The World Undeclared Promise

In a world which does not question the confines of its transient machinery, both in speed and update, it, brings existences within the compass of what life might be, without annulling
human potentiality to find a way towards reconciling the non-conversable differences of velocity, but only destroys the capacity for humans to question through the long, drawn out, erosion of the psyche, only when it simply becomes too tired, too exhausted from the continual homogenization of energy-distribution required to meet the standard harmonization’s of machinery actively disenabling psychological activity from any other possible or imagined trajectory. The invisibility

of these entities of infused variances permeates humanity of its three degrees: masculinity, femininity, and androgynous;
exposing a non-locatable objectness by the lack of adjectival attachment from suffering
over the psychosomatic environment of a clear-seeing mind. You
place what places become when illuminated into stagnant spheres and wobbling triangles. They are whoever reads this, you

the world undeclared promise. His
pixel of the outside world’s eyes, a transparency for all sides, a foot-step
contact of a creaky ceiling.
A thin space between bottom floor and top floor implies enough psychological expansion within each squeak of the ceiling for ears to shadow cast during disappearance. So,
he supposes a person of carbonated-grace fingernail-metallic can hold promise,
ghosts don’t enter above, sinking slow through the pond into the brain, blurring registered apprehension from comprehension’s appetite to recognize a mirror when a
mirrored-self appears, negating the immediacy of unsent fire—and
if ghosts did sink slow through the pond into the brain then
it would only be a reflection of what usually occurs for people when mixing
up too many things with other things because there are so many things
to keep track of remembering
(a spider crawls over the wall) remembering
as if there wasn’t the neglect of water pouring into a box of shadow and following the lines ants create when they’re in scatter. If

this is a reflection from an actual environment, then light
on a newly opened rose is what composes the synchronicity between
watching and sensation, thought,
as it appears within the container of noticing it, flap its wings.


This person naked in how things appear, at the body is responsible
for actions we extended towards surface inducing permissions, for example: response,
light as a tone heard from the mouth of a baby fox
in the eyes of an owl patient to learn. If sensations are watching, unsure approaches:
accompany considerations for flight, as there is no parallel in foxes. A
sensation for a fog of windows in neighborhood
appearance in a rain drop. Its reality
exhausted by how sunlight is presented. Glass of obsidian
on an alter, people-shapes pass at the feet of grey-green mountains, can appear
digitally photographic, implicit
shadow of breath. His
reflective wondering, what’s above the pond, blood-tank of skin
can imagine a dragonfly wing
the whole universe is on
blood circulates in a wing of apprehension before comprehension
can enter the door
and lay complaints on the oscillation of pixel
transforming it into jaded glass
fitting the cornered dragonfly huddled in the jar of this containment. People

walk across the floor.
For a moment before, we see the environment as an unexposed nudity, the
promise of integrity, naked
something without clothes on doesn’t always harmonize with, perhaps
most harmonizes with whatever
leaves a human body when at death, energy. The more moving bulk of air
from the currents of wind streams, the more possibility
to fit a revealed pixel-sight, through invisibility, passing
through the corridors of recognition
harmonizing a parallel body-with-skin to instantly gravitate around
paralleling vibration
but a substance capable of shattering mountains if re
experienced by others and still re
taining the foundation of what brought mountains
a dimension further than a moment prior to
having relied simply on the limitations of the familiar.


Sunlight headaches a person sitting in front of a green door and the blare of early-evening allows him to sit in front of it, how
sunlight fills physiology in how the body carries the mass of appearances
to the outside world, when
his sensations about sensations,
possibly what enables him to move
appearances become heavy, weighted
with something humans become
when leaving the body,
beauty as of portions of wind
between rose peddles
proceeding toward the dilated point of an ever expanding iris
expanding further than what size can attain
along the corridor-veins of the rose peddle, shadows
stretch across the carpet, a wall
of veiled object fluidity, the sun
not opaque by earth-movement relative
to fluidity of rose petal crimson, fetal
position turns water to break
the referable picture
of someone we all know,
no one
resembles this


A cloud is made of many dragons capable of having everything melted down, but
like the convenience of a physical body, theories work
to help concrete the myth of many unspeakable opportunities
to swim in the mouth of experience. All of the dragons
imply promise in the contained environment of a forgotten mirror, not
jobs or cars emerge from its waters, but
are remembered as echoes seen skimming the surface of clouds at night.
First, moonlight on elongated streaks of sky, the glow from the dragonfly, then
triangle-wobble: stars dwell in sight, spheres de
stagnate in the circulation of registered apprehension, look
at all which dwells in and of
themselves, an opening
in the eye of the world where you look for his eyes through the words of these
rose peddle flowers streaking the circumference of the pond
vibrant impressionistic red, all the intimate
details of crimson blurred to express an emotion
grounded in the necessity to lift colors off their vibrational-standards and
provide the eyes and ears of the world
an opportunity to fly while standing still.

The sensation of watching as if remembered does not appear in the streaks of non-sellable forbidden activities of utilizing color above the ceiling, nor in the
behavior of the embryonic implication of the pond, if he
touches up through the water
extends the sword Excalibur
to the rationalized impossibility of strangeness, opening
extending further from the grave of neglected space, a
respect towards the nature of possibility, never
in error of respect, only what becomes
misunderstood by hard-headed rationality,
as it is, rationality is the grave in the respectful mirror
dancing even when there’s no music. The
glass-pond ripples across itself, shattering
edges surrounding spills
the ceiling collapses from above in silence.


It is approaching summer, material stripped of human substance, drying and frozen in the departments of defense, the color of the night sky, iris
along the circumference of an orbital-dish. The illustrations
of shadows cast by stripped human substance
on a microwavable kitchen plate, the underside
lines of a rose peddle, this
an emotion, reflecting. If the
ghost of a ceiling creek and the deerman is true
the relation between an experience that needs communication and the form
of communication, the objectness
of a flower, to describe
what lies next to the pre-
incarnation of form, separating linguistics
within synchronistic reach of body-objects, the proximity
to passing on, the terrorized-paralysis with an animal
before becoming devoured, an offering for
form metabolized, eyes into knowing a particular non-internalized fact of color
all can shape beside
non-substituted burning factors unbelievable bouts of pain, the
shade of which expresses the non-existent room to lie
about anything, all occurrence straight-forward, requires zero interpretation
as method for re
membering objects which exist in the same space
as the pixel appearing before recognition can
slide it to socket, here
the desire of a function has dismantled from its usual robotic-hand
pollen is pollen
dabbling across the fallen interstices of habit, re
defining habitat, activity, ability, motion, and muscle, a
new brain cell paradigm,
exact, infallible stones of direct response
synchronized absolutely to the basis of intention remains

stretched out of the foreground mirror. Encapsulated moon-light-fabric
rips from the seams of the spine up, then
to all points of the geographical surface of the body, a shadow-wall snaps during assessment and the posture of the earth renews. It’s the
deformation of assumption, space without conventional logic we shared, a
lack of reasoning haunts, which are the ghosts of relation, as
pixels energize their shapes and incarnate
their bodies the cause of emotion to share this
dimension of sunken halo affirmations, and the freedom

from needing to be saved.


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