It was Friday, 24th after I wrote that last post that I almost left. I’m afraid I can’t really write anything substantial nor love hominids. They equate love to sex. And sex is for something else. I am monogamous.
I may flirt to Kingdom come, but I am also for the ultimate nuclear fusion and that my lovelies, has nothing to do with being tarty, or cyprian and please do not misconstrue me again, for the umpteenth time; as much as sluts enjoy their pleasures I’m not against their addiction, nor am I bashing them.
Why must everything terrestrial be suddenly über-sensitive — Its best to decrypt each line in Undecimus, even when some are tagged fiction. The form my love, is the template itself!
Love is the Ascension, whilst the glory of sex is the Descension or the proverbial Fall, from wherever that locality which is least pleasurable it seems … as you have understood well, these are but imagery for the mind to understand — this process is, in layman’s patois, referenced to the Emerald Tablet, the Alchemy. And Love fortunately is not a conceptual idea of some bearded person in the sky.
I was out in the
garden jungle, and the Sun was just rising. I had thought, that it would have been … a nice day to stretch and lounge. Just then, there was an overwhelming rush, like the last time I had in Jerusalem.
I had died twice in Jerusalem in 1995.
I had lived there, much earlier during the King’s reign, and saw the catchment basins of Solomon. In that era, they were civilised and were fashionably attired in contrast to the über modern civilisation of mundaneness. Conscious recollection is not, I’m afraid fable even when one has lived in a bygone era, and living to tell. I’m sure many are closet incarnates, and are hoping none will pry open their pandora box.
I’m afraid nothing is veiled therein the Uni-Verse, so its best to just pretend that one can actually play hide-and-seek with the mind. The whole is Love really. Each sun within its own circumference. The math is just for the translation of imageries. For the dimension even in the mundane, is like water.
This time, I had bouts of past headaches after that comatose in eighty-nine. It was literally a wake-up call — Houston! We have a problem not. I had to resort to painkillers. Just two tablets left. Yellow tablets. It was the last strip left, found in the luggage. I thought I had like a bunch of those stashed somewhere. For the just-in-case.
People often think I’m frozen just because I don’t behave like them. Just because I don’t flush garbage out of my mouth. Just because I don’t show affections out in the open or blog of it. My private life is just that. Only the Lover knows what I’m up to. The rest just adore presuming the worst or sauciest of me. This form sweethearts, is only for one. Unfortunately, I do feel pain. Not mine. I feel everything. I feel the world. But this was then. I thought, if it was going to happen that day, then it’d be a tad too late for anything … for love, for Paris, for the Agency startup.