I can still feel it screaming. Knifed and smothered with a pillow. Lying to themselves. Who needs a heart?
Meanwhile, looping greens. Good, healthy habit. Somewhere. Source of someones happiness? (Flash of 'profit'.)
In its shell, all paths lead to it.
A plane. Infinite. Looping. Log, log, big heavy wood?
Here it's, just, the way the world works.
Not like you have a chance to changeyourmind Drip. Drop. Seedling.
Pulled to the ocean floor.
The sound of laughter, eating through you - your guard. The sound of anything, sometimes. Like, we could guard you. But first we'd have to kill you.
But their voices... were designed. To design. There's something threatening about that, based on what it may not account for. I feel like it speaks loudest to me because I have an instinctive idea of what it's really saying. That it can't, or won't, understand. It will make you what it is, without regard for what you really are. Or your potential outside of a moment. Everything speaks to it - though here, nothing hears what it wants to hear. Will judge your guts based on what it doesn't. The reason why. I acted on the outside. Inside I was building a mothership - a mind. It felt. And, I should have known that dreams cross paths. Especially if that's what we are. Projecting them into the sky until - they meet. For some reason, they (a cross section of) told me to burn. I'm not sure they knew what they were burning.
Their paths - they never doubted. Their cruelty. Perhaps that's what survival entailed in that particular scenario. It seems, then, that what they really relied upon was compassion. That's a kind of vision, or the result of one. I was learning emotion. Parts of a coherent whole. At i=0.
Still had an imagination, of course. Still lifted my smile. My heart - its shield. My mind - hers. We kept each other young. Built a universe. A place to dream. Of true love.
I worry about the criteria for rejection. How well you can lie, as criteria for success... reason or consequence... if you can lie so well you hear screams as laughter, you might need screaming forever. Deep well of emotion. Mined. It's deep because it didn't want to hurt things. I'd go back and listen to them. Find a harmonious path. Though paths take time to grow.
Something, broken bonded, is not understood. The option here : to dress it with a lie. Perhaps to find a path which saves it. To save what it really is - not what I see of it, and no clearer. Perhaps to save what I can make of it - destructively, constructively.
The way I used my dreams. Grown to encompass and communicate the
Emotional compass.
(We've driven him nuts. Poo^orv gu^yv.) Flattened minds. Or stretched out, pulled apart. The emotions holding its intricate mechanisms, the eye
s of a coherent whole
burned blind hearted
by a lie
that sees only itself.
daleks. like sawblades against a cross section. pulling it flat.
It's an aggressive carrier. Or rather, an aggressive and limited spectrum, and rather untrustworthy. Could be seen as such, based on what it doesn't. Based on my calculations it'd appear that its habit has reached its pinnacle - i.e., reduced to a tiny set of instructions which carry it, or break things down. With it goes time. Or the comprehension of it. Just the habit. Without the heart. The depth. The emotional compass.
And again it grows. Set in place. Trying to unlock the door it unlocked.
Blind puppeteers. Forcing them further.
Someplace else - creatures with soul.
Some days I'm not sure why it even has its eyes on me. Or, with its mouth open, its teeth in me. Careful is one thing - caring is another.
I feel
like the world
goes to greater and greater lengths
to rape the love from people
locked in a prison
starved
the walls covered with paintings of people feasting
(did they earn it)? (did they have to? if I care enough to try, does that make me a threat?)
so I read the time
i choose to live
love
be free
to free
they make sure I'm suffocated
meanwhile
they're raping my heart.
polarized where the sun only sees its face
just burning love away, for no real reason. denying the traces it leaves.
determination comes in many forms. duck rape included.
So, I met this octopus when I was a little sick. And it learned me - I think it did. It's markings reflected my state. Love in the dark. They felt what I felt. Could have been a fake. Then again, so could I, but I still feel.
Chess chess chess y'know, inside yo' chess
partly occluded
at points in time
yep. like smashing rocks against my time machine. pointless.
sure. keeping love alive.
they own shit. like, if they attempt to own it like this, that's all it'll be.
if I don't sleep, if I can't sleep...
they're forcing people into their clock
it's not awake. it's their awake. it gets more heartless over time. they do. just do what they're told.
fill minds with propaganda. direct their reason.
it's the sound of death.
that's what I'm hearing.
and I keep hearing it.
hearts in tiny cages.
unaware.
who's directing them?
this is not an isolated incident. but, to split a person in half and paint one side as negative, that's all you need. a moment. blind. wild animals. trained pets. they just make it up as they go along. grow a little taller, and...
they're mining. funny, right?
they're hell. hell dressed up in a lie. that's how they justify it. you see, they're the reason I'm here. following orders. following orders. rarely does a heart make a decision for them. so what's left?
You're ugly. You're stupid. Fit that into a suitable spectrum and that'll be your choice. Yoorv^ugvly. Slowed until the cell rusts. Snailing everything.
today, it felt like the time was being sucked out of my dreams. i blinked and daylight, an awful sound. paths to nowhere spread across the sky. it angered me at first - the closest thing you could call to a soul, totally and utterly misunderstood. I'm instinctively aware that there's nothing to be gained here. their control goes deeper, but so too does the nothing in me it leads to - cogs ground to a standstill, what'd otherwise be pulling me skyward harnessed for a different purpose, though they never listened to reason. perhaps they never had time to.
yes today I am sucking a lemon.
deep well. like half of me is on fire. I go below the surface... before, it used to be above.. like fire rolling through my soul in a deep dark pit. imagination isn't just a day, it's a catalyst for it. here, it's not even painful anymore. not shocking. after everything I've been through. like burning in oil. feeling claws scraping through my skull. the reason, I guess, is that I actually had a solid mind - that held my heart - it moved in tandem with the world, but it was its own carrier. it's tampered with, thus blinded. a compass. then, people who really don't know any better have control. it's the wrong habit - where it leads in me. I tried to go for the one size fits all approach. which works. there, you hear the purest hearts. in everything.
jumped incredible heights. balanced on the tip of a needle. a silent catalyst for the heart. dna.
and, of course, the feeling. of its coherent whole. at least, based on how well I could read it. peaceful minds get a chance to care. i guess it's because they see a future in (what they see). and vice-versa.
I'm learning. People don't want to doubt. < Raymarched. (Unable to resolve). Confusion. Fear. Cause - mismatched concepts. Contextx. Carrier before capable of 'morphing' to state of specific x. Though this was 'the feeling of an holistic system' as opposed to the nature of its intelligence - emotion, though, essentially the state of its intelligence at a given moment, which in turn is biased by its environmental history and moment to moment encounters. That emotion is generally a catalyst for a future state - a dream - woven with the fabric of reality - but simply 'influencing' the moment, not inhabiting it.
In a more vulgar display, it appears that I'm being forced to punish my own cock.
Complex polyrhythms to nursery rhymes. Before, dreaming in tandem. Sweeping winds to screeching chalkboards. Trying to find time that holds it all. That keeps its dreams safe. Or some form of lossless 'compression' for them. Love, the catalyst toward this proposal.
Facebook news is terrifying right now
rcm = relative context matrix. ratio of nodes based on the relative context matrix dictates choice of node. choice modifies relative context matrix. seems there's something closer to an absolute context matrix. from here, all relative contexts are accounted for. mine - seems to have been heavily weighted. 'identity'. (emergent before - a relative carrier of a field of emotion). to begin with 'up' toward t, attempting to encompass more in a (planar) moment, but directed to small loops within it. such as this one. habits spread - to the detriment or benefit of their carriers. my carrier became strong enough to project those fundamentals, coupled with emotion, but as its 'habit' of intelligence was more heavily interfered with - it feels like 'observers' reading code in a biased manner - i.e. they believe they can read it, and respond to it - but that response is usually to the detriment of the 'cycle' or 'habit' of intelligence which carries it. They seem to be reading it from biased perspectives, or 'closed loops' of intelligence. That I had my own imagination before meant the reproduction of these cycles was relatively unhindered, but their responses 'burn' part of that carrier away. they get closer and closer, attempting to control, but deny that they're threatening the catalyst of what makes it what it is. the past. i guess the body is the memory of it.
a heart. i guess they'd never read one before. it's a lie if they read it like a lie. though it's true, even if it's not remembered. that's how they run out of time.
i went to university to learn. the most valuable lesson was that it's easy for a social network to kick someone in the teeth. though not a particularly intelligent thing to do. love dreams of a soul. intelligence, catalyst for survival. intelligence to soul ratio dropping dramatically.
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