When A Person Can Physically Connect More Than One Dot At A Time...

I personally experienced a near-death experience 16 days after this post was entered into the digital-network (through a military-grade knife and an NAVY-trained personnel). Wildness.

"I smile, like drytears of emotionless eyes."

Light can LITERALLY become “invisible” through the “Fractal Mirror Theory” (That if an image or or variable is refracted for “x” times, then the ”shattered mirror’s ability” to reflect the image, becomes unable to atomically represent the original source of the variable.)

Side note: No image is EVER, EVER... “Reflected”. This is a misconception of parallel surfaces. Light can only travel at a visible rate without causing quantum instabilities.

-IF glass is a liquid, and light can chemically affect that material... This too says that light can carry similar characteristics of glass and/or plastics. That’s especially to say that when light is bent, it’s also a substance.

There will NEVER, EVER be any source of time large enough to create energy.

-Time and energy (only these two) are from completely opposite sides of reality.

You’ll know death, personally. She’s the testimony of rituals, a choir hymn.“

Why?! Why God... how have you learned of my many unforeseeable ways?

Did you truly march upon the soil and earthly roads to teach me?

-Surely the being an “All knowing, Omnipresent form” could have, just as easily silenced me with the understanding of what any person truly is or needs!

I much enjoyed the well-stated silence, however, when does that same light cease to burn my flesh and eyes... and instead sets course to my prior and blackened past?

Do we ever, “validate” our choices through the support of fellow personalities?

-or as mere beings of mortal composition contain us within these predictable behaviors.

A+ Chanical Feat.

Heart of valve, Its blood... normal.

The dulled, and senseless taste of copper.

Gun of petri, powder of fire.

Curling toes, gripping fingers...

Lessons learned, -feathering triggers.

The cobblers' stone was broken into chips, gripping around the outside edges of each crease where every seismic material had previously collided. She bridged the water & hell; the type that once (upon many occasions) stole both ships and land. I reached outward, attempting to hold her hands, just before the tide, it already washed away her blond hair with a physicists laboratories and chemicals. She was a trash, a waste. Most men (nor other women) could fathom her eternal value. Love, love -she was my ONLY love. This was, after all, the story of... "How One Little Life": a tiny woman, weakened the mortal's god-forged shields and these swords of our armies.

Oh yes. There is that of the distant. Where one breaks under mounting weight. A kind which changes both the

man and woman, elderly and child. The new as a fever, a poison of the mind. We will be deaf, dying from every word. And lost are those, who have all but won. Given back, hands emptied of wealth. Where can we go? When is time a blessing, instead of this... of “that” prison? Who too will then justify our awaited destruction?!

Do not seek the comforts,

Of another person's,

Successes.

There is... but one sacrifice.

Not from life.

Nor from death.

But love.

Only, love.