Ah, I See This Silly Blog Still Exists.

Fun.  To follow my recent doings, please visit www.taogaede.com

Thing.

I am an all around fine young gentleman who believes that one ought not be required to explain oneself in too great of detail without the benefits of receiving continuous feedback through interpersonal communication.  There seems to occur an unhealthy point of over saturation when one speaks of him/herself for too long without receiving any constructive criticism.  It is as if one initially becomes isolated on some distant foreign island, and this island is quite different from the mainland that one is accustomed to, so s/he must adapt to survive.  Over time, this person adapts, perhaps too much, to the new environment (with very little contact with anything or anyone previously familiar to the person), and so becomes alien to the world s/he once knew.  Eventually, the person may find his/her way off of the island, but evolution has taken its course so extensively that the person's natural environment is no longer the mainland; it is instead, the isolated island.  Now, as a foreigner on the mainland, it is decided that it requires too much effort to readapt, so the isolation learned from the person's island becomes the only easy option for survival.  It seems we have become accustomed to pursuing isolation to the point of glee; please, let us look outward for one another and be sure to revel in the never enough time we have together.

I Still Exist

Fumbly Barry Bins stumbles about the foyer, eyes peeled, radiating a gilded gaze for his lost, dearly beloved, hand-held knee scorchers.  He hears their cries bouncing 'round the walls.  It's a wandering tumult -- like a hall of mirrors of voices scattered and refracting.  Hole in his jeans, cool knees Bins boulders down the expansive hall and dives in a pillager's mania for the satiating key.  Warm knees.

Hole in his jeans, stiff knees Bins barrels down a wall, racking and prying his legs back in line.  But all numb, riled in a twist-crack!  Foiled
Faint feigned vigour vanishes; collapse!
Adrenal euphoria, all calm
Barry Bins' mind flushes under down down underneath the disparate shrieks.
Quiet.
Warm--at last;
faint.
Happy.

In Secure Certainty

In the middle of the ravine lies a lacklustre inspector fluctuating with misery around
The unattainable finer things in life. 
She extends her capacities for perception
To the ambiguous cloud accepting with certainty
That there is no need for attachment: lingering in an insatiably restless dichotomy.
The cloud is visible only,
No other sense detects it; so she holds her gaze strong and unrelenting.
What will she do next?
Perhaps she will follow the logic and see the cosmos;
Or maybe she'll hear a tree fall, shut her eyes, and laugh.

Have a Listen

Here's another song that I made: A Little Smackerel of Something


Feel free to tell me what you think.

Turn your brain to mush, or scatter it all over the ceiling; either will do.

I'm not totally completely of a specifically defined previously ordained assumed conclusion that there's a real definite final answer to it all.  Well, alright; like there's the blue green algae, right?  Yeah so like and then monkeys and maybe a touch of zebra shredding the pencil shaped porcupine, with total consideration for the subtle repercussions, of course!  So there I was minding my own business when SQUIRREL

Okay, there I was thinking about the hurricane season looming over the horizon when i got the sudden urge to move.  Well, it was more of a shift, actually; because I had to truly manifest each moment of the process.  First I considered my motions to the micrometre, which would entail very minute shifts in motion, nudges really.  Nudges nonetheless, kneading my joints which tamed my restless leg syndrome.  Quite thoughtful, now that I look back on it.

It's IMPORTANT to change the emPHAsis and pace of the piece of writing, otherwise it gets quite terribly filled with treacherous unnecessary and inexcusable things not totally not resembling stuff similar to, synonymous even, long-winded drivelous.  PLATITUDES not so as to be unproperly conveyered with grandmare unequivocally horribly.  Executed to a similar extent to not withdraw a silly little whatsit, oh yes.  A Pendulum crossing a bridge is probably the best way to describe this.


Like sawing on a cello, one could imagine face rolling on a keyboard; for that spirit derives and elicits an imagination that is required but not really because you shouldn't worry too much about not having it SORRY.  for not finishing the thought previous in a familiar and clear cut fashion, because it means nothing unless you already understan the man has a plan his tan is a sham, he uses clam juices mixed with a shredded ram, or a lamb; as long as it's young and callously disregarded.

It's the best kind, really.

RORIKSTEAD RORIKSTEAD RORIKSTEAD sovngarde.

A Limerick

The carefully planned conjurations,
are said to evoke total elations;
however, in reality
with results most ghastly,
oft cause horrid vomiting sensations.