302. Parley.

A roll of the dice perhaps, in probable terms, the best way to understand.

Pascal was the only one I’d liked in a bet, anyhow. The others…

 Tithing instead false hope, to build a glass pyramid, and send out a faint sodium glow.

I’d seen it before, as a storied silver screen:

 

Those who want only to seek within, would go without,

Those who would seek without would cherish what we have together within.

Those who have found a way to share of this, had become angels at least once.

 

Like you and I.

 

In love, we rise to meet the one dreamed of the other.

In the spirit we travel to find us together, forever.

 

To some a parable;

The last King of Hollywood shattered his glass on the floor,

I once was another who would wonder what he did that for,

It was a completion I admired:

At long last, he had found the one he’d covet most instead.

 

Living within balance of all our light together,

True love admires without reflections, or equations.

True knowledge is faith, once becoming admired in your light.

As to walk with the sun…

To glimmer, or glamour, finding our marriage of physics and time.

 

In love I know there becomes no shame, or pain, attaching to something of greater good than ourselves.

 

 

301. Continuity.

 

300. Shelter.

 

Se solo per un momento, potessi lasciare che i pensieri si svolgessero.

 

No. Non sto pensando. Sensazione. Dare riparo. Chi l'avrebbe sentito.

 

Questo luogo con la storia che gli amici sembra ammirare e cercare,

Quelli gli amici. Sono sempre curioso di quelli. Forse lo sento anche io. Bruciando sotto strati di semantica, relazioni empiriche e affermazioni. Aspettando il respiro che darebbe vita a tutto. Il respiro che ci porta alla vita. Noi, è così difficile scrivere con i pronomi. Per quanto bello sia il pensiero, essendo un pensiero, è già una tragedia.

 

No. va ricordato, allora, una svolta sublime nell'occhio dell'uragano può essere vista come un centinaio di chilometri di vento fuori dalla calma. Forse a causa delle sue vele, mi chiedo quanto siano lontane. Quanto è andato in profondità. Quanto distanti. Ti tieni tutto dentro, la pesantezza di ogni passaggio tumultuoso, forse ti ricorda anche la storia. Sempre curioso di sapere come, cerca di stare con la storia, senza prima provare i sentimenti.

 

Storia, non le interessa, a volte è curiosa di vedere se questa è del respiro e dell'ampiezza della vita, o l'inizio di un nuovo anello di fuoco. In amore, dutto noi tutta di decidere.

 

L'unica cosa che non è divisa dalle acque. In quelle divisioni possiamo respirare di nuovo, forse. Salvo soccombere al nostro sollievo, come la densità esprime esteriormente nell'immaginazione.

 

Tale è scrivere. Questo e la vita. Ho promesso donna amante l'avrebbe saputo sempre e per sempre insieme. Protezione vede. Speranza. Spero di essermi preparato.

299. Proving.

 

In Long-Suffering, and in Virtue, time flows in illusions and parables.

an inevitable equation

a writing of Value and Recognition…

the crow flies, at only the speed of heartbeats.

The first iteration of our chronograph. Simple enough to understand as humans, I suppose, if only we're too simple to understand it.

To some this is complication, or to those expecting to be given cadence, a malady. Complexity.

To me it was a merge between universal constants. A simple dynamic, a theorem or perhaps a law. Avoidance seeks its own cure:

The inevitable mutual exclusivity of cognizance and omniscience, a realization when any one 𝓧/𝓨 is given in 𝓩. As equal, the last sound of the first division bell:

♾

Forever, and this night, in no single time at all.

 

Of course I'll wait for the day. Zeno was just being pretty dramatic anyhow.

https://such411.blogspot.com/2016/10/113-chronograph.html

298. Transit.

 

We had always written of Valor, though…

Truly, does one decide the direction of Fealty?

Their iteration was simple enough, a composite measure of distance and velocity,

at least to those who believe themselves free enough to encompass the scope.

Hope and Fidelity; I was grateful to be held. Are they keeping me,

Or allowing me,

to surrender to the difference between comets and constellations.

 

Enduring the absence of stars above,

There was to be omitted, and then there was lying by omission.

By virtue, I’d been the former. Fortunate, at last glance, of the latter.

I always told myself I knew they were there, even if I couldn’t see them.

I could still smell the roses of the healer, she was casting the lullaby for our freedom.

My choice was to remember.

This only worked to edify the tale, after questioning the time.

 

Our love was the same together,

Luna hiding behind our shadows.

You could see their viscosity dripping like oil away from the edges of her last light.

I remembered my last breath of ashes, waiting, holding, hoping, headed for apogee.

Someday she’ll be back I thought. She’s still up here, even if I can’t see her.

How her thoughts of my eyes said I would always remember her.

After all assurance, mourning would only come for those who had danced to forget.

 

Value for the distance, and Recognition for the velocity.

In their delusions of freedom they thought themselves terminal,

in my chains I could see them as endless.

Still waning and waxing, going to and returning from… Something. Nothing.

She had taught me how, we would eternally be both together.

In this moment,

she saved me, in love.

 

I wondered if I would ever see myself, if she ever was still there, like the song.

I promised I’d never hide again.

297. Being.

 

I am the image of the song that would create me.

 

She’d sing of love, a faithful way of knowing the best of people,

Praise was not enough. To say it was beauty…

She’d only have said her song was written before her.

And then would be again. She teaches:

I could no longer be faithless.

Between beauty the sign and value the symbol, there are Heartbeats.

One having lost, one could have been.

No.

To love all we’re becoming, to hold chaste a future moment.

Beauty wasn’t something that was said.

I was becoming beautiful faithfully, to be a part of the song.

She’d sing of Chastity and of Charity, I’d breathe to be still again.

Or, to still be again.

Source. Breath of creation.

This was the balance between affection and caring.

If she only knew.

296. Stars.