infinitude infuse with attitude
clip about going down a demons tongue
life lessons of not caring about others well being and winning the race
Thread idea; cartomancy or dollar tree self made tarot deck
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Thread idea; zero point, middle point and outer point
Words R for Abyssmic pack the means to and by ways of communicating far from the outer rims of the minds of men.
I put a spell on you
Because you’re mine
You better stop the things you do
I tell you, I ain’t lying
I ain’t lying
You know I can’t stand it
You’re running around
You know better daddy
I can’t stand it 'cause you put me down
Oh, no
I put a spell on you
Because you’re mine
You know I love you
I love you
I love you
I love you anyhow
And I don’t care
If you don’t want me
I’m yours right now
The human mind is only mush at this point and time. It only sees the limits of its young mind was printed upon it.
It can’t, willn’t see beyond this line. Until it is broken. A human hymen mind ripped wide up is a superior thing indeed.
So called madness to modern (fallen) man was just normality and called Tuesday morning.
To the freaking end. My other Path is uterus. divination. mating. spiritual.
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Come know my body. the body of old. the body of 4ever innocence. the body of maiden turned crone without knowing the worth of birth
Thread idea: The dark elves and their homelands/worlds
This thread is really, really good.
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I sing the body electric,
The armies of those I love engirth me and I engirth them,
They will not let me off till I go with them, respond to them,
And discorrupt them, and charge them full with the charge of the soul.
Was it doubted that those who corrupt their own bodies conceal themselves?
And if those who defile the living are as bad as they who defile the dead?
And if the body does not do fully as much as the soul?
And if the body were not the soul, what is the soul?
I want to be human, no, I need to be human to fully manifestation and expression of my entire being of the fullest 12th dimensions I am
I sing the body electric
I celebrate the me yet come
I toast to my own reunion
When I become one with the sun
And I’ll look back on Venus
I’ll look back on Mars
And I’ll burn with the fire
Of ten million stars
And in time and in time
We will all be stars
I sing the body electric
I glory in the glow of rebirth
Creating my own tomorrow
When I shall embody the Earth
And I’ll serenade Venus
I’ll serenade Mars
We are the emperors now
And we are Czars
And in time and in time
We will all be stars
I sing the body electric
I celebrate the me yet come
I toast to my own reunion
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The love of the body of man or woman balks account, the body itself balks account,
That of the male is perfect, and that of the female is perfect.
The expression of the face balks account,
But the expression of a well-made man appears not only in his face,
It is in his limbs and joints also, it is curiously in the joints of his hips and wrists,
It is in his walk, the carriage of his neck, the flex of his waist and knees, dress does not hide him,
The strong sweet quality he has strikes through the cotton and broadcloth,
To see him pass conveys as much as the best poem, perhaps more,
You linger to see his back, and the back of his neck and shoulder-side.
The sprawl and fulness of babes, the bosoms and heads of women, the folds of their dress, their style as we pass in the street, the contour of their shape downwards,
The swimmer naked in the swimming-bath, seen as he swims through the transparent green-shine, or lies with his face up and rolls silently to and fro in the heave of the water,
The bending forward and backward of rowers in row-boats, the horseman in his saddle,
Girls, mothers, house-keepers, in all their performances,
The group of laborers seated at noon-time with their open dinner-kettles, and their wives waiting,
The female soothing a child, the farmer’s daughter in the garden or cow-yard,
The young fellow hoeing corn, the sleigh-driver driving his six horses through the crowd,
The wrestle of wrestlers, two apprentice-boys, quite grown, lusty, good-natured, native-born, out on the vacant lot at sun-down after work,
The coats and caps thrown down, the embrace of love and resistance,
The upper-hold and under-hold, the hair rumpled over and blinding the eyes;
The march of firemen in their own costumes, the play of masculine muscle through clean-setting trowsers and waist-straps,
The slow return from the fire, the pause when the bell strikes suddenly again, and the listening on the alert,
The natural, perfect, varied attitudes, the bent head, the curv’d neck and the counting;
Such-like I love—I loosen myself, pass freely, am at the mother’s breast with the little child,
Swim with the swimmers, wrestle with wrestlers, march in line with the firemen, and pause, listen, count.
Are you not human?
The song of the fairies
“in philosophy, a first principle is a basic, foundational proposition or assumption that cannot be deduced from any other proposition or assumption.”
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don’t take anything personally
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ascending ‘i am trying to be’
descending ‘i am’
‘i am already what i am even before being born’
my future descending philosophy
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descending otherness from beyond the Veil
:female_sign:
thread idea; fascination spells