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Thread Contributor: MuttleyRandom thoughts thread

Reading is really doing my head in at the moment. Unless it's related to music. Maybe the right term would be focussing. I just find it really hard to do (at the moment). Close observation, that stuff. I don't find it boring, it just really flags me. Then I remember I'm a tall lonely teddy bear who occupies empty air I'm not a millionaire I'm a pennyaire, yes!

That's it. That's it.

Thank you very much.
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This is your life, and its beginning one belief at a time.
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INDICES

Indices is a nice word. It means a part, a segment. Usually used as descriptor. 

I was thinking the other day about "this". Existentialism and literary onomatopeia. Oratory descriptor vs. Saying what is, the way something sounds, as like its existing form. Or something else.

What do I really mean? "This"...

Opposites attract
Polarity is matched
As become Bs 
...And descriptors become driven by time. 

For instance, "Love / Hate" is very common. It takes into account all of "this". But this just doesn't exist. Words fail, and life is too changeable for just love and hate. 

And neither is neutrality really right (or wrong) either (or). We just don't technically live in an era advanced enough to deal with things that aren't...

Positive or Negative
Positive AND negative 

...does that mean two positives in the end, as in the theory of potential? Not really. It just makes it easy to assign one descriptor and nail the type of stumulus where it all takes place.

Cue: emotion.
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If you believe enough to read this entire thread, it will so far take you 3.5 hours glued to it in bed. Which I did, from 5.30 to 9am this morning. Xyxthumbs
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Hahaha
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So glad i signed off from FaceBook. The Alex Jones algorithms are highly poisonous.
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I lack the power of belief atm Wink
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We can not feel or integrate what we are unaware of.
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Dust bowls of second hand class

It was dust of second hand class / blowing in the dustbowl / a scene of the past.

It was grit at the scene of the crime / when tutored by a sleuth / became a fine line.

It was grain that dug into the cranium of life / like branches in a tree / stems cut with a knife.


These predicaments are rivalled only / when life becomes a phone call away / when we...
...lose all meaning of the lines we have been endearing / joyful and abundant.

Mrb
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I haven't been very close to one Uncle who is dying in hospital right now, but I wish him and his family all the best. He is my mother's older brother. 55 is no age to die, from anything. But when one of the three vital organs of the body is heavily damaged through life abuse - in this case the liver (natural causes), there is no way back once it has packed up.

So feeling really sad at Xmas, feeling for my Mum, she won't have the best time, but as long as we're here for each other we'll be ok.
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2016 has been a rollercoaster of a year before that term became outdated. A step back in time to family trauma and loss. I don't feel heartbroken, I just feel numb. Numb about life. Never suicidal. Life's too wonderful for that. But possibly low. So it's grieving about that, really. Much of my time I'm like a pig at a trough, wallowing in the mud but having fun because I'm so used to it. I blank people I never knew existed without hesitation because I'm normally so out of it. But my auntie and uncle's deaths in the past 8 months (not that far apart somesuch) has really hit home how immortality is only so utopian an idea until it is taken away.

One reason I write in this personal thread too. It's good to let the emotions be exorcised, the demons be exorcised, and the hatred of everything that seems unfair at the present time, that which confuses, riles and cuts down everyone to size who comes into contact with it.
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I'm gonna blow this damn candle out
I don't want nobody comin' over to my table
I got nothing to talk to anybody about
All good dreamers pass this way some day
Hidin' behind bottles in dark cafes
Only a dark cocoon before I get my gorgeous wings and fly away
Only a phase, these dark cafe days
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Lovely lyrics. Which song lyrics?
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Blue
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I have currently been randomly thinking of Emile Mpenza.
www.astrophonica.co.uk           
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Beauty is imperfect, and perfection exists in the eye of the beholder. Subjective existentialism
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of course, the most frenetic of times are gravitas that starts to wane, over time, over a period. periods of time are not as
necessary as points in time, as period root - attention, concentration - varies, leaving us either with hope or regret.

it is with this said that one feels welcome into the world of fantasy rather than absolution, because absolution becomes a
obstruction of true reality, when life is only a dream, that's all it is. and that is the sheer beauty of life - beyond the
naysayer depressions, it can be whatever you want it to be, if you are at the right point in time, and with enough effort.

one takes it upon oneself to offer the infinite singular soul up as a sacrifice, to one's own god - my soulmate - to cherish
as she wishes in later life, sleep and dreaming, non-absolution, mindfulness and wakefulness. these teachings may not be an
aspect of darwinian theory, but they are what is in my mind, what i cannot regret, what never destroys me, and what stops my
life from descending into suicidal squalour.
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as matt haig says in 'reasons to stay alive', "pleasure can actually grow out of it", the "it" and "marriage" being pain. pain becomes eradicated and forgotten about over time the more we learn to forget pain exists.

easier said than done, but it's definitely one reason I do not get very hung up about anything anymore. I've gained too many riches in the form of experience. so I am rich in mind body and experience, and that is enough for me. I might not be squirreling away millions, but I've got everything under control, just the way I want it.

hey, next week If I still believed god could throw in a curveball, but I play nice, I pay my dues, I've learned a lot, and the biggest thing I always said I learned was I hurt myself the most out of anyone ever.
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Sex offenders are the worst type of people. Especially when they resemble Jimmy Saville.
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i ran half a mile in only my boxing shorts
now im thinking pneumonia's getting the better of this old man
even in the evening sun
im scared to go outside
afraid of meeting a junkie
wholl fret over which clothes im wearing 
and how many fags i can lend him
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quick one two, trade me a camera in the breeze
running out of eyes to see
the wood from the trees
it's an exciting life
living in shit end street
with convertibles of concept the only luxury receipt
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put the ring rust to one side
we made it past three, now numbers are on our side
like a bumbling bingo caller
fifty-two?
or was that forty-six
"let me check the score cards!"
"i'm stoned off my tits!"
the song of the wandering wurzel wally
broken into three like a two-piece dolly.
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wire 399 boomerang last two pages good. enjoyed reading while listening to deep music. bedside reading.
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carmenere 2015 valle central, wine of chile
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best essay title ever:

"Please tell my landlord not to expect future payments because Attali's theory of surplus-value-generating information economics only works if my home studio's rent and other use-values are close to zero."

Hahaha
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