The Pain and the Palms Mature content No. 7 Published April 5th, 2015 9:39am pst read ( words) Past entries "For years we have strode the path of pain and it continues. We are still here among the pain of the unknown and the yearning for understanding our feelings. Five therapists and thousands of gallons of alcohol later and we are buried in the same detritus. We are under a blanket of hellish soil. Oh the beginning was clear and remains as such. We cannot deny these feelings at all. We placed ourselves neatly among those whom call for help and receive it, but our situation is vastly different from theirs. They never feel responsible for the thoughts and actions which brought them into the custody of the realm. We know all too well of every detail of what has placed us within the circle of their difficulty. We know every single handshake and every detail of each word. We can spell it out. We have spelled it out. Now, however, we are among the goddess and her dreamy existence. She did not place us within this sphere... we did. We allowed ourselves into her presence and now must deal with the consequences. Exploration will likely never end within us. And now the grass grows and lives above our sorry souls. The pain is unrelenting as it was in the past and now in the present. It is killing us with no remorse whatsoever. Killing us with no heart, no mind, no tears. She felt it, saw it, and lived it. She called for help more than once and sat and awaited our reaction. That pain is gone, for sure, but the remorse and grief over the situation remains as another well of ink resting on the shelf of life and yearning to be injected. Our billboard and broadcasting still incomplete, we await the correct time to display our hells. They will come and be seen by all, as lessons should be. Until then, however, we remain inward like never before. The situation during ten and eleven was short yet still appreciated. That period was painful and we now understand the source of such. It is here now and begins within us. The realm of the now sits as the latest difficult reminder of all others. It rests within and we do our damnedest to keep it there. If the pain is displayed openly, others are affected. But as of this moment, we have little choice in the matter. We are at its mercy constantly and miserably. The resolution is most unavailable just as so many questions left unanswered. 'No sacrifice too great Caught in another maze... Truly endless... Still this maze is mine' Sadness We are at a tremendous loss now. The feelings which have defined the past three years are still within and now are combined with the unexpected thoughts of fifteen. There is no out from this... No matter the contact, writing, writhing, nor alcohol. We have realized where we are and that place is now cemented as where we belong. Fucking black as pitch. From the peak of dreams in the clouds to the depth of coal in the earth. We are now all the way down and into the knowledge against which we have pushed with our sordid hearts. We are here within these latest of days and the feeling is beyond that of twelve. That time flew awry quickly and seemed the worst. Now, however, it shines as bliss and the gradient is beyond anything imagined. Fifteen is the end of our hopes. We have been too close to the pinnacle. Far too close. Vision is narrowed, options have narrowed, we are narrow. Narrow and black. Burned. Singed. Deflagrated to all hell. This fact is accepted because we knew it, felt it, and deserved it. The next feeling will also burn. It will destroy without mercy and afterward we will barely be human. Past feelings are simpler... Shallower... Without clarity of purpose. This is devastating. If only our eyes had not been wide and our desire available, we could have remained within the fiction. If only we had strength. If only we had wisdom. If only we had intelligence. If only we had vision beyond visible light. If only we had not been infants. If only... And the result is inner death and the end of our precious connection with the universe. Such is the pain. Just as the Air, the Rope, the Fall, and the Crushing... The pain has become all. And it is ever increasing. And it is overtaking us. And it is unending. Where in hell will we end after such difficulty? Who the fuck knows or can possibly know. The simple fact -- as stated in spades -- is that we placed ourselves here just as past situations. We made it happen and we will always make it happen. This has been and remains our path. The Beauty and all which accompanies. Back to where we were... Back to that place we despised... Back into the cave of no understanding. Yes, that fucking place, ripe with the stench of decaying organs. Back there yet again. The Beauty is distant. At least the music is near. Blackest of metal. Majestic We heard the palms cry as we flew past on Highway 86. We heard them through the noisy music, through the din of the day, and through the calm conversation. We heard and stopped near their farms. With Nikon in hand and strapped to our beings we fled the car and into their waiting atmosphere of pain and love. They stood there... Staring in need and wonder, just as us. Every step brought our hearts closer to their loving plight and toward their scent. No fruit, just fronds and deafening want. The palms gazed at us and we back at them. Their majestic stance and sprawling fans belittled us with every second of thought. We stood and looked up at them in the hazy dusk and they spoke to us. They spoke of loss and reverence. They spoke of life and mayhem. They spoke straight into our hearts with their unending power. They spoke loudly and without reservation. And we listened. And we armed the Nikon. And we shot... Again and again and ever again. They stood in somber skies and allowed us to shoot them over and over. Click... Adjust... Click, click... And adjust. Never were they in our eyecup as they were in our hearts. The shutter release and mirror flip caused them no distress. We wandered among them and awaited the perfect symphony of aperture and sight, but to no avail. We tried to do them justice. We tried. Nothing. Nothing again. The lens was willing, however the mood was torn. It was torn up just as their world. Still, they stood there as monuments of loss. The loss of the past and the beauty tossed aside like so much trash. They stood there in pride and surrounded by enmity. They stood just as we did... Searching for something to define and alleviate the sordid thoughts of their world pushed away and forgotten. We shed tears, apologized deeply, and went away. We left them standing there and drove up 86... All the while staring back at what could have been. Along the drive we discussed the possibilities, the loss, and the wonder of that place and those magnificent beings left to cry. We called upon our humanity and then called it into question. How could we admire and dismiss all at once? How could we drive away and back into the glowing light of high technology? How could we go on believing they would stand there for all time and be at peace? Not possible. The images reflect their unending wonder and timeless beauty, however they also display the searing cuts which have left the palms to question their own future. Uncertainty. Vast uncertainty and burned hopes. The sadness goes on and on through the sand below and connects them to us like nothing else. We feel all of it... Deep inside. Once again, we must return and attempt to spread their need just as our own. Unfortunately, the moodbox has displayed our continuing situation and resources as the pits that they remain. We cannot go now but we will return there and entrench our souls within the realm of the gazing palms and we will connect ourselves to them forever. Nothing now. Nothing aside from sadness." Addendum Reiko is unavailable at the present. More deserted beauty Copyright ©2002-2024 comainterrupted.com All rights reserved All other trademarks, logos and graphics are the property of their respective owners Created by Brandywine Engineering using Microsoft Visual Studio 2022 and .NET Framework 4.8 Questions? Comments? Anything? Gather your thoughts and compose a message to the psychos in charge
The Pain and the Palms Mature content No. 7 Published April 5th, 2015 9:39am pst read ( words) Past entries "For years we have strode the path of pain and it continues. We are still here among the pain of the unknown and the yearning for understanding our feelings. Five therapists and thousands of gallons of alcohol later and we are buried in the same detritus. We are under a blanket of hellish soil. Oh the beginning was clear and remains as such. We cannot deny these feelings at all. We placed ourselves neatly among those whom call for help and receive it, but our situation is vastly different from theirs. They never feel responsible for the thoughts and actions which brought them into the custody of the realm. We know all too well of every detail of what has placed us within the circle of their difficulty. We know every single handshake and every detail of each word. We can spell it out. We have spelled it out. Now, however, we are among the goddess and her dreamy existence. She did not place us within this sphere... we did. We allowed ourselves into her presence and now must deal with the consequences. Exploration will likely never end within us. And now the grass grows and lives above our sorry souls. The pain is unrelenting as it was in the past and now in the present. It is killing us with no remorse whatsoever. Killing us with no heart, no mind, no tears. She felt it, saw it, and lived it. She called for help more than once and sat and awaited our reaction. That pain is gone, for sure, but the remorse and grief over the situation remains as another well of ink resting on the shelf of life and yearning to be injected. Our billboard and broadcasting still incomplete, we await the correct time to display our hells. They will come and be seen by all, as lessons should be. Until then, however, we remain inward like never before. The situation during ten and eleven was short yet still appreciated. That period was painful and we now understand the source of such. It is here now and begins within us. The realm of the now sits as the latest difficult reminder of all others. It rests within and we do our damnedest to keep it there. If the pain is displayed openly, others are affected. But as of this moment, we have little choice in the matter. We are at its mercy constantly and miserably. The resolution is most unavailable just as so many questions left unanswered. 'No sacrifice too great Caught in another maze... Truly endless... Still this maze is mine' Sadness We are at a tremendous loss now. The feelings which have defined the past three years are still within and now are combined with the unexpected thoughts of fifteen. There is no out from this... No matter the contact, writing, writhing, nor alcohol. We have realized where we are and that place is now cemented as where we belong. Fucking black as pitch. From the peak of dreams in the clouds to the depth of coal in the earth. We are now all the way down and into the knowledge against which we have pushed with our sordid hearts. We are here within these latest of days and the feeling is beyond that of twelve. That time flew awry quickly and seemed the worst. Now, however, it shines as bliss and the gradient is beyond anything imagined. Fifteen is the end of our hopes. We have been too close to the pinnacle. Far too close. Vision is narrowed, options have narrowed, we are narrow. Narrow and black. Burned. Singed. Deflagrated to all hell. This fact is accepted because we knew it, felt it, and deserved it. The next feeling will also burn. It will destroy without mercy and afterward we will barely be human. Past feelings are simpler... Shallower... Without clarity of purpose. This is devastating. If only our eyes had not been wide and our desire available, we could have remained within the fiction. If only we had strength. If only we had wisdom. If only we had intelligence. If only we had vision beyond visible light. If only we had not been infants. If only... And the result is inner death and the end of our precious connection with the universe. Such is the pain. Just as the Air, the Rope, the Fall, and the Crushing... The pain has become all. And it is ever increasing. And it is overtaking us. And it is unending. Where in hell will we end after such difficulty? Who the fuck knows or can possibly know. The simple fact -- as stated in spades -- is that we placed ourselves here just as past situations. We made it happen and we will always make it happen. This has been and remains our path. The Beauty and all which accompanies. Back to where we were... Back to that place we despised... Back into the cave of no understanding. Yes, that fucking place, ripe with the stench of decaying organs. Back there yet again. The Beauty is distant. At least the music is near. Blackest of metal. Majestic We heard the palms cry as we flew past on Highway 86. We heard them through the noisy music, through the din of the day, and through the calm conversation. We heard and stopped near their farms. With Nikon in hand and strapped to our beings we fled the car and into their waiting atmosphere of pain and love. They stood there... Staring in need and wonder, just as us. Every step brought our hearts closer to their loving plight and toward their scent. No fruit, just fronds and deafening want. The palms gazed at us and we back at them. Their majestic stance and sprawling fans belittled us with every second of thought. We stood and looked up at them in the hazy dusk and they spoke to us. They spoke of loss and reverence. They spoke of life and mayhem. They spoke straight into our hearts with their unending power. They spoke loudly and without reservation. And we listened. And we armed the Nikon. And we shot... Again and again and ever again. They stood in somber skies and allowed us to shoot them over and over. Click... Adjust... Click, click... And adjust. Never were they in our eyecup as they were in our hearts. The shutter release and mirror flip caused them no distress. We wandered among them and awaited the perfect symphony of aperture and sight, but to no avail. We tried to do them justice. We tried. Nothing. Nothing again. The lens was willing, however the mood was torn. It was torn up just as their world. Still, they stood there as monuments of loss. The loss of the past and the beauty tossed aside like so much trash. They stood there in pride and surrounded by enmity. They stood just as we did... Searching for something to define and alleviate the sordid thoughts of their world pushed away and forgotten. We shed tears, apologized deeply, and went away. We left them standing there and drove up 86... All the while staring back at what could have been. Along the drive we discussed the possibilities, the loss, and the wonder of that place and those magnificent beings left to cry. We called upon our humanity and then called it into question. How could we admire and dismiss all at once? How could we drive away and back into the glowing light of high technology? How could we go on believing they would stand there for all time and be at peace? Not possible. The images reflect their unending wonder and timeless beauty, however they also display the searing cuts which have left the palms to question their own future. Uncertainty. Vast uncertainty and burned hopes. The sadness goes on and on through the sand below and connects them to us like nothing else. We feel all of it... Deep inside. Once again, we must return and attempt to spread their need just as our own. Unfortunately, the moodbox has displayed our continuing situation and resources as the pits that they remain. We cannot go now but we will return there and entrench our souls within the realm of the gazing palms and we will connect ourselves to them forever. Nothing now. Nothing aside from sadness." Addendum Reiko is unavailable at the present. More deserted beauty
The Pain and the Palms
Mature content No. 7 Published April 5th, 2015 9:39am pst read ( words) Past entries
"For years we have strode the path of pain and it continues. We are still here among the pain of the unknown and the yearning for understanding our feelings. Five therapists and thousands of gallons of alcohol later and we are buried in the same detritus. We are under a blanket of hellish soil. Oh the beginning was clear and remains as such. We cannot deny these feelings at all. We placed ourselves neatly among those whom call for help and receive it, but our situation is vastly different from theirs. They never feel responsible for the thoughts and actions which brought them into the custody of the realm. We know all too well of every detail of what has placed us within the circle of their difficulty. We know every single handshake and every detail of each word. We can spell it out. We have spelled it out. Now, however, we are among the goddess and her dreamy existence. She did not place us within this sphere... we did. We allowed ourselves into her presence and now must deal with the consequences. Exploration will likely never end within us. And now the grass grows and lives above our sorry souls. The pain is unrelenting as it was in the past and now in the present. It is killing us with no remorse whatsoever. Killing us with no heart, no mind, no tears. She felt it, saw it, and lived it. She called for help more than once and sat and awaited our reaction. That pain is gone, for sure, but the remorse and grief over the situation remains as another well of ink resting on the shelf of life and yearning to be injected. Our billboard and broadcasting still incomplete, we await the correct time to display our hells. They will come and be seen by all, as lessons should be. Until then, however, we remain inward like never before. The situation during ten and eleven was short yet still appreciated. That period was painful and we now understand the source of such. It is here now and begins within us. The realm of the now sits as the latest difficult reminder of all others. It rests within and we do our damnedest to keep it there. If the pain is displayed openly, others are affected. But as of this moment, we have little choice in the matter. We are at its mercy constantly and miserably. The resolution is most unavailable just as so many questions left unanswered.
'No sacrifice too great Caught in another maze... Truly endless... Still this maze is mine'
Sadness
We are at a tremendous loss now. The feelings which have defined the past three years are still within and now are combined with the unexpected thoughts of fifteen. There is no out from this... No matter the contact, writing, writhing, nor alcohol. We have realized where we are and that place is now cemented as where we belong. Fucking black as pitch. From the peak of dreams in the clouds to the depth of coal in the earth. We are now all the way down and into the knowledge against which we have pushed with our sordid hearts. We are here within these latest of days and the feeling is beyond that of twelve. That time flew awry quickly and seemed the worst. Now, however, it shines as bliss and the gradient is beyond anything imagined. Fifteen is the end of our hopes. We have been too close to the pinnacle. Far too close. Vision is narrowed, options have narrowed, we are narrow. Narrow and black. Burned. Singed. Deflagrated to all hell. This fact is accepted because we knew it, felt it, and deserved it. The next feeling will also burn. It will destroy without mercy and afterward we will barely be human. Past feelings are simpler... Shallower... Without clarity of purpose. This is devastating. If only our eyes had not been wide and our desire available, we could have remained within the fiction. If only we had strength. If only we had wisdom. If only we had intelligence. If only we had vision beyond visible light. If only we had not been infants. If only... And the result is inner death and the end of our precious connection with the universe. Such is the pain. Just as the Air, the Rope, the Fall, and the Crushing... The pain has become all. And it is ever increasing. And it is overtaking us. And it is unending. Where in hell will we end after such difficulty? Who the fuck knows or can possibly know. The simple fact -- as stated in spades -- is that we placed ourselves here just as past situations. We made it happen and we will always make it happen. This has been and remains our path. The Beauty and all which accompanies. Back to where we were... Back to that place we despised... Back into the cave of no understanding. Yes, that fucking place, ripe with the stench of decaying organs. Back there yet again. The Beauty is distant. At least the music is near. Blackest of metal.
Majestic
We heard the palms cry as we flew past on Highway 86. We heard them through the noisy music, through the din of the day, and through the calm conversation. We heard and stopped near their farms. With Nikon in hand and strapped to our beings we fled the car and into their waiting atmosphere of pain and love. They stood there... Staring in need and wonder, just as us. Every step brought our hearts closer to their loving plight and toward their scent. No fruit, just fronds and deafening want. The palms gazed at us and we back at them. Their majestic stance and sprawling fans belittled us with every second of thought. We stood and looked up at them in the hazy dusk and they spoke to us. They spoke of loss and reverence. They spoke of life and mayhem. They spoke straight into our hearts with their unending power. They spoke loudly and without reservation. And we listened. And we armed the Nikon. And we shot... Again and again and ever again. They stood in somber skies and allowed us to shoot them over and over. Click... Adjust... Click, click... And adjust. Never were they in our eyecup as they were in our hearts. The shutter release and mirror flip caused them no distress. We wandered among them and awaited the perfect symphony of aperture and sight, but to no avail. We tried to do them justice. We tried. Nothing. Nothing again. The lens was willing, however the mood was torn. It was torn up just as their world. Still, they stood there as monuments of loss. The loss of the past and the beauty tossed aside like so much trash. They stood there in pride and surrounded by enmity. They stood just as we did... Searching for something to define and alleviate the sordid thoughts of their world pushed away and forgotten. We shed tears, apologized deeply, and went away. We left them standing there and drove up 86... All the while staring back at what could have been. Along the drive we discussed the possibilities, the loss, and the wonder of that place and those magnificent beings left to cry. We called upon our humanity and then called it into question. How could we admire and dismiss all at once? How could we drive away and back into the glowing light of high technology? How could we go on believing they would stand there for all time and be at peace? Not possible. The images reflect their unending wonder and timeless beauty, however they also display the searing cuts which have left the palms to question their own future. Uncertainty. Vast uncertainty and burned hopes. The sadness goes on and on through the sand below and connects them to us like nothing else. We feel all of it... Deep inside. Once again, we must return and attempt to spread their need just as our own. Unfortunately, the moodbox has displayed our continuing situation and resources as the pits that they remain. We cannot go now but we will return there and entrench our souls within the realm of the gazing palms and we will connect ourselves to them forever. Nothing now. Nothing aside from sadness."
Addendum
Reiko is unavailable at the present.
More deserted beauty
Copyright ©2002-2024 comainterrupted.com All rights reserved All other trademarks, logos and graphics are the property of their respective owners Created by Brandywine Engineering using Microsoft Visual Studio 2022 and .NET Framework 4.8 Questions? Comments? Anything? Gather your thoughts and compose a message to the psychos in charge
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