..
Electric Man 2
...All phrasii, sentunce, parafrazz, punctuax are [koptic] written herein, accounted for as insinuated forth in the unpreceeding sequence, as the persunal proprrties of Quados Amundae. Entities other than internally transmogrified are given their due in time. Every whim transmitii and co-ordinate perpendiculed is in direct extrapolation of this account. Plagiarunts and counterfakers will be chopped into das tini bitz, and turned into fertilizer for chia pets...every fragment of a broken heart is a piece in the puzzle I call life. - [.67130092185.]
If you wish for my add, send a message. It's more civilized. Otherwise it'll take weeks for me to add you.
[Kay-Dose Amun-Dae, esp. Vision Across the Abyss]
[pl. Amun-Daze]
CURRENT MOON lunar phase
I study many ancient books and philosophy, and you probably won't catch me dancing naked around a campfire, unless you're invited. I practice in the netherrealm and study aetheric temporal physics, and am writing about the multi-faceted dimensions of the universe. I see the moons cycle as impregnation of mind, and the earth is the great ovum, manifesting birth to new versions of your footsteps.
Omnidirectional light is refracted by opaque facets of phsyical reality, before retinas can absorb and optical nerves interpret the signal.
Three perspectives on an object, perhaps a saucer of milk, will observe different forms of the catalystic curiosity for the multidimensional and fatalistic feline attraction.
Thus, one will see many fragmented representations and points of view when observing a galaxy from a fixed point.
Combining an intricate web of points and observation centers in the universe can hypothetically locate an event horizon, although a large variation of curvatures occur in empty space around subjects with any force of gravity or magnetism.
Bending this void between locations in space with sheer will, ultimately warps the timeline.
There is no shiny light at the end of the tunnel, it goes on forever. Whoever conjured eternity was illogical. Where's the logic in a never-ending curcuit?
Perpetual motion and all, that's swell, but where's the result, what happens at the grand finale? And when do the curtains drop and the house lights come on in the great work, this marvelous life? Do we get an intermission? The great pause that refreshes, who gives us a break between now and then?
It's not easy questioning the next big climax, or how the rising action will turn out. Sometimes it's a long dreary plateau through the desert with no rest for the aching souls of this Aeon.
We all need a breath of fresh air, but it's stagnant and over-used. My dear, dying world, where do you release your sorrows? When does time itself crave solitude, wishing to crawl into a box and hide?
We're so silent, waiting for the next train to come in, but neglected to purchase a single ticket. How does it feel to stand on a stage when no one is watching? To sing when the world is empty? Does a reflection understand itself? Is there anything that stands out in oblivion?
If you find flatulence or any type of explusion and severance of undesireables from a human body as disgusting rather than relieving, you can give me a pedicure with your teeth.
And then there's what Quados does in heaven...
