SAVANT IS LIKE

https://open.spotify.com/track/1XCQDidynocCM79oIRhHPL?si=Rybkw8-GSsG6EErE5YQMuw

Wring

 Did you ever think why how what

That arrow had flung there then

Into what direction a wind of those voices

Had thrown it

So pick, pick, pick, pry

These molecules for an answer

Just drop this arrow, no target

Pick and walk and drive

Perhaps no more wrung than a free tissue

What more do you ask

O dearest ones and little, need an answer?

Figure it out

Simulacrum

 How vehement within you draw

What beginnings seemed clear

Yet moments stretched and his eyes

Filter light as deepest nights

How soon a needle sewn o' so

Tight without resistance those lips

Crystal, his flesh, glass skin

Beckon him to crawl abrupt without contact

So you, humble humble kid

Freely crush this can

Tomorrow you'll see not

A reasoning for hushing yarrow

Fuck the light

 I never had as much to an aversion to light as I do right now. It's so gray and cold and bleak outside that the mood right now is better for the room to be dark and dimly lit. I could have never wished so hard than right now to have blackout curtains, god. Here I am duct taping towels and blankets on my walls to block out the light and it works, a bit. I just wish it were nighttime. The darkness feels comfortable.

Daega, The Lost Prophet

    

    After the Great Messiah Nimates ascended (died), he appointed 9 of his closest followers, the Table of High Prophets, to lead the cult of Nimatism on his behalf until his return. Daega was one of those high prophets. Daega believed adamantly that the messiah would return, and, wishing to conquest and solidify the cult as a global power (a belief that the messiah condemned), he devised a plan to exploit the Table into a power imbalance. He seized the power, but was nearly murdered in vengeance after he had killed the son of one the high prophets. The Table, impressed by Daega's genius, yet betrayed by his actions, had his eyes gouged. Daega was then excommunicated and sent to a remote desert where he was left to die.

    Though Daega had still believed the messiah and sought conquest to spread his scripture and teachings to all, in a belief it would thereby trigger his return (the Second Insurgence), Daega, outraged and forsaken by the ones he thought were truly the blind ones, survived. His survival was possible because he had exhumed the Salet, a head wrap belonging to the messiah, and wore it across his eyes, imbuing him with supernatural vitality and granting him the Sacred Strings, wires of light into which the messiah ascended. The light has such energy, that they can cut through anything. With the Salet and his loyalty to the messiah, Daega was determined to bring the Second Insurgence.

    Daega, alone, set on a pilgrimage to Arkon, the mountain peak where the messiah had died. The messiah did not respond. He prayed, but heard nothing. He did not know if he was forsaken for his past actions, the betrayal, the theft of the Salet. Daega had cried, but being blind, the only tears that produced were those of blood. They still stain the Salet and leak from his eyes. He persevered for an answer. He fasted, prayed. In prayer, he reached enlightenment through the seven meditations that took the form of halos: being (black), beauty (purple), love (red), peace (green), joy (yellow), holiness (white), and grace (blue). But still, no answer. Was this the answer, the seven meditations? Despite the silence, this could be what the messiah had left behind as his legacy to the next messiah, these meditations as his essence for whoever to discover enlightenment. "Our Lord is dead, and from His own divine artifacts and being, we are imbued with His ashes these Seven Meditations which constitute the form of the Chosen, and let these strings bind the meditations to unity."

    After the pilgrimage, Daega had accepted his god as having left beyond return and had realized--from his excommunication and pilgrimage--he was the lost prophet. Perhaps he was the Second Insurgence, the new messiah. Thus, Daega set out from Arkon on his mission to conquer the nonbelievers who banished him, absorb the Nimatists' first insurgents, and spread the new, Second Insurgence to the world.

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    How to expand on the story?

• Character development: Dive deeper into Daega's internal struggles as he grapples with his faith, betrayal, and newfound sense of purpose. Explore his past experiences and relationships with the other members of the Table of High Prophets, as well as his own journey of self-discovery on the remote desert island.
• World building: Expand on the lore and mythology surrounding Nimatism, the Great Messiah Nimates, and the Sacred Strings. Describe the society and hierarchy within the cult, as well as the beliefs and rituals that shape their worldview.
• Conflict and resolution: Introduce obstacles and adversaries that Daega must overcome on his quest to spread the Second Insurgence. Perhaps he encounters rival factions within the cult, external threats from non-believers, or moral dilemmas that challenge his newfound identity as the "lost prophet."
• Explore themes: Delve deeper into the themes of faith, power, and redemption. Explore how Daega's actions are influenced by his beliefs and desires, and how they ultimately shape his journey and impact the world around him.
• Plot twists, surprises: Incorporate unexpected twists and turns into the story to keep readers engaged and guessing. Perhaps Daega discovers hidden truths about the origins of Nimatism or encounters unexpected allies or enemies along his journey.

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Other comments

• Huh wow, Daega I thought of as quite evil for wanting to conquest, against the messiah's wishes, and also taking the Table for himself and whatnot. But then he got excommunicated, became enlightened, and set out on vengeance to destroy the Table and spread the second insurgence. 
• But oddly enough, his revolution and conscription of the original Nimatism improved most of the lives of those following it by dismantling the corrupt Table? He upended them and successfully gets vengeance, at the cost of a great number of lives, but ultimately enhancing and reviving the quality of life and faith of Nimatism, hm?

TRACY JAAAACKS

 TRACY JACKS

works in civil service

TRACY JACKS

its steady employment

TRACY JACKS

is a golfing fanatic

Barber Beats!

 

If there's something I can appreciate a lot about the genre of barber beats is that it is great study and work music. I can do stuff with my bike. Do chores. Typing out stuff at work. Studying. It's great background music, a soundtrack that fits for any kind of low-level activity.

Untitled no. 9

Stand front the words wall

Crack a pick, lip shapes chisel

Turns to drop his tool

Sand

Green riptide calmly flow

Sine wave breezes

and the hairs and clumps hung

from wooden lightning shimmer

Frequencies so short like lasers

beam in to the air waves and see

how deep is this blue?

Pleasantly empty you trudge

For the days are one and the new

next now not near approaches and

with his face distant he inches

through a portal of the desert he walk

Finally with mind vacuous yet oozing

a melted sand through your hands

Orange and yellow blinds you so

eyes shut to see everything more

Nature Memoir V

 Two contrails. White slow motion comets. Looking up at the inverted ocean to see those drag racers' wake like the most distant scratches on a metal. And opposite, the moon. Palest crescent. This sickle-shaped tear much like the bead of rain on God's window. Unperturbed, the sun. Yet when obscured by the roof's edge its brightness you can gaze directly upon, only within a shadow. Only within a shadow do you look at, can look at, the brightest object. Yet otherwise its reach is from your tiny eyes an infinite span. Somewhere very far away, this light disappears over the horizon. The same light that penetrates the air yielding most crisp shadows under it is weak and fading elsewhere. We two look at the same sun, same light, yet different. How the very scale of the Great Curve moves.

Distractor

Forbade herself from the questions

Distrust particular judgments

And swim Carefully

Just to keep doors cracked

I applaud her, lip tape shuts

Visible stains from my mouth

Itch her mind and yet

Sound pleasant to hush

Starve. Beautiful famines cradling

Your frame, your letters, distance

Blame this greatest furthest stretch

On and on, only wait more

Whip

O how it seeks to repent by

Having mind wrung and

clutched tight o'er his scalding fingers

and illen astringent words

in what unrequited fury loves

Roots upheaved by language spade

uncover'd trinkets and keepsakes

Best not to be uttered or spoken 'cept

"Thine own little amusements"

Clenched too far with his eyes

Probe not, dear friend

For sewn tight your lips shall comfort

and pace backwards as foreseen

Take your contrition to a shape

Of something, like Great Omens

Nature Memoir IV

 How is it, that the sun is bright and you see hard shadows cast from everything under it, yet you cannot see the blue of the sky anywhere? The haze over the clouds is so thin it hide the blue behind, but is just thin enough the light penetrates as though it weren't there.

It's a marble colored sheet, that haze. The clouds are still prominent enough with defined edges and billows, yet they fade into the haze so smoothly. Gray upon gray. A monochrome that looks like it is from a distant memory. Cloudy and sunny and overcast all simultaneous.

The wind is heavy and you can visibly see it push and shift clouds like the breath of God. So distant do the birds fly. The furthest you have ever seen. They are like flakes of pepper up there, tiny black pinpricks, poppy seeds, specks. Black angels. Silhouettes of black angels drifting. So free. Beyond them, a plane. The man-made metal bird. It too soars, vanishes. If only you could be there. If only...

Echo

 O how no tears flow

In your arid hot soul

But they are made of wind

How calm winds pour from your sockets

Orbit orbit swim and dive

Around your hovered light

Sick from voices and eyes

But let platinum erode you soft

Smile only for that blessing

And even if not a muscle moved

Your ends are flowing in the sun

Beauty shine in blackest woods

Ego dim in whitest grass

Any color but gray

And place but in

Just to smile and whittle

Out under infinite

Heaven Black

 And the breath that ooze

From pale dim earthen fur

How such tears fall from the

Frozen smoke suspended high

What beauty made and

Fabricated out your tender fingers

Craft such tiny leaves

And throw them down on lilies

Pick a darkest furthest place

And see a familiar stranger

Embrace this cradling black

To find heaven in oblivion

And fall back down

Down in Heaven Black

Sun Poisoning

A statue of this man

Tiny little organism

Baked, frozen, mute

And how sun poisons his flesh

Comfortably washed by ions

Slowly destroying his skin with

Tender embraces and flecks of

None but radiating spherical luminosity

Let my statues, my outs

To receive my daily sun poisoning

Let them be

A little less lonely

yeah ok sure buddy