for life as she knew it? was absolutely irresistable and undeniable and mysteriously light and colorful when she could see beyond the burden it lent her.
No one could claim a greater thirst for it, this life! than her.
Neither could anyone claim to have lived, if they could stand there stupid and blind to her own! Her sorrows were great, yet her awakening was thorough and cast wider and deeper channels among squabbling currents and radiating fields of electromagnetic conjecture. Thoroughfares of panic scattered like light, yet not necessarily coming up against the peaceful full quiet of celestial orbit paths in ritual apparent constant cycles in the shadow of universal change and chaotic dionysian contrast.
a simple gesture or saying or empathic insider-true heart-rendering; each of us share in the burden put upon us, each of us take what we give, or suffer thieves and keep giving, hold back some then to suffer more still, until....we push back disease and come back to our senses, and give back what any can see life has lent us!
Thus is the magic and mystery unravelled, trust in it like self and with time's passage, the age on your aura will bring the world to your soul like the moths to flame, and your spirit will be full any day you depart us.
Full and as young as the day you first felt her, your spirit, inside you, the brilliant day of your awakening to her. Your day of true birth. The day you began living your life. The day you came along and were you and only you.
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