The Dawn of R.E.M

The Dawn of R.E.M

Dreams Reflect
The Activity
Found In Your
Waking Life
The Riddle is
Unlocked by
Connecting Those
Loose Dots
Scattered Throughout Your Daily Life
Don’t Be Afraid To Intend For A Dream
And To Write Down The Symbols Found
A dREaM Journal Is Your Secret Elixir

 

 

This video is about the power of dreams and what can be learned from them. There’s a lot of distractions but life can take a whole new meaning in a dREaM.

R = Rapid

E = Eye

M = Movement

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The Qualified Sum

The Qualified Sum

If you’re gonna play: Rock, Paper, Scissors with me – look directly into my eyes. Only look down when it’s time to decide who won. You’re cheating if you look at the hands the whole time, Don’t debate me – on this! ūüėÄ

Games like Rock, Paper, Scissors and Tic Tac Toe (X’s and O’s) are based on specific patterns. If you learn them, you’ll be able to win depending on if your opponent makes a mistake. Worst case scenario is that there would be a tie with no winners or losers. Yay!

I find games like this fun because with enough repetition – your subconscious catches on to how the player makes their move. We don’t always win at this but if you aren’t aware of the algorithm – you’ll find yourself losing more and more. This doesn’t always favor your ego, especially if you’re used to winning.

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Some of us are so bitter when it comes to failing we revise history to our advantage. *coughs – white people* It makes absolutely no sense to do this. It just makes you a sore loser. White Supremacists, Neo-Nazis, and Confederate loving Americans are PRIME at doing this. They don’t wanna look at history for what it is but rather what they want to make out of it.

Times like now are interesting because they force us to examine the ways we cheat at excusing our behavior. We’re afraid of owning up to some of our own biases if they mean proving us wrong.

Ever caught yourself in a: “NOT ALL OF US” KIND OF MOMENT?

It should be painfully obvious that ‘NOT ALL ‘ is dumped in when talking about a group of people. I’ve been seeing a lot of statements like #MenAreTrash – previously, I would get on the defense whenever I’d hear a generality like that because ‘HEY NOT ALL MEN ARE TRASH’.

Now, I knew I had trash ways as a man and I didn’t want to look at them because ‘We all fall short’ but this isn’t the way to go about it. If you don’t fit in the scenario than keep it moving.

Some are qualified in the variables made – if you don’t fit the shoe, don’t even try to wear it. Our egos can be big and to check ourselves is the easiest thing we can do if our feelings start running amuck.

In short: We qualify which moves we make on the board. The best we can aim for is to even out. We don’t gotta get mad if it ain’t about us. One of the best things I learned from my grandmother is “Everything ain’t about you and trust me – that’s a good thing!.”

Premonition, Paranoia, Fear or The Heart?

Premonition, Paranoia, Fear or The Heart?

Can it be Premonition, Paranoia, Fear, or The Heart?

I feel something coming. It’s coming to arrest me. To lock me up inside a cell of confusion. I don’t want to get lost. I only want to be found at the bay of safety. I’m being stalked by the shadow. Everywhere I turn the light follows me but so does this shadow. I have no secret place away from this troubling feeling. I am taken away by the travels of fear and paranoia – they are driving me further into my shadow existence.

My feelings are witnessing to a Premonition that something is gonna arrive and it will leave me without reason or answer.¬†Listening to the heart means sometimes doing the unthinkable. The heart might as well be our inward eyes. It sees what reality is for what it is made up out of. It can’t unsee what it sees. No matter how we try to put on the shades to protect ourselves from the radiation of what we see.

The longing for something better has once again returned.

I lie awake at night on fire, my core literally burns.

That familiar voice that is my own tells me to run and hide.

The only problem is that there’s nowhere to go; how can I run from my own insides?

Is it so bad to long for what’s unknown and simultaneously known?

I cry out, asking for help, asking simply to be shown.

Is it selfish that I want recognition for what it is I’ve done?

Even if I give all of the credit to the Ultimate One?

Is it selfish that I want it to be my name that is spoken?

Is it selfish that I want some appreciation, even a small token?!

It seems the only thing to do is wait until the end.

I must wait until our eternal lives are slated to begin.

Only then will these questions asked be answered with no bias.

When these notions of an ever-dwindling time are simply put behind us.

(Timeless Burning – Sylina D. Black)

This poem totally rhymes with my heart and the overall direction of this piece. Thank you again Sylina – for remaining right on time with your subject, motif, and genre.

The heart never lies because it’s beating to keep you alive. Navigating through the multilayered sound of the heart can confuse what fear, paranoia, or premonition offers. It’s best to start off with love because love returns everything to focus.

When you don’t have love to back things up, you are literally screwed. If love ain’t the backbone and foundation – you only have curse words and empty promises. Nothing ahead of you can make a clear path. You are destroyed with only memory and fainted desires to build with plastic wood. You can’t move to a safe place if love isn’t already your safe place. If you build with weak tools and equipment, eventually everything is gonna crumble and retire back to inflated wheels.

This is why love must be the champion in a relationship. If it doesn’t keep you coming back, love was never there. You believed falsely. You thought it was true only to find out you were robbed of honesty. You got hoaxed. Fooled by the enormities of emotion and pleasure.

You believed in what was real in the idea but false in reality. You gonna have to pay for this sacrifice by offering another promise. You won’t win this time, you’ll have to replenish it again. You lost but only to gain again consciousness. You gotta hit harder but only to the right target.

 

Spiral Confessions

Spiral Confessions

The sky is my mansion where a pallet is transfixed. The more I look up, the more I see endless spirals turning into real life forms. I wonder what ideas can exist, from what’s above me and below me. All is possible with imagination and with the inspiration, you can create the very thing inside your mind. It’s very confrontational to see the very result of what is physical in your mind. It’s not about whether it’s possible – but about the process to enable it to come to life. The process depends on where you are in your life – a lot of things don’t make as much sense as they use to because I’ve evolved. The more I grow, the more I know. Knowledge is mutated and with this means a sharper awareness of my sensitivity to confession.

It’s very confrontational to see the very result of what is physical in your mind. It’s not about whether it’s possible – but about the process to enable it to come to life. The process depends on where you are in your life – a lot of things don’t make as much sense as they use to because I’ve evolved. The more I grow, the more I know. Knowledge is mutated and with this means a sharper awareness of my sensitivity to confession.
Confessions of mystery’s tail are hypnotized at length. While my eyes are turning into further oblivion, I’m counting the days ahead of me. What’s found in the eye of the spiral is confessed at the misunderstanding of destination. I’m caught in the influx of where I want to go, and what is meant to be redeemed in my previous promise.

The more I look, the more I change on what I’m really seeing. It’s like looking into the eyes of a spiral – it confuses your eyes and misleads what is seen next. The spirals are like optical illusions, I see more than one thing confessed. My admission is that I understand multiple directions. This only encourages my navigation because I have the freedom to entertain the depth and height.

Come again o’ gust of wind and blow me into distant lands. Return to me – far away places, where I’m found only by the deepest seas and highest mountains. I’m incapable of seeing all avenues left for me because I’ve already been covered in telescopes and magnifiers. I’m followed by infinite spirals and they seek to rearrange me. Fruits from the tree have fallen and in close proximity – one can distinguish the rotten pieces.

What’s dead was once alive only now spoiled by the passing evolution. Changes are recurring and patterns are emptying their significance. Time becomes a deeper illusion and I’m hypnotized by the spiral. I am spiraling out of awakening – the signal is gaining a hypnosis of sensibility. A sour taste lays upon my tongue when I realize the irreversible. Days like this are made up by silent discussions in my heart.

I’ve always been fascinated by spirals and their infinity. When I was young, I’d always draw a spiral with an eye in the middle. This would signify the random state of a hypnotic rhythm. Spirals symbolize what’s constantly confessing tricks of the eye.¬† Spiral Confessions are the turns in my eyes that build on the invisible until manifested. Random ingredients are captured by mindless mixing to convey taste. Methods come and go but with the eye of the spiral, confessions are random and full with direction.

Pardon me while I take a ride to a land of wind and dust. This ride makes me nauseous because it swirls through infinite directions. I’m here and there and everywhere at the same time. Spiral Confessions are statements of mystery which are filled with twists and 360 directions.

In A Matrix Dress

In A Matrix Dress

She’s personified in a matrix dress.

I think I’m starting to understand why The Red & Blue Pill was so crucial.

This rabbit hole is eternally determined by the merging of red and blue.

A deeper purple, a color which has inquired both equal red and blue.

I’m drawn to this natural light and all of the powers that come with the edge.

Her everlasting sunbeams motivate me to taste her core.

I’m starting to feel like I’m getting into her deeper tunnel – I want her light to manifest like the brightest star.

It’ll be fatal to stare into her eyes for too long.

She can blind me with the strength of her illumination.

It’s worth the loss of eyesight, for what can I truly see without her?

Her hair is her compass, and her eyes are her wheels.

She knows exactly where she is going, and I’ll follow her all the way.

The remix of illusion is mystery dressed in mathematics.

Hovering

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I’m hovering over you because you’re over me.

Your shadow is a lurking creep and I swear it’s to keep me in the age of ancient time.

Sweet forces of bliss pantomimed.

In my heart and my conscious mind.

Addressing the tribulations of my alienated vocal dimension – I beckon to be heard.

Through a lover like you, with a season of passion and a river of mention.

To be carried under your umbrella of comfort, I plead for the rain to shower.

Just to be felt by your grasp, only a little more, and I’ll be closer into the pondering of your mind.

Comforted by the sweet walls of your thoughts.

These scales of recognition are trailing marks of your interest to me.

Your ideas carved with me in sound.

Breathlessly my own sequence of words is captured in the engaging glare.

Train Membrane

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The heartbeat of your stimulation beats in syncopation with my desire to please you.

You breathe very slowly, as I inhale the detailed whispers of what you anxiously await, to uncover you.

There is a train in the membrane, which climbs to the height of our awaiting passions.

Your hands write onto my back, the secrets of gratitude.

You claw a print onto me gently; yet very passionately. I thrust into you deeply, and your sighs recognize the power, enveloped within my passion.

Your canvas has shown me yellow chakras a liken to sun rays.

Your hair is sizzling and your pulse calmly speaks of eager anticipation.

I am paraded through the fire that belongs in our eyes.

I no longer insist that we keep our cool, as the flames eat us alive.

My love for you uncovered us in the cold.

The heat is sufficient enough!

While you’re pounding heartbeat scribbles your lifeline, my drums signatures my thirst for life!

In many emotions, my mind is like a train, and the membrane is enveloped in my present passions. I remember writing this piece when I gazed at a shy angel at a party. She was too shy to speak in detail with me. I somehow could tell by the sweat of my suspicion there was a narration, that would begin when she shook my hand. All of this is innuendo¬†and none of it truly summarizes the actual. That is what makes a metaphor, a clever designer! What you read is tempted to persuade a sense of sexual heat. Behind the door of sensual and sexual invitation is the knob of broader expressions. Expressions which detail other mannerisms. which dance in my mind. It’s more than the mere mention of taste and intimacy, the train is what institutes a track of arrival. I can’t derail off the tracks when the focus is within a membrane!

Sex Shuffle

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Shuffling between the cards laid about between my deck, many strangers of games – gaze in my incentive.
 
Aliens are these strangers with a unique knowledge that seems familiar.
 
They speak of this muse and how long she sought to travel down the line and within a consciousness of root.
 
She begged me to go deeper.
 
She closed my eyes with the whispers of her satisfaction
 
Then I woke up in the dream of her own existence.
 
Who was I really looking at anyway?
 
My vibrations begin to deceive the bed where I lied.
 
The question is: Do You Lie?
 
If you’re talking about if I sleep or not, yes I do.
 
I lie.
 
But it is not a lie of deception.
 
The more I try to explain, I then, I lose half of the reasons she came to me.
 
It happens so fast, I squeezed her frame and she reminded me she was only that a frame.
 
Many selections are now in play and they gather with a sequence of sex.
 
Sex which shuffles the cards of game or reality?

Breaking Sugar

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You are like a fallacious cat! With suspense, you lurk around, but I am unable to determine your enveloped complexity.

With suspense, you lurk around, but I am unable to determine your enveloped complexity.

We mumble and are granted with a possessed pause!

Our eyes have met each other and the sentencing of conviction is held captive.

Through our burning and BREAKING¬†– we’ve established the power which creates a flammable wind.

The smile of our temptation is understood by the science of our physicality.

Your water brooks have kept the springs which give life to the destitute land.

But, I  like Moses will strike my rod upon you and with ease, I shall enter this promised land.

A land which speaks of true fantasy.

True and delicate pieces of passion fruits which cover.

We’ve spoken of timing and this concept of waiting, as it truly prolongs the need to implant this seed.

The bursting of SUGAR describes the garden of energy and the galaxy from which it comes from.

Rectified Cosmos

Sometimes, when you study something, you are brought to a halt, as what was already enormous grows into something bigger and more complex. It’s kind of what happens with certain music I listen to. Everyone wants you to hear this NEW artist or song, BUT I can’t swallow it all at one time. Some artists and subjects truly need eating utensils and a processing schedule. Anytime, I study the eyes of our universe I am brought with a sense of wonder. Not all the time am I taken back to write unless there is great mysticism involved, and in this case, this time, true sensation revealed itself. One of the reasons, I am drawn to the study of our galaxies could be because I truly don’t feel as If I belong here sometimes. I truly believe the cosmos of everything is resurrected when we truly observe everything around us. Just look above at the moon!
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The eyes of the universe are unending.

The cosmos entirely rectifies an audible sensation of discovery.

The oscillations of what we see only in one moment become swallowed up in thousands of prisms.

The acceleration into the engulfing complexity stirs a desire within me for abbreviations and digestion.

Time begins to find meaning in creation.

The beginning spells itself out to me.

A mystical wonder that weighs in on the physics of mystery. 

Information coming from intelligibility are embedded in the core of all that is.

A universal cosmos that is rectified becomes of the equations and questions out there.

Within the concept and continuous abbreviations of who we are, the transformation accelerates at such alarming rates!

Our eternity is embedded within us. We are born into the flawlessness of creation!