Sunday, August 28, 2011

Destiny

The contemplation of this word and concept, is derived from soul and capture.
The basic understanding of one's self, one's inner self and outward aspect.
Of life, culture, potency, taste, nuance, location and destination.
The respect of one's actions and ways,...decisions and verdicts.


To understand this value and word, each person confides within himself in inspection to understand their own truth.

The pound destiny that all that is internal inspection of faith, pleasure and way.
The best and pound destiny to all that is "I" for the way god convicted thy self to all that is "Known" and told thy self everything "I am", everything "I know",...even prior to when I was born.
For to understand our lives, is to shed all...and realize we do not know anything without something.

A sense of abound, an emptiness that we hone and reside in...a form of royalty and cade to a point at to where we are at our utmost emptiness, revealing god and the god amongst us. As the deepest most shallow point of truth. When we are with ourselves, forever and forever mankind. To test ourselves and resemble our own fear, our own testimony. The beating pump of our heart, that is dissattached to anything else and anyone, for it beats alone...from within ourselves.

Inside all of us,...there is a tender way into where we all achieve and know this feeling,... of our own fate and destiny. Our self. Our way and wisdom. Our story,...our known. Our way. We know this, yet we cheat. We change, we deceit, we pull, we change god's way for us, for we resent him, we hate him, for the story he has evovled for us. Much to our parents, that did not listen aswell, and then we continue the treatory and misery that is within life, we continue to prepetuate and proceed, the mistakes of others within their realm. We proceed to reel the worse, as trying to fix and repair...the initial birth of us, that was false and a mistake to begin with. A man listening, knowing he is nothing. Yet still perpetuating a fight, and creating more life...for "the future" and "maybe" to fix and repair what has already happened. The futile existence of your own life. How can a man or woman take the fate of listening to a calling saying "You are nothing, you are born for nothing, and you must die." With grace, and honor. Yet no, they brake,...they whine and complain, they cry and sob. They wob, and say "I could take you...I could take your life...I can kill anybody and be anybody, I can do anything...I will show you.". Creating more sin, by defying not only god, yet the resolve and answer of their inner truth. To live as peasants, as filth and created for the ordeal of nothing. To close the tide of reason to their existence, and not perpetuate a resistance by becoming more than god, and creating more life.
More life that will only continue and suffer...forever. As one seed 50,000 years ago, now is 6 billion people...still the nothing that they were then, for they have no true reason to exist. For they were made out of mistake, out of blasphemy, out of wrongdoing...and the worst...made out of sole soul destiny. As a 16 year old girl, knowing she needs to have one child when she is 40, yet has 3 untill the age of 20. Not only fucking up her life, yet destroying destiny for planet earth. Ya dig? 


This is the point of no reflection. To where one onsombles himself underneath his dome to understand himself truthfully, and cannot ever lie. Not to self. Not to the mirror of self, beneath a clear sky and sole soul.

The slightest notion, that within our deepest and most tender feelings...we know what our fate is..., and know what our destiny is...what our profession should be..., our ideal location..., our religion, our way and adventure...our destiny. Our slightest decisions that construct  our character and personality...our sway. We see and know it through, much to our dismay and amusement.


The neverending scroll of our lives, written deep within us...as a neverending sheet always fullfilling direction and wording, drawing beauty and choice. Something inside of us that knows definite relation to things, places and people. Resemblance and connection, yellow and whites of reflection. Shadow's of light and people shining through us in darkness...reminding us where we belong. To where to go and be, exist in and for.
The twine of twilight shining through the grasp of tardiness. A where to see our way in complete grief and agony, yet be a-bliss to have it...the direct way in stretch ahead of us. The yearning in knowing, cradle the dragging feet into the future, sobbing and crying at each step and pace to figure out the future, that is apparent to us. As our clown like dizziness and happiness leads our cone head into relation of whats next and who has been.

The essence of grace and shadow. To caper and tend the least. The coveting and covering of our footsteps,...the broom that shadows away and brushes upon our least ways and ventures. To see us galloping on along to nothingness, a true bit abyss pure of splendidness and grief. This is the way of our life, to know it true...and live in complete sadness for serenity, up untill knowing that tears falling are good...for they fullfill my grief with happiness. The utter realization of faith, and the completion of one's soul, ... to resemble and beal upon their truth. To feed the happiness for their death and reveal it, within everyday and everything, to live inside death apparently waiting at the end, with all its sorrow, shame, neglect and faith...and for everyday to be the lest and least of our journey's and respect of aspect. Our know, our way and cΓΈw. To plummith and seam tear our way in life, to sear and create the way of our lives as an eruption beyond way and path...
Our own stride of destruction and care, to reel and compensate to each other. The happiness of sadness, and knowing it. Looking down at earth, the plane of your footsteps...watching how they mold into the ground...to then look back, and see no trace of them.


The tender and most gentle way that within one, the ideal and champ, of what is for to forseed beginner, and the soft and delicate way into where we feel our deepest "know" and inner motions.
Since we were children...we all knew our fate...and our destiny.

Yet...the problem...and destruction, to the cord instruments of our own symphony begins when we try to handle our own destiny, to try and change our own initial agreement with god and destiny,....the universe.
To try and brake or bend our initial cords, to change our music...is when we begin to stray.
To cause havoc within our world, and continue to cause havoc, for the world itself,...for when one is not at peace with himself, he cannot be at peace with the world or others, thus the destruction of war begins, with the ultimate fight of one, within his own god, within himself...
To cause the pain and suffering, that evidentially leads to his own pain and suffering. Consequently...
Leading to world pain and suffering.

One soul to stray, one soul to suffer...? The world that is stray, the world that does suffer. This is the importance of the individual, according to his alliance with his wordily, his divine and god. In order to shape this existence in a better form, and perhaps find that utopia that is always dreamt of, between people, between earth and people. Between all living things, to create the stability and peace that eternity is yearning for. All beginning's and ending, in every single living soul. A picture of one, and inside it. All. A world full of participants, and aware beings.

There is a place and known into where one struggles to defy his own destiny...to fight his own way,...and change his own pasture.
As a bicyclist, trying to ride aside his path...even though painted and directed for him.

The attempt to change, the path and destiny...through the aspiration and pain that is truly blue, sad and painful. The cove and puke of sadness. The ultimate knowledge of the future and its direction.
To live in pain...by knowing your direct intentions, by knowing your next step, by knowing your future, yet trying to fight it.
For what is wish to sow..., the ultimate intention for a sweater you already own.
And to why score the goal, if the cup is already in your hands? As to see the footsteps in your every trail.
As a mathematician with no problems to solve, for he can already see the answers.

A hint and sort, that we can squeeze the happiness, surprise or joy out of the present.
Destiny, as a spoiler if you wish.

That ust, to take the joy and livivity out of present day, and to take the love out of laughter.
To leave a man or woman, as empty as they can be.
A torment  of the soul, to try and defy your own destiny. A torment to know it.

The least try to ease the apparent grief...by twisting the story, by distorting the destiny itself.
The dis-please in knowing thy self, and trying to form from disinformation, deform the way and muster...
That in which things are constructed from and about.
The attempt to shake or de-materialize the matter you are in, and your apparent faith. Rebellion against yourself. Rebellion against god. Rebellion against your cosmic stream. Rebellion and war, against the universe. To wage it.

A wise gnome will onst know, that to doubt your way, is to doubt yourself,...and to cause much destruction.

As a tower of cards, you and your maker have built together, only to see later...for later down the road, your own yearning to change on of the primaries...
and to cause definite collapse of the building set in progress.
To take away, a cornerstone, out of the building, years after the land was broken.

To understand the concept of destiny...its contract. Written by you...in the deepest bowel's of your soul and wantings..., the deepest most sub-conscience levels that in which your entity derives from, the ultimate revelation and weigh in of your truth and climate...to face your own destiny. Written by you....accordingly to god, fate and faith. All conjured by self.

The part to where as the artist of your own life...you wish to change color's...and deform, re-construct...the painting...that you have already mastered.

To try and defy, a contract that you have constructed. It is the boundary of legislative law, and cosmic construct. To try and rattle the forms of the universe, and shatter the stars and their settings.
All unworldly and equivalent to war.

The same way to take your own signature, and attempt to scribble out your say.
To try and sand out the blood that is in your penmanship..., and the way of leading defiance and treason against self.

The ultimate mistake, of trying to change what was ultimately decided. By you....by yourself.
To cut your own wrist, to ruin your own life. To destroy your fate, by fighting it.

To the taste, of lets say...a soul and person that is destined to be an accountant. His life,...heritage, heart and blood are destined for this position. He is a shoe fit, a whole glove in one. This is his destiny...for it is the best and greatest thing for him. The safest. The happiest. The most attuned to his heart and stars.

As if to where this accountant will try to change his contract, written by him, constructed by him.
To and for his feelings of inferiority, feelings of weakness, a lost sense of cool. A weak sense of presence.
For if from bodily formation, way for one to live. Is within his own skin, and the frame of this skin itself.

As though to where the accountant will not enjoy his 190lbs frame no longer, he will not enjoy his steady income, tidy house and family, his clean hands and clear mind...for he wishes to change for all commence ego, all commence manhood, masculinity...to change his way for the foe and raging.
Later to find himself body building and joining a motorcycle gang. Impressing himself with a heavy body set, grasp and grit full of steel and black leather. Vac gleering his achievements...
Changing his own destiny...

For the weary way of his ego and masculinity have taken control of his decisions...altering his destiny and changing his fate.

The way into where he did not suffice within his initial cord,...and changed his life, neglecting his symphony of life for death, and neglecting his death for life. Everlong the pathway, of their initial agreement.

His home no longer exists. His place in the city council is empty and tarnished. His suburbian house full of peace and cleanliness was replaced with rapid motel rooms and dirty occasional apartments. His wife of 60 years, with desperate masochistic pub whores and prostitutes. His 3 sprout clean children, replaced with bastard children carrying a brand of mixed blood and racism. The worst sides of his change, were when he was alone with himself at times of despair. Looking back at his life. A time where he was at home, with his fragile body, contemplating what it would be like to roar as a masculant motorcyclist, aside the time where he would be alone in a dirty motel room, with his magnum pistol and a head full of bad memories. The lesser evil, the greater cause. The heavy contemplation of others, and fables of wisdom know. The envy that can change one's entire life. The itch and scratch of pondering wonder, of greater lives. Ideals, models and names.
One of the primary notions when dealing with boiling blood...considering "They". Edge, nerve staggering.
Then, the pulse of rejecting agenda, and rephrasing life...in its bowel known. To please not always myself, not always my life, yet the other. So that my life can fight with the best of them, and go head to head with Wilt Chamberlain or Genghis Khan. A women not born lustful, not born as a whimmer...yet she will change herself to the highest degree, for clouds and notions of Marilyn Monroe haunt her. Neglecting her self and vision, her own image...to work others sacrifice. Competing with the ever once known abyss experience of eternity, and misjudging the wisdom and care, of a forth set life. Directed and pathed before you. For Marilyn Monroe might be famous, yet a death as all death's, should be worthy, safe and warm. It is a way where individuals neglect the watery womb they were born from and into. Finding the outer world and its stories of firedome and sphere to wander around in their minds. A reason to leave a mark, a reason to piss or spit enough times. Semen or uterus, deaths, murders or not...to paint this life with earthly eternity, or the will of it.
Roaring above all songs, screaming above hymns, and wailing beyond the smallest pulse.

This is the way of many. That cave into pressure that is created in the world, for time is of essence, and life is lived once for the best tense of time and remembrance, yet forgetting the true self, that lives inside...resides and wants in true sadness...the bliss that he has for-kept.



What good are heavy testicles when the heart and mind are sacrificed? What good is a hard hand, when not a feather to caress? What good is pleasing the wildest dreams of men? The longest fantasies of women...when you die alone with no virtue? To look back at a sturdy life. Perhaps not as exhilarating as one can be, when thinking of the full throttle experience. Maybe not as pleasing enough as the to compare the conquest of King David to the safe life of an accountant. Yet still, always peaceful enough...to find the truth and meaning inside of it, for generations to come. For with one successful child, you can never know how deep time and eternity may lead you, if by breeding or knowledge. It is simply to good, to remain straight and restrained to your destiny as you know it. As you feel it running through your bones...to please all scrolls and books, and the carpet of never ending words beneath your feet.

Better to have lived a full safe life, than a shorter one full of haste,blood and pleasure.

A way, that our inferiority complexes, distaste, envy or simple childish complaint, can destroy our destiny.
The place into where a person is dissatisfied with what is appointed to him, for petty and meaningless reason's...a notion of grunting or ranting as a child stomping his feet, for not receiving the exact flavor of his candy cane...
Yet eating one none the less.

A form of greed and displease, pettiness and adolescence. To break and stomp the ground as a juvenile,...when realizing...that you are complaining to the exact amount and degree...in which that you are responsible for.

Spoiled and resentful, for any bargain presented. For if your destiny would be to reign over europe, then again would one say "Why arent I a simple man?". It is human nature to rant, complain and whine. For it is the heart, the value of merit and virtue. The heartship of strength and work ethic, that shape the happy and complete beings. Depth and doom, that cultivate the best destiny. As the wise do know.

The deterrence of man and woman to their sufficiency, what the tome to be true and their essence of way. The utter revelation of what is true to them, and the matter of which they suffice in, confide in.

The matter of their truth. The want, the need and the material they suffice in to see true...
As in a person, satisfied enough with the matter of a small house,...some trinkets and a heavy steed to ride.
Perhaps even walking...to suffice himself with what he desires.

The few and little to what people want...
The much they actually take.

The shoe's and belt to own, as the desire of one's dream's...
Yet the closet attire that takes a lifetime to acquire.

The much that they have taken, aside to the little they actually want.
A sheppard at heart, with leather shoes.

A place where taking more than what you want, or more...that what you generally "have"...according to contract. Spinning the shank, spiteful against god...and yourself...your heart.

To over tip the glass...and start spilling.
The spill that will leak untill eternity...and forever change your stream..., and your destiny.
Pre-ordained by you...and obliterated..., by yourself.

Things that you dont want to accept about yourself, for they shine through your heart forever.
If you choose so, change or not.
That is the will of destiny, to always win and have the final cause...for any chance it will before.
You can never fight it, for whatever you do or choose, is the final chime of time, that exists only for you...to live in peace, and not fight anything. Especially...not yourself.


It is as a contra. The more you fight, the more wieght builds up.
The more you push and fight, the worse it becomes.
You steer violence, you steer truth, you steer war.
It can never be as painful as you create it, and peaceful as you allow it to be.
As anything in life, the more you pressure it, the more you think of it...it looses taste.

The essence into where more pain is fueled into life and the universe, when you dont accept yourself and your life. To go against your own current is the cause for all eruption, misfortune and woe. All life ends with sadness, for it ends. Yet the question is, if the tears that are shed...are for happiness or misfortune, regret and resent. Tears can flow thousands of years, and only the wise amongst many can understand...that they are the sweat of happiness itself, that escapes all times...through the blue depth of destiny, as the ocean itself.
Eternal.

To stress further the fact, that any resistance in life, will only cause more friction.
Thus creating tension, clatter and cluster. Making more violence and counter repellent.
Any force that can be met with violence or resistance, will only cause more resistance.


We are who we are when born.
We are who we are when we reveal that.
Swile Adolescence to twist our wake
Then do we fight, what we have learned.
We loose. 

Only to the might and virtue
Do you stride alone, within your two
Something above you, giving you 
Directing you, a bond like scripture that scrolled you

My fate is what I virtue.   
The highest low and lowest flew.
Tears beyond grief and watery eyes
Cause life always ends, with when we die
To fight the lone at when we cry. 

What kind of tears, the pride in I
To never lie to never doubt
Eternal rest within deep clout

*I am positive this will continue in the future*

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