Free Light Life Has No Love-rotting Mortal Sex-shadow Karma Shelf-life
Mother or Guru: Swami Vivekananda's Dilemma
Reconnoitering Enlightening Liquefiable Responsive Flux Flow Freeing Innocence From Mortal Biology Time Hive Treacherous Competitive Conditioning Illusion Duality Ego-reflecting Narcissist self-hate Anxiety Projection Shadow Decomposition Protective Spiritual Coward Bully Positioning
Timeless-travel Awareness was filtering me back through, so many impossible seeming Stop-twists, and Go-turns, back to Free Light Life Innocent Intuitive Invisible Intimacy Learning Joy in Teachable Flux Light Exchanging irresistible Life Responsive-harmony Neutrinos, that boggle Bamboozles, way past what any Chemical-solid Mortal Karma Ego Defense Addict could, ever up-think over-talk enough to stop what’s always going on, and what complicates our Death Survival Rotting Insanity Collective Mob Censor-control Constantly Fixed Fighting for Sodomy-peace and Fucking for Mother-virginity ridiculously lousy Un-fun Time Out Anxiety Karma Motives.
Filter overlays, upon filtering plate Matrices by many ‘othering names’ made Earth Mafia Spinning-goons, the Hoods that we, Mothers-are and Virgin-deny as much as any Mortal Control freak Fighting for Ego UN Un-peace Humiliation-restoration can, ever pay Innocence-lost back Rest Room sodomy for Karma Free Light Life Love-rotting Chemical Sex Solid-mistake Joy-censor Flux-infinity Septic Psycho-sakes.
Each blunt trauma filter has a name, and as many Mortals as twice each Gender half-life Evil-motive, plus the absence of Birth-innocence altogether; Mafia-made Motherhood-game Goon-huntress Bulge-bursting Boob-facade Nipple-food Sex-replication Ex-father Earth Pregnant weaponry Wife Fortress can be, is, and was-will be sagging sock a Baby-con Mother-marble Kidnapping-reverse Sex Coyote Love-inverse from Our Gender-hate musical Karma chairs Lap lick Dance Duality eyes roll-back Physical habit Free Light Life Satanic Family Earth Willing-genocide War-peace/Fuck-virgin Collective Hive Patsy-programmed undoing.
I guess in a real-time Meditation fast-way I was going back through, all the intricate and profound Abuse Lifetimes Blunt traumas, that makes us so Fracking full of Effing Nuke Poison-stiff Hole stories from Akashic-amnesia Mortal Gender half-life Dark Number shadow Stum Bum-stun Blunt Mob Trauma Numb Hive Bling-control fascinating Adult Used Car sales Lot-immature_no innocence at all, retired Flat-boob Earth nipple left of us in Love-inverse Haggard Denial Unified Plural Atonement-less Sex sore, Hate-same Winner-loser Shame Karma-withholds?
Here we sit Old Rage Bitter Broken-hearted Nickel-shit New Rage Fantasy-paid many Slave-lives, and Fought-Fucked/War-Virgin Death bloat Battlefield Robot-family Black-hole Machinery Divorced Earth Mother-karma Split Soul Man-movie Denial Parts Innocent Abused Child-farted ~.|.~
Musical Narcissist Frozen Chairs-anyone Fake-selfie_Hybrid Human wanna still?
CRYING IN FORMATION
When I was a 5 year old precious little boy, both my Mom, and Gram beat me when we were all in the same room together, so I wouldn’t come too close to, either of them, as the daughter-in-law, and the mother-in law wouldn’t start guessing about the other one using me for luscious lover sex, I suppose by “Accidentally fondling them from each our, more private experiences”. I was being tag teamed, by both, without the other ever finding out, until my Gram died during “You know”, so when my Mom found us she raged for weeks until she neutered, and patsy-sent me away for raping, and killing ole Gram.
This was so much of a drama/trauma that when Mom called ‘me’ the DEVIL, it sunk way in my subconscious. More has been revealed, from deeper hypnosis, and attachment therapy for thirty plus years, that has everyone on my recovery team knowing that oral sex was forced on smothering-me, so I later put relish on my tuna rolls to kill the Kid-drowning oil of fish cakes. The rage boiled in me for about ten years, and when I went to freshman school lunch, two old ladies seemed more like my Mom, and Gram tag team to 15 year old me, so, as I ate their ‘relished tuna’ on my hot dog rolls, I survived, and kept the awful pain alive, so I wouldn’t, just disappear, and die dead-dead Mother-free.
It was ‘hard enough’ to, go to school, and get good Gender-grades in College Sex-groups, but I wasn’t able to, even order PHD prison food with those two bitter matriarchs serving lunch. The closest I would let anyone near was when I joined ROTC, and marched in the precision drill team. It feels like, Holy Spirit etched a little Love into my Cold heart at this time, and I was ready for, just a smidgeon of soldier-like intimacy. I wrote “Crying in Formation” years ago, but I’m feeling much better now…
I have arrived, Sweet Beloved, thank you for this nurturing rhythm and cooperation! Left boot accents loudly automatic cadence; we’re so clever; no left, left, left right left sloppy verbal for these secret discipline soldiers. Sixteen young men sixteen years marching into Mother’s protection paradise of safety; we are pretending. Polished, elite, and shiny dress right dress keeps us in close, not touching, precision ‘identicals'. Over, and over, and Left right, Left stomp our heels onto the concrete timing; we hide our tricks inside prisoner’s Military fence to keep our suffering souls the incest-secret. Drill team four by four, name under the coldest hearted General, with special braids, and medals are marching mesmerizing.
Needy angry Mother’s sons perhaps they’re all like me? Children, feral, mixed with, not good hugs; from concrete, and metal, to grope tickling, no giggling incest exploitation. Perhaps the tears running, while we’re walking are from the safety of, never touching, and this marching so close to dancing. Joy, or grievous sadness starved for some kind, kind, kind in rows and columns, or perhaps achieving precision in some kind of Robot-organizing. As I peer from up above, our split-soul seems wrapped in toilet paper tubes down over us, and all that’s left in the discipline of fear, is vertical pipe, such shiny metal marching.
What makes us dreary soldiers? Lock washers, uptight machinery, and so disciplined with limited tension design, hiding rage, Hybrid-gray rainbow Alien march on Hate-parade. I made the strict practice non-changing rules, to go by without any variation, and what relief, and nurturing for this space trauma split-soul marching. Holy Spirit found me soul-migrant wandering, threw me hard to the ground, and first loved me in formation, crying grateful, could this be bonding? Am I one with the coldest hearted? Like vertical pipe, with triggers acting hollow weapons murder? Maybe we, all assume our sergeants, teachers, and bosses, that we have warm family elsewhere; maybe at Home they Mother-think.
During this same time in school, I remember sweaty saddles soiled my shirts when asked what food I want in line. Couldn’t talk and answer, so hall pass during study and explained, as freshman. “Please, I always want two tuna rolls, mixed with relish to cut the oil of fish”, and it will never change, all four years ago at Senior graduation. The lascivious old women winked, and seemed to understand, that’s why I ate my Two Generation tuna lovelies in the Karma boiler room alone.
What’s left inside a toilet paper tube a-marching is just the smell of old rotten fish, and not much Innocent companionship. Come Holy Spirit and teach me how I, really feel, as you release me from this bad dream? And I bow to your Grace, True companionship, and Love, to let me see the old me. I remember we are at the Karmic Abuse-addiction Sex-movies; it’s not the real-soul me, and thank Holy Spirit-me, you are honest here, and so forever Gender-free real, Cosmic Light Life Invincible Karma-free ethereal, Really Time Whore War Free Light Rocket Cosmic Peace Virgin Neutrino-ship Halo Hallow Flux Joy Awake/Funny/Love/Life Blind Earth-gravity Deaf “Dead Bury The Dead” Mother-hostage Sex-slave Biology-serious Karma Habit-free Fun
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gcHOrGAMseY