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Brinesanity – an abide jar, filled with all the fuqs given.

By

Context Smirk

The bi-directional highway between anger and happiness is a walk on a road you choose, and prepare accordingly. Answer to knowing keys played alone, within eye the comfort that comes haunting.

This is what your life has become, theatre of the mind, allusions of friends manifested upon your stave by the calling of the notes. Reflections of successful, and talented people, busy with their own lives. Time is a shallow knowing of the trauma it flicks, seconds hardship creates the smirk, tilting with the chords.

Your song demands no audience through an obligation any longer. When no one is obligated, remnants of the capable caring and compassionate, at will shall bring the respite on the way.

Judging, importune willingness not demanded, but earned in your practice. Choices own lifetimes, shared, becoming the lifeline tracing tides and the magic carpet ride. A line that may not be the shape, or the direction, or the magnitude of what you seek, but you have the choice to walk that line also sunshine, so spread those wings and make like an illusion we can all bring into context.

Time and the weather pediments at the call of an elixir, dancing soul barometer measuring the metronome of the terrain, in fragmented quantifications of the sociopathic tendencies, affirmed as logical reason and sound judgment by the most vicious adjudicator in the universe. The one constant, controlled only by the mind of men, that claim very control of figments and dried sweets.

Time.

Objects must conform to our cognition argued Kant. Cerebral manifestations now occur in bit cursives in all shapes and senses that are pivot points.

If the hell begins to creep more and more into the shadows your sun they basked in, be assured few reflections wish it to appear, and somehow, they do. Sepia smiles from the geometric form risen to be seen in passing circumstance.

Only then will you begin to see the beauty in the song that has been played, and choose to play the songs that you were blessed to count as the one’s that touched you the most, that make the pages of the mind want in connection to the harmony that seems to play so soundly in the senses. Seen and spoken, but reflected only by the experiences lived.

Balls that were but toys, amusing and fascinating to the wooden work horse capable of carrying the importance of the task at hand. Little to have, he held his world in high esteem, and the weight of imagination held no place within the bags that held the ransom time demanded. Invested and paid for with such a cost, the value of it growing a fond return to the simpler days.

Melancholy and somber, the sounds and the choices seem so distant to the moment at hand. So grand, and all knowing of the ability to be, and allow the universe to provide the wealth that you so deserve, for in youth, there is nothing that is not an entitlement. Ravenous to consume and conquer, walls that you believe provide shelter are stationary against the actions of men that leap from behind them. Leaving their safety, aware of what lays on the other side.

The end is not as it will seem, for anyone.

Least, me.
For now is the time my fingers dance.

The darkness you hear, is just the passing of the keys smirking.
Contextually.

*abide*