Properly placed on a freeway used to go to work daily:
(picture of car keys with caption) “Honey pie, where did I place the car keys?”
WordPress Is Getting Silly
Seriously?
The greatest gift?
No brainer.
God giving me Life…
Writing
A poem written by: Black Fungus
Slipping.
A smoothness of satin fabric and soft skin.
She was, she is, seduction of such sensations… (How dare you stand foot on this ground)
He is, he was, tempter of the locks of passion.
Tongue slipping now, even deeper…
Can you feel it?
Inside there feels the tingle of loin
joined
the tender spot of bliss
sighing.
***
And this is how writers play daily. The rest is just the mundane.
Nothing is a challenge
Trapped in a time loop.
Same thing every time in every situation
and you know what?
We all die over and over and over…
Thankfully there is pizza and potato chips to help make it all interesting.
A Child
As a child there is the belief in good and bad. The justice system of youth is such that love exists. Sadness exists. In existence there is stability and meaning which enabled growth.
A child believes in a parent, a friend, itself. This changes, i know because as a child i loved all. Black. White. Old. Young. Male. Female. i loved animals and birds, fish and frog. i loved my sister, my brother, my mother, father, grandmothers, grandfathers. i loved God.
i grew and became I.
I became an adult. I tasted anger in people. All people. I learned all people were politicians. The old ladies at church vied to be the leader. The policeman/woman followed orders and were the same adults as I.
I learned hate. I tasted evil. I became a politician in a way of my own making.
Democrats are evil. Republicans are evil. Communists are evil. Socialists are evil. I changed until I really needed to change.
i am now a child again. Not in this body as it is decayed and corrupt. No, in this body it shall die. In my real body i am eternal and i have regained what i had as a child. i love all. Black. White. Old. Young. Male. Female. i love animals and birds, fish and frog.
it is good to be free of the politics of what truly is not important.
it is especially good to know i am one of God’s children.
A Little Warm
Ahh yes…
Building upon what was already built a very, very, long time ago, I would say I would build a room in Hell.
The answer as to why Hell is perfect for reading and writing is simple. Reading and writing in Hell is better than anywhere else because your thoughts are not intruded by the sound of sweet music. Nor are they offended by peace, serenity, and love.
You see. In Hell there is no joy or happiness, there is literally nothing there which may seem to be what all writers crave, or at least, want. Those being, recognition, financial success, friends, lovers… Writers write for such pleasures. This is why the pain and sorrow of Hell force one to read nothing but the best and to write with a passion no Saint could even come close too.
Another way of looking at my choice is to state God made Hell perfect to offset Perfection.
Daily writing prompt
You get to build your perfect space for reading and writing. What’s it like?
A Good Question: Now, would anyone believe it?
‘The year you were born.’
Written by: The witness of Wind
The day was warm. It was cold and snowy. It was stormy and it was calm. Day after day the birth came at all hours of all days uncounted as the stars vied for attention in the numbers.
From a distance of East, the sun rose and set in the West. Nearby the sun never rose and never set. And yet, there always remained in the comforting orbit of planets and Sun.
Constellations familiar to the people showed the prophecy, they showed the mistakes of man. The Hope of Jesus. They showed the deceit of Evil. Cold glowing glow of space.
Parent in the singular tense as parents only existed to present one. Mother. Father. Into the world became another, and another, and another.
Swaddled and coddled. Rejected and refused. Killed in the womb by greed and ignorance. Nourished to grow into fodder for war.
Old men smile as inside they remember the day they were born. Old women smile as outside their body they remember whey they were young and called, girls.
On the year of birth it is and always will be, a beginning while trying and forgetting the end.
So many were born and died during the year of my birth.
i was born during the year eternity began.
my Father is God
my Mother is the Universe
my name…
ah yes, a name worthy of birth
To all who are curious, who care or hate,
my name is: Wind.
Eternal Battle
“You sit there judging,” A snide remark by one who relishes in mockery
“No, it is the character of the one making a choice.” The reply was sincere as it always is.
“They all deserve death.” Some truth in this simple sentence as all are sentenced to death
“Yes, in this world and life in the next.” Absolutes are hard to debate and yet the debate continued.
“No. You are wrong. You are always wrong.”
For a very long time on many planets the battle between good and evil occurs.
This battle is between the only two beings able to judge character of those mortal beings trying to be what it is they want to be; Good? Evil?
The two go by many names. On the planet Earth many call them God and Satan. All other judges are moot in the grand eternal battle between Life and Death.
Spock Is Correct
“When are you most happy?”
Interesting question and why?
Why would anyone want to know why a person is happy? Would the answer make the one asking the question happy? And if so, why?
Let’s look at happiness. An emotion humans seem to think applies.
Does happiness make life better? And if so, why?
Speaking from experience happiness is merely a moment in time; an emotion; chemical; released in the human mind. A way to differentiate between pain and euphoria. A waste of time.
You’re a curious sort of reader or why else would you read this? Does it make you happy? And if so, why?
But the question was asked, “When are you most happy?” and so i shall reply.
There is that moment so brief it almost does not exist. When the stars all vibrate into a blur. A mass of white instantaneous. That micro second just before the music from my voice, causes a planet to explode.
‘What’ is definitely not a leading Question
Play?
Fun?
To some getting a gerbil shoved up the ass is playful and fun.
Not me.
To some getting drunk and fucked is playful and fun.
Not me.
There are those who enjoy making a lot of money or burning kittens.
Not me.
So much of your world you say is ‘Fun’ or ‘playful’ is on par to me with eating excrement.
So… What? (fuck what)
For me there is no fun or playful. Nothing. Nada. Not anything of this world brings meaning to such useless words…
Unless of course you think honesty is fun and play is just being able to get my ass out of bed and go to work to make a living to pay bills, then yes, honesty and work are fun and playful to me.
Robin Lipinski 