The RIP. James Bèyor

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СКАЧАТЬ pretense of allowed involvement is not subject to caprice. It is a "get away with" attestation for joining cause and it is the reason that fear causes belief. Is it feeling, thrown back to self-interrogation, that defines the cutting edge of fear, or is it circular reason at the center of a circular maze, a labyrinth of made-meant-mean sub-parallel subconscious demoralization of self? Words carry impulse. Our invented manifest reality is noun/verb false reactions.

      If stripped of reason, the human being would be inanimate and mute. He could then, in his silence, know that reason is performance and expectation of performance. He could understand that speed and momentum are connotations of mock time and mock progress.

      What if performance could be pulled from reason? Could there then, both in fact and in pretense to fact, remain a memory-enhanced active feeling that what is missing is not performance at all, nor deed, but calm? Could it be that motion, as the means for approaching some distant place, is in active want of elapsed time to travel, a defined axis between stillness and motion, between stimulus and no stimulus? Can elapsed time, then, be defined as active memory? If time is defunct and future an artifact, where are we going? In stillness, we are going where we are now. We are, outside time and without future, our own memory.

      The insistence upon crossing distances is measured in and by reason and in terms of false wants.

      Must we forthrightly blame all that is silent into motion whether we want to or not? Must we eternally kick the bees' nest to know the fury of the stinging bees?

      Motion is a steadily accelerated force exerted on or for or against an object or a conviction. Nature has a sinuous undulation; a cadence that we cannot decipher. It pulls and does not push in its sway; it is silent.

      We are the voice of It and the voice of the We of They. Our duty to entity is our sacred reason, and it demands every morsel and every strain of self to be delivered.

      Without the clear self-inherent sounds of all our senses overlapped in dulcet unison of one full voice, we can never become silent enough to know the calm inside. We need not exist disjointed in the dark hole of the R.I.P. The subconscious sub-parallel of the word can be felt and dissolved into one voice with interrogative fear as its friend in universal parallel of complete thought.

      There is a quiet voice that turns the human essence over and over again until no turning is necessary until, stillness to stillness, parallels are blended.

      Fear is the teller of circumstance: emotionally enhanced in the full life and freedom of the creature, the most gentle and loving thing on earth.

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