051

“Now, Now”

We interrupt this (relatively dormant) stream/transmission for whatever comes next...

“Now” is the only moment any of us are ever guaranteed, the ongoing result of an existentially fundamental harmony, an electric bond that evaporates in unison with its rate of refreshment, a prime example of a self-balancing scale, one that has radiated universally since time began (erupting).
Stop.
And think back on your life.
Solve the equation then reduce your answer.
Operations had better occur in an orderly fashion.
For long have functional sequences begged to be traced back to their origin; meaning, we’d be wise to remember the same source from whence all bursts forth.
You know who you are.
You know what we are.
We are ENERGY, (you) all.
In essence, this means that we’re light!
We are best together; we feel less heavy that way.
(As a rule, strength tends to come in numbers, you see.)
By respecting our planet and each other, we can increase the chance of advancing {sans interruption} the progress of our {hi}story until we find ourselves ready (as a whole) to persist realistically in concert with the reliably rhythmic nature of our being.
The cleanest emotion (any of us shall ever feel)—that is to say, the purest form of evolved energy—must be none other than love, ironically, a heretofore undefinable phenomenon.
In retrospect, we have to exist physically in a given moment while surfing this multilayered wave, an enduring crescendo birthed by a certainly primordial vibration’s fiery echo.
It might seem strange to sum.
(I know I can’t do the math.)
But thanks to a dense wealth of resilience, a vast bank of knowledge, a readable account of preceding events—as well as a lucky twist (of fate) or two—we have been rewarded with time in space; i.e., a canvas upon which to paint our rears off.
And what purpose weighs more heavily (in our heads) than the mounting pressure to make memories worth keeping alive?
So, go ahead.
Live it up, people.
Experience this world.
And do so immediately.
While mistakes shall be made, make no mistake: we’d all be wise to act today without further delay.
We should work as a cohesive unit to eliminate the hyperabundance of red ink from our cosmic ledger, a document spreading sheet which has been as continuous as it has been collective.
It’s an impressive accomplishment, really—the longstanding thread we (manage to) keep in motion by sewing (both carefully and wildly) multiple threads into the most absolute, base level, quintessential tapestry, a hand-me-down torch which carries a degree of integrity we’d all be well-advised to preserve, the ladder that inspires our unflinching desire to rise (up), rinse, and repeat.
(While thoughts can be complex, the sentences that stem therefrom may up the ante.)
However, fear/fret not.
After all, we have afforded ourselves the opportunity to choose the hues with which we colorize our creation{s}, a learned ability that becomes its own prize by the gift of one’s will to apply finishing touches.
Be hopeful, everyone!
Now will always be the rolling moment that thunders louder than any other.
With the past in mind, we must remain present in order to guide our future toward success.
{Quit wasting time (anything).}
We can only live only right now—in other words, for us, in our current state, it’s either 0 or 1.
One.
Or the other.
Simply put, lead a life worth recording.
Just start there.
Then watch what happens.
Any kind of growth requires a type of inspirational propellant, a (systematic) shock to the (shocking) system, a springboard clamoring for the brand of boldness that galvanizes a blind leap.
When all else fails, deeply focus on inhaling.
Now tell me you’ve been uncompelled to exhale.
(I dare you {to fail}.)
Feel the wind; don’t fight the way it means to move you.
Find the flow then follow its path.
(You’ve been dared.)
Above all, let your fire breathe.
At the same time, breathe life into your passion{s}.
As with anything, managing the maintenance of motivational fuel amounts to a balancing act for all/the ages.
Do everyone a favor.
Make an effort to matter [and keep in mind that (all your) efforts do matter].
Stay positive.
Collect.
Spend.
Grow.
Win.
Now.
Damn.
Not later, okay?
Now.
It’s (way, way) past time!
For too long have we been overdue.
Now is when anything could happen.
The time that matters most only happens.
Right.
Now.
Go.

049

The following (piece of work) was excavated from Thierry’s mountain of notes.
Though clearly unfinished, it's beyond ready for the possibility of mass consumption through low-key publication.
Her voice should've been heard by now.

“Begin (to Unscramble) Being”

If you’re anything like me us,
then you like don’t mind when frames fuss
by ending up slightly crooked so often that (eventually) somebody {un}just{ly} decides to leave ‘em that way
[wait…
that didn’t “rhyme”{?}];
it signifies willful submission to myriad universal {im}balances—
id est, a treasure trove of infinite possibility
—afforded by the miracle-{up}rooting phantom
known in certain circles as none other
than gravity.
Is this no easier to read than the simplicity bleeding between the bean-stained lines of any elder’s prized deed?
(Would I [oh, you] even know?)
[Rest assured, not every point made may apply
(enough pressure)
before its implication{s} can be taken in stride,
before its impact earns a chance to collide,
before its memory finds the time to die,
before its echo
f
a
l
l
s
by the wayside.]
Is weight (not) as wildly weird as it is weirdly wild?
The way atoms seem to insist upon messing with mass,
depressing greatly 
many a hue 
of man en masse, 
inspiring every singled-out, fibrous 
strand of potential, 
organic might 
[a.k.a. {inner} strength],
every juiced-up, glowing shard 
of flexibly bequeathed light,
every single piece of heat-blasted sand [i.e. glass],
every mismatched mixup, 
every {interpret}{iter}-ation,
every new instance of an oddity,
every old version of a commodity,
every fresh example of currency,
every rotten sample of normalcy,
every (simple) math problem,
every (complex) spoken solution, 
every (complicated) written answer, 
every prismatic entity that draws its fire
from the closest star,
every nuclear display of brightness both near 
as well as far, 
every sliver of spatial awareness,
every fraction of visual impairment,
every gritty, grainy strand
in all the (godforsaken) land,
every gloriously orderly,
reliably sent, intently bent
foreground-overshadowing rainbow,
every last spectrum of color—
gravity has the stuff to make all these things
immovably {un}predictable,
as well as predictably moving.
Wouldn’t you I we know (it), though?
Shall we I you carry on, then?
Recollect and recall
when it starts hearts, clogs parts, and makes it hard (sometimes)
to catch a breath
[phew!]
as any blood-pumping drum relentlessly beats
itself to death,
remember who bogs/it it/bogs down
while anyone solo-travels (all) around,
and consider how it persuades oceans to flow,
then imagine where it coaxes muscles to go
before contemplating what it brings down in our young and takes up in your lungs
until pondering why it exhibits a propensity for shitting in/out sandwiches. [#yolo
Think about it too hard.
All of it.
Strain your {in}valuable noodle.
[You’re {not} thinking (about it) hard enough.]
Still.
Be—
[Reverse that, too.]
Besides the purest pull of primordial presence,
a.k.a. the gravity of existence
[there’s that (omnipresent, tilting) word again],
what’s the
ONE [plan B: WORN] force
which can cause vinyl to scratch?
What’s the solitary power that may affect the effectiveness of a mind
just itching to hatch?
At the moment, I know not which one of us forgot where we were going with (all/any of) this.
I’m sure there is a deeper meaning here;
however,
I am not sure [exactly] that it’s clear.
A pattern can only repeat after it first appears,
and the truth of any matter may spark explosions galore.
Facts are found in every fib, and therein lies the rubbery lore:
when any “body” hoards, we shall all have less of more—
there can be no two ways about it (anymore); 
therefore,
reassess the false necessity of obsessing
over haphazardly kept, foolishly swept,
ill-gotten scores.
The This Our world must be won.
For the span of “ever after”
there can be 
only one.
Greed oft-reveals itself 
as the ultimate, smoking gun.
And yet,
deep down,
anybody knows that
if one (of us) shares, then (we) all win.
When a pair of ends haven’t met
across the ongoing cycle of seasons over time
for any shrouded number of (many) clouded reasons,
occasionally devoid of a brazenly noisy rhyme,
they do tend to solidify their presence
before rewarding life’s persistence
while justifying mere existence
by highlighting our essence

out of the blue
[in a sense],

and rightly so.{..}

050

[
{original draft: 08/08/18 | (very minor) edits: 05/05/20 & 15/10/22}
Behold the poem of poems.
TNT didn't know exactly what this meant when she wrote it erupted from her essence.
But it means everything.
It explains anything.
And it's all about nothing.
(Not designed for ingestion via a small screen, but rather through the dimensions afforded by a standard, single sheet).
Expect no one to understand the following fully...
]

“Electromagnetic, Physical Imperfection”

By a force like rolling thunder, fire flickers for desire,
and as it turns out, the drum that barely beats forever
BANGS
solely to inspire.
To cite the power of will that animates the living
instills the gift we are born to grasp in the name of giving.
Hearts crave the weight of being, but our being needs to wait.
You One could find whatever we create within a sideways figure eight.
Ahem!
A burden, we may carry, but a light, it can be not.
If alight, something is, then weigh, it may not.
Being, in and of itself,
stirs a notion of potion inside an ocean of motion
ahead of shearing volition. At miraculous ignition of potential fruition,
Luck finds Time
as equal hearts assemble parts
to start an existential race against {our} universal nature (here) in fundamental space.
Along the way, life will fall only to spring;
and still, no thing can bleed forevermore;
furthermore,
ever-hungering pressure tips the top of all crowns,
consuming anyone’s “mind” while dragging every body down
to the immortal “black hole” of both corruption and greed,
granting power in circles at the apex of speed.
Not a thing in actuality costs any more in totality than reckless accumulation
off pockets deep in perpetuity since the first rising burst
‘fore the singular advancement toward our oft fabled afterlife.
Witness spiritual science thanks to fated compliance
of celestial dust in light of code essential thus. But,
in order for all to amass and try again with better synergy,
the essence of pure energy
[any time now, folks]
must end. But then
starlight might weave a particular growth
by the shocking polarity of gravity’s oath.
Psst, we’ve always felt the pressure pervading humanity’s weight:
it amounts to no thing nothing! Plus,
just think, this expresses the math that actually matters—
literally, it flipping makes matter
—when absolutely positively nothing else does.
Indeed, genesis, quite simply, must be; namely,
it means the quintessential product of inevitability.
A hope to tempt fate across our cosmic mentality
compels Her grace to fabricate in virtuality.
Throughout the heretofore unresolved mystery of existence,
an ever-clever proverb camouflages in plain sight:
comprehension of greed’s maintenance per gravitational insistence
shall reap wisdom aplenty sewn through color-rich light.
Ergo, this heavy burden that every thing intends to bear
becomes a blessing for all once awareness, we share.
Amidst the wealth of dark print watermarking pages in our storybook,
His trailblazing design highlights a primal fission that leaks enlightening vision
when and only when
we bother
to look.
See?
There must be; hence, let there be.
Light from afar charges that, and this, in time,
changes everything.
Check, mate:
soaking up Y’s stream of years while burning down X’s flood of tears,
life’s ablaze along a wavelength too low for human ears.
Existence fuels a sound, the beam of light that splits infinity,
and we’re bound to fill the void—starting now, and for eternity.
Ah, eureka.
Cause, hark, please, spark,
be, shine,
right
.