jonathonh
Everyone has had a certain urge, one that permeates their being, the crosspollination of ideas of previous lives. why is it not the way I want I cannot comprehend this but any emotion too intense has made one feel this way.
The mists of time permeating us all we are vapor we are the sands of some forgotten rocks we broke open upon desolate terrible shores of hardness and became what we are.
When I was young my father told me about the flowers how they would bloom every year, then die off.
their whole existence predicated on offering up themselves for sensory approval, here we are to see the progeny eternal.
the brash line the thread steady steady whooooaaaaaa
the cargo dropped like in some hokey action film
constancy steadyness
flash of light gone
smash the lights gone
switch the light on
pitch it right its gone
home run
youtube
so smooth
i give it 8 out of 10
would lie to you?
The expansion of particles within a ontaines space the sphrwk sphwrk of rubber the explosion ifound a balloon at the park wrapped around a jungle gym bridge
joy is joyous joyless jon wish joy being the being entire
joy is entirely from within i am the architect and the artist
painting the canvas entirely with red and heat
here we are then then then because i am aroused for this or that
i think i am entirely withdrawn now no part of me genuine now its untrue
the spectator in me is joyous the leader is toying with suicide the leader is toying with becoming a god he is joying a ploy the joy joy the joy joy joy the joy the joy i am entirely what i am and then i am not that i am joy i am hate i am joy i am love i am what i am how i am now i am this i am how i feel i am how i thin i am how i sit and sin
i am the slight ache and the crippling pain we are joy is and i am the universe contains joy what we call good but we do not wish to die yet is there any difference from life we do not live life fully so i believe most wont die death fully and joy of joys, my joy who is my joy the greatest joy the spectator the greatest joy of the architect and the artist to create entirely and forget to create then destroy the vacillation of joy and the contrast that keeps it alive.
To cover up our arms
A place to house the arms
Striped sweaters
everyone has sleeves
a man without sleeves
sexual exhibitionary
a man with sleeves
repressed puritan
you could say anything with such conviction.
pixies! little magic people that cover us with their little maic dust makes me sneeze
what do you believe - that we are composed of thousands of tiny spots? - we a afterimage of tiny things as is everything.
Nowhere to be
My home is the earth and the place I am at
Home is within and without
where we find ourselves again
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writing since 2012 · 60 entries · 56 days shown up
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the words jonathon reaches for
joynowpainmomentbelieveamountthoughtswishlosshomeentirelydontbehindlightoriginalgod