i don't know you God, but as i write this, you do.
'so She sat there. alone. thoughts. adorn. surroundings so beautiful that She decided to keep a record of things. a store. a dire need for space. what for? She just couldn't understand where to lay all of what the earth bore. bare existence yet full to the brim. fully filled but empty of a seal. endless. nothing trim. rather, disorder. a concortion lacking nothing but a theme. even in wind She found a rhythm. a scheme. ventured outside Herself to hear what was within. faced Her desires, the sight of what went beyond eat. food. taking all pleasures in. aquisition, though it required the first sin. a bite that made time the bullet of magic. as constant as earth's spins. She stepped out and saw in, but all She could do is speak. say of outcomes. upcoming highs and pits. She is the first to contact life as it hills. pronounced bellies telling of pregnancies succumbed with ease. so who's the lead?! ergo, the word, the written word is Eve's.'
mitishamba ~ She talks too much, in writing
'follow my green'
Tuesday, July 26, 2016
"......not afraid. fear aught not be my directive. nor my derivative. certainty a guide. certainly i traverse this course as though on a glide. rough patches be damned, i walk levitating through problems making my art a sight unseen. serta or dream, where i lay these thoughts has the comforts of a thorny mattress. the plight of sleepless knights. enough to cause madness. a seasoned soldier with an untrained eye suffers in his attempt to locate meaning, given this address. certain in my strides as a scribe. patterns partain parts that partake in making i whole. fear emptying my soul. a word of art. not your regular joe, but a jewel. between the lines, joules. heat. passages read hot. so each day i fear naught.'
'i is green'
'i is green'