The visualization of hell.

The door pressure. There has been none here before. A cloud stared. Cream advice. The filthy glare. A step of stones. Destined to adore. The fictive wounds. A bell ringing. The place was empty.

Spitting images. Hollow. The chilly creep of birds. Soon we’ll be home. To sit a while. Shadow’s leaping crowns. The taste of retribution. In dirty deeds. The victimized. No reasons. Innocence. The bleak Sunday morning sobriety. A fiction vapour. The clouds. To an enigmatic score of late tendencies the pride taken in art. No words. What desire in dreams. The scare token of stairs. A lean procreated mist. No shadows only feet. Deny me this. Fervent leisure condensations of apologetic scarcely fathomed hunger. Therapeutic honesty. The instance we are gone. A shared loners wind. The cry of rain. A drop of lingering lust. To inhibit the morbid sensuality of papers. Newly found fortune in the rapid eye movement. Craving exhumed intolerance and the empiric touch of reality. As it sways wicked postures of blindness across the ceiling. An unsolved rarely increased sentiment of shoes. The naked and alone. The darkness shone. Caved insults of command. Shared beauty. A vision deep as the ocean. Astonished pretty broke fingerpuppies learning to smoke. The myriad famed mortality and morality of frogs. Climbing to fall. A doomed wall. Leaning on black stolen words. Released.

The reattained pursuit of happiness. What I saw there. A figment of paranoid delusion. The clarity of it all.

To be home again.

Self obsessed maniac. Lean on no shoulders. To cry. The relief of adoration. The thing is my dears. A victim of supposition to be disdained. The factual hippocracy of tides. An instigated manner. The mortal swing of touch.  What little known of these. The probable passion. A drummer boy.

Deep sunken coherency in time. The vision near. Of what I found. My lizard shoes swarming. Conventual memory. The informality of such.

Fear the insolence of autocratic surveys. A lesson learned. The process of too much ado about nothing. Invictions of grief. The morality is naked truth. Astounded reason to improve behaviour. No insults. In command.

At peace. The momentual joy of Iscariot. A group flees against the image of Christ. Was he not a man of peace? The obscure tendency of late. A supposed enigma. I wen’t to hell for two minutes. I whom lost my belief. The scarce cathegory of denial. A wink as pleased. To fathom the riot of opposition. The place was empty.

In this vision deep I found grace. The tokens wild. There was a roundhouse there. There was smoke and a mild humming of symphonies. No demons or fallen angels. I guess they are all on earth.

The introvert habitual liar. An  evidently sane boy. The procreation of mind. The instant solvent property of denial. A cloud. My dreams are stolen. A take it or leave it. An instant betrayal shown in her eyes. The priority of none.

A fictive reason to debts. The vile distance. An horizon.

Astounded evidently assured policies of the insolent brave. Where comes these reasons to demnify attribution of complexity. What is the true nature of things?

I remember the wardens.

This devious slogan was thought upon in my crazy teens. It literally means somehow waking up to reality where there is none. The presumed evident nature of sleep is really wasted time. While at night you close your eyes and give in to your dreams. Bring them with you at day. It is indeed pseudo intellectualist adventures. The abyss is as told of. You sink into your dreams. Sunken. Then on your bed of flowers a clock is ticking. If you can not awaken seize not to dream. Dreaming of life. Thus a tree represents reaching for the sky. Allthough you may fall in your dreams. Don’t let them get to ya!

As a token of surprise the next level in which I dwelve. The latter sake horizon. Winding up upside down in a treshold of good and evil. The effect of fair findings. Reason or not. When you dream and orient in your dreams as if you were awake. The border is broken. You will no longer need to be awake. A slave to sleep. I used to be that dreamer. When all of the sudden some folk started to see I was sleep walking and sleep talking the alarm clock should have rung. I did simply not need to be awake. Somehow this escape from reality proved unhealthy. I call it devout dreamer.

You may however find inspiration in the land of dreams. My late night psychotic binge drinking didn’t solve any reality issues. The honesty of a drunk is humiliating. Forget about morality. Forget about two-faced mentality. Nothing as releaving as giving in to sleep. This daze. Amazed. Maze. Of oblivious tendencies to flee. The dreams might soon turn nightmares. Surrealist existencialist reality of late.  Do a dream at what it takes. Surrounded!

Dense. Intense. The syndicate errors of cynical reality. I see now what I am. An attempt to educate myself. The decomposition of thought. Pinched! Out late. For pity sake! Dream on!

As you may know the infamous. Rated minds of our journey. I sensed there could be more than what is known to this project. It started a couple of years ago as a manner of meditation in which the proposition was to seak the first original thought ever thought. I defined the significance of yes and no. Later the evidence of numbers. The effort to find the first thought reasonably insane as it is resultet in a variety of good ideas. There is obviously no beginning nor end in this effort. Before light there was dark. Then the spark. To an infinite beyond the enigma of scarce saturated bliss began. I found difficulties writing about this. After dedicating a couple of years or more to a religious debate on paltalk I have decided to commence this scenario.

The posed hierarchy of oppositions. The dualist sentences. What emmerged before time?

http://www.legalized-dreams.org/paradox.html

Please help on this journey with a post on what you may think was the first thought.

The innocent.

One.

Before the centennial feverous excitement tolls upon it’s journey. A questions admiration. The picture of a dream.

A cleansed spirits lean.

To an envoy of limit.

The visions clear.

I hold you dear.

To a breeze and spark upon the dark.

The enigmatic scare.

To astounded near.

By the instant town.

Where pictures drown.

The vile insolent scare.

Of the beasts rear.

A priority of none.

The enviction of claims.

To adore.

I pity sensuality.

You whom bore me clothes.

To the apology of wars.

A destiny’s sullen chorus.

To stare upon the fruit of your shores.

The liot’s pretty wand.

A scent of steam.

Where prizzies ream.

The dire tentacles of shoes.

Fiddles and crusty words.

To an ammended fortunate sway.

Of demonic guilt.

Insisted upon the grace of giants.

In a layer mist of reliance.

The few are bereft.

To shove allegiance.

The prune tail.

A victimized by beauty.

The vigilante stair.

Cased to an insolent smear.

I ceased to exist.

In the clouds.

The piled up shortcut.

To a garden variety show.

And tell of white snow.

While candles lit the cave.

A cushion folder stern.

Reaches where shadows burned.

The ideosynchrony of lies.

Two.

A cry for morning.

In the lizard takes.

Of spitting images.

A posed stuck release.

To the winds of fury.

I can not what you seem.

Varingly the property isn’t sold.

To a pitchforked demon.

Cascading flames and blizzard storms.

The rain is near.

Giddy up the erratic sulphur mist.

In diamond soup.

And pearl porridge.

There as of none.

The stint of shadow gone.

I care for you.

Therapeutic laments.

I the dreaded insult of famine.

An epiphany in the mirror gate.

Too sudden for death.

The mask of shadow.

Wearing the midnight oil.

Farther than what you are.

The leuth fringes of day.

Presumed a wound I sense.

To the prosperity of sin.

A portrait of a clown.

Too honest to steal.

Leisure hat.

Tainted baffoon’s table.

To share no more.

Blind as a bat.

The vindicate mother tease.

Such a winner’s pleased.

A sworn plead of girth.

In a dance of duty.

The mitigated mild contempt.

Plays on art.

Three.

I wonder if that fly has a lord.

http://www.legalized-dreams.org/artondisplay.html for more poems