Sans the Darkness while Holding Light.

I once thought if you were with something then that meant you had control of something.  I thought having meant understanding ideas, of possession, of understanding your ownership of a singular mutual concept between others outside of and those involved within, a common understanding.  There is no black and white, no right or wrong, the social model justice system has led us astray.  There are variants, which have not been created yet, that exist as answers to questions, which have been formulated centuries ago, that have been pondered,  and for centuries to come will be pondered, extrapolated, and dissected into infinity and beyond, with no understanding of the certainly correct answers that lay before them.  I am wrong.  I am American.

Western society views possession as power, as ownership of wealth and power, there precious.  Ownership is an acceptance of oppressive means.  I own all that I write, my words are my indentured servants.  They have no say, they only tell you what I tell them to interpret to you, what I want you to believe is true; I see a lake and I describe a mountain:

At the majestic highest peak, one, ever so cautiously, takes into account the wind blowing granules of powdery white snow, which, would burn to the touch had they encountered a mountaineer’s bare flesh, and possibly inflict a deadly case of frostbite.  The mountain-ranges in the foreground humble even the most seasoned explorer.  The sky is a crisp blue above, a miraculous benevolence in such a hostile environment; naught eagle, nor hawk dare soar within the frozen atmosphere of the altitudes.  To what advantage the climbers have but none against the elements.  He, the adventurer, is but with god and luck, and god just took a leave to create another messiah.  

What you learn and possess as a child, such as, but not limited to, physical touch, education, common sense, and compassion can all but be lost and forgotten in a moments time.  Your value can be ripped from you until you are worthless, you have lost it, and you have lost your stance on where you exist.  I walk across the street get hit by a car and die.  What did I do today?  I worked.  Did I work on my birthday?  No.  Should I work on the day I die?  Where you stand has nothing to do with where you stood yesterday, a month ago, a year ago, before you were conceived.  Your regalia is stripped you become nothing, and you despise it.  You might not like me, but you continue to agree with my words.  Why?  Because of commonalities in language and words.  You agree that working too much is shit, and that we should have the ability to be free; laissez-faire to the masses of enlightened care free individuals.  What you read is nectar to your supple ears, familiar, you perspire to touch and fondle.  You nimble creature, a reader of words you are easily swayed by a commoner. Common ideas; but in the most unequivocal way possible, can I confuse you with poor grammar or word choice to get you into my head and out of yours?  Must I be vague to tempt my audience into contempt for more?  I don’t know.  I could be at work thinking about getting out and describe to you passion:

Her skin was warm to the touch and smells of soft flower petals that existed in your past.  We, nose to nose, saturated with the water surrounding us, embrace in the water under the summer’s night sky.  The wind, as tepid as the water, moves our attention to stars, burning pin-holes of light in the tenebrous depths of space, create an aura around our bodies.  Lips, fiery takers of lust, met eyes that catch bouncing light from distant street lamps.   She kissed my ear, I kissed her neck.  We are in love for just a second and then we move on.  For what seemed endlessness comes to an end.  Laughter within is only described as laughter without, a word is merely a word, but the feeling is gone forever.  I suggest we just forget.

I have said what I have said.  Words exist to control.  The creator of language is the creator of ideas that exist through cultures, subcultures, war and politics.  War and Politics.  Drama exists in theater and in life.  I prefer the former.  The latter is a bit too much at times, but exists more profoundly.  When will people grow up and try to comprehend relativity?

Live now or forever regret your beliefs.

I am not lying, I am sitting.

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About Terry Scott Niebeling

Hello, My name is Terry Scott, a human being with flaws. twitter: @sirterryscott Buy my ebooks: http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss_1/191-4788099-1818040?url=search-alias%3Daps&field-keywords=terry+scott+niebeling
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