The blue moon

This keyboard for hire comes once more from the web, to the web, to untangle some strings, so they can be tangled once more, but in new words.

The messenger travels backwards, his duty now over,

but first a rest, for his soul is weary and his feet tired.

All of man knows of his travels, and with out knowing,
lament both ends of his duty. For at each end his must rest.

With each rest comes a time of silence, and confusion.

who will deliver our good news?

Who will deliver the bad?

One can call this time grand, one might call it sad.
Some say that no news is good news.
Those that say this are expecting wretched news.

Some fear the worst when they hear not of good tidings.
These that fear are expecting grand news.

But the moment I hear of news it could not be.

Old news is called his story, who will be this days his?

The aether now speaks once more, through my fingers, The Typist.

What shall it say? What can it say? What does it matter, it is the aetherial nothing. It is everything but backwards, and so backwards I speak, but only as I can.

Perfection in translation cannot be known, two words never mean the same thing, in this language, or in any other.

But I do my best.

So Here I go.

The Moon and the sun once sung a song,
one that could be heard by all who would listen.


The Moon and the Sun Do Sing a song,
but you're not listening.

This song is the story of our year,
and our months.

It is this song the trees live.

Our years fall short,
our months are guesses,
our weeks arbitrary.

The week is a schedule now for which the weak take breaks,
and live guesses.

The month, does what?

For some,
It shows when bread and water appear on table,

but for others,
this is the duty of the week,

(typically this is the case of the weak)

but I digress.

The month is but a name which stands
for a number in a system of twelve.

The name means nothing,
pulled from ancient stories long forgotten,
perhaps they did mean something,
but on you this is wasted.

The year
and the season

still maintain some

reason,
rhyme

to their song,

but shift they are.

This system expects all units to be measurable
in whole units of lesser shapes,
though the orbits of the planets

(which we once called gods, and who still bear the name of the gods of old)

They disagree.

This planet takes 365.xxxxxxxxxx days to complete an orbit,
and this length is growing in fractions with every moment.

The seasons still land on the days of equal and limit,
but I see so few who pay heed to the lunar holidays.

Why would they?
If one instrument in a band of fools can play their part,
hardly does this make up for the others.

So the seasons song still makes it to the ears,
but if that is all that is left untrifled,
a pathetic song does this make.

You know why you don't listen.
The songs not the same,
it has been
mangled,
chopped,
destroyed.

But the instruments are still playing the true songs,
if only you will try to listen.

Mercury just passed its station, and is now walking back. Now we live in the underworld, here is where we slay our demons and destroy our foes.

Use your left hand and right brain,

and all will be clear.

The equinox has passed, and all are not equal, and this world is not yet set a flame. It seems the last chance for this precognitive revelation is the time when moon turns to blood.

But you should all know better then to believe that an epiphany can be pre known. Throughout history, the greatest strings of thought came from unsuspecting blows to the head, and sudden distractions in the heat of thought.

Guessing at the time of painful epiphany is like trying to guess what your next thought will be. You cannot guess with out thoughts, so the guessing process will never stop, and it will burn you out.

The red moon has passed and the energy is here. Our great god, sol, is rolling around in its sleep.

The power of the stars, yet to be heard by ears of many a mortal man. What, is two slow? You can sea the change of the sea's sons and the progress of ions and trans greesions of d'aughter (most notably in the sea of our sun's law).

Do you think the whether is forum'd from the move meanings of the son and the d-aughter alone?

Our son gives anergy, but if our son alone were representable in our act's ions... Sorry, the states we traverse (united might they be)... There would only be ni, da, and the sea's sons. Who would transport our gases (in all of it's states)

Many might say the it is d'aughter... but she can only serve as a square to the sea's first son (the first soul).


The son's doesEnt loves not all dazed states or sure locks of his mother. The sum may know why... The difference may not.

But mayhaps this is a space where the united state meant is in verse, as opposed to prose.

Maybe sure I am not of such things... But obviously There must be something to be said.

Last Edited by Many Masks, One Face. on 10/08/2015 09:10 PM

To the piece that be with in me when the lights of the akashic wheb shine their brightest.

Thank you.

This is a one man show, no, not this thread. Michael Productions.

namaste

And to you, my friend, and Protector of mankind.

my humility is yours..

And mine is yours.

So now the sea's sons shift, and our aether is changing.

Now once more the knife bee combs me, but what eye do no yet one?

Free domes are laust, and the Sum of bodies is no hola

Is this no sense? or is this sum sense? Perhaps the average of booth.

What body has this body, but somebodies nobody?

Who's name have I but those names that some have named to be named as my name? I am the name and the name for that name, for what name other than that which names the name of a name can give the name of name to the idea of a name...

I am the words and the meaning, but words give words meaning, and a word is a word that describes the word, word.

These names are but names for other names... your body is just a name given to a collection of atoms with a common end to a means. Your body is a chemical word.

And the blue moon came to pass, once again, and the warrior of keys has once again come, to speak his wisdom upon the.

As a true wise man, I must tell you now, I am not wise, but I try my best, to give you and your friends the information you need, to live better in this world then you did before.

But it does not take my words to make that happen. Better is relative, each moment will always be better than the last.

My words, your words, our words, no words, all words, are wise. So you would be wise to listen, or not listen, to these words. They may be yours, or mine, or nobodies in particular.

Can you trace the source of your thoughts? Who put the words you are currently thinking into your brain? Where did your language model come from. We are all programed, no matter how much all of us here at the productions of Michael like to insult the common people for being programmed animal people, we too are programmed. I am doing it now, you will do it too, simply by reading this. I will receive your entropy even if you do not respond, or rate, or change my karma. You will change that little counter on this post, that will tell me that my words have reached you, programming me further, in what direction? That bit of information is less precisely defined at this moment, until you come to take part, and try it on for your self.

Program me, and I will program you. I am open to your words, and you will be open to mine, even if through a back door.

The blue moon may truely be upon us.

And the light falls on a new day, today is brighter then the day before this one. Our lives live on, stabbed together by a line of time, each moment passes. Our madness grows, Entropy lives, entropy dies, but can it?