Time is a transitive

Verb as it is always in action, a relative, in motion, never quite what we think before it happens, never quite enough, or way too much. It’s never right, this thing called time. It messes with us all our lives. I know if I had more of it, I wouldn’t stress about wasting it, or if there was plenty of time to do what life required of you to be simply happy, but how can you be, when there is an ounce of suffering much less beheading as an emblem of hatred, this global fuel of violence, a tinder waiting to catch and where will you be? And are you innocent? Who could ever claim such a thing, unless you were an infant? And then, you would never have the consciousness to do so that’s really the only time the human race is absolved of irreparable guilt over just breathing, after so many years. We blew it a long time ago and then there’s no way to tell so you end up being in exile or an asshole and go back and forth just to survive, that’s just the way it is, everyone succumbs, I believe, even Mother Theresa maybe sometime in her life had to make a choice to live and was not the glorious example of a human being, who knows, who cares, there are enough schmucks and evildoers ten times over to make up for any living saint, and there seem to be fewer in our life times than in those before.

But, I digress.

Time is of the essence.

a single sunbeam (Tan Renga challenge)

Originally posted on Traces of the Soul :

I love this tan renga challenge. Mark’s haiku is beautiful. It can be translated in many interpretations, one of autumn leaves a natural street art…graffiti.

© Clr '14
© Clr ’14  two blocks from my work

When I see the sun setting on the rooftop at work, I see the sun took centre stage for a long time, is now graciously bowing and allow twilight to take over and the finale act…city nightlife. I can see the lights looking like sparking stars just below the burnt orange well where the sun has dipped for the night.

© Clr '14
© Clr ’14  rooftop of our offices

I have decided to add my piece both in English and French. Our office building as well as many on our street are tagged with gangs’ calligraphy as well as airbrushed art on other buildings.

a single sunbeam
scribling runes on fallen leaves –
autumn graffit © Mark M. Redfearn

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What can I say, Pied Piper?

We both know you win. The story’s a bore, always the same, relegated to tendrils of safety, quantum vortex not the issue but ghost thank you for not testing texting me all Malder Scully having sex on my tumblr finally – I figured seriously there will always be need for farmers, water purifiers-medical personnel – strong men genius design

Step one

Answer the correct ad
www.imuafilm.wordpress.com

Disaster Day

Today should be proclaimed. I believe at least 6 earthquakes around the world (latest Ukraine-Russia) and a volcano in the relatively non-resilient (147 out of 165, I immediately mused who calculates such calamity and how do we reduce such facts to mere figures?) Japan–and you see the earth convulsing & you hear the blade whirring and the noise becomes incompatible until: silence.

The unknown returns as blight among the land. ‘If you can control a population…’ the whiney alien expert hails from the muffled speakers, a trap no doubt of smart technology too stupid to keep up with the forgotten ones.

And those shall be the ones who must rise.

Dark Confessions

I figured at some point I should just start admitting it, the thought of it, that is, was all that it ever was, because to act on such a thought makes one a slut or a whore and you might stop short of that on occasion or completely forego any labels at all by only having drunken sex with your spouse or yourself and a random event that you probably don’t want to remember. What is that? Is that 50 Shades of Grey woman as rich as Harry Potter now? If so, there could be future in the archives of madness, a marquis de sade in reverse that never happens. I mean did that former network ‘exec’ in England (I swear they have a different job there, I just know it and I hate them for it) goes off and writes some graphic porographic erotic novellas—I started it, I can tell it’s compelling or was in the day but it’s actually got too much character for me! What is wrong with me? I must be able to exploit this for cold, hard cash. There must be a way, and it really should get easier with age…