#intelligentheart

I learn something new from a woman everyday. They don’t say much to me nor I to them. But when in an exchange I listen with the intent to understand what is said at face value. I listen to the spaces between sound: silences and sighs. Posture speaks before she does the same way her physical features introduce her before you meet her spirit. Information given without her outing her psyche, pathos, accent.

A woman’s energy is balancing even when it is noticeably negative. Low vibrating women tend to keep thoughts movements and thus words at a base level. Sex violence and love without reason, excessive passion, will ooze from their pores as anxiety with a lit device attched to their palm feed a holographic paranoia. Even this unreliable and inconsistent state of consistent low vibes can balance the most high vibrating pseudo hippy happy man.

The timbre and tones of the women that speak to me fall from their lips like rain water falling to the verdant earth off the spring leaf. From cloud to leaf, mind to lips, nourishment is provided through the waters of her vibe, sliding off her lips/leaves and falling to me, father earth, second hand nourishment from the confused divine.

In this day our grapes come with no seeds but they’re food for the gods. Goddesses come not wanting to be such but their melanin pops. Confusion in pathos is rampant amongst mi gente regardless of sex. Baby girl don’t believe in energy and spirits but hits my line for fulfillment. What keeps her coming back? The unseen falling from her lips builds the unseen box she pleads for others not to put her in. I see it as cyclical, the only help she wants is physical so I oblige.

It is that voice one hears when silence disguises its self as distant pacific bus exhaust and placid police sirens that moves the Will to act. Silence, as in, stillness about and faint quasi audible chatter; muted stabs of soul music as that low and lovely bass boom breaches the barricade of drywall barely penetrating the wood finish. Muffled tonal and rhythmic, low frequencies tickle the bottom of one’s flat feet. One may never hear silence as defined but one may know silence when she arrives. The voice will reveal the silence by way of amplifying, silently, chanting in rhythmic cadence truth which springs forth in such silent eloquent succession that it can become too too much for the weighted heart or the feather-weighted heart. So much so that one may avoid the voice by focusing on the silence at hand. 

How far is that siren? Must be trippin up twenty-first. What is there to eat? Where’s my ph-

The silent voice creeps behind vague angular thoughts, showing itself this time with brilliant bravado, circular harmony and stern syncopated runs awashed in one’s accent putting pieces of one’s life in order, all one must now do is stay on beat. But in this modern age there is beauty, of a bizarre sort, in rebellion, even against one’s self. 

And! there are others. Sycophants that support rebellion against one’s self. They are organized and good natured, as good in nature as anyone or any thing can be that endorses and coddles the ability to deny one’s inherent nature. More so than not, these sycophants detest the sound of their silent voice. Only through persistence can one truly silence the already silent voice. And perhaps it can never be silenced, by definition, but merely drowned out by a number of modern, sleek, sensible, and chic 21st century social devices. 

It takes an intelligent heart, wearied then re-energized, broken and then mended, to sit and converse with the direct nature of one’s silence. The voice stands unshakably along the lines of priority and progression. Pleading and urging, pushing and prodding uninvited in to the tranquil “breaks” of one’s consciousness.

The intelligent heart aims to beat to the Rhythm in Time. 

Weighted or feather-weighted, it is without consequence that many and most of the excuses to not dance this cardio dance is because of or having to pertain to Time. Having enough of It or not, It forever moves freely, so free that one may be too entrapped to catch It. One may be too modernized to listen to the primitive poems silence pushes. 

The ideas these poems paint on a bending folding moving spinning intangible inaudible plane of a canvas are clear and specific. The colors and tone, sound and silence jitter in metre. Not iambic trochiac nor spondaic, these electrical masses are spewed in drill, funeral blues, and or chopped and screwed, time scretched and inaudible sounds bent. 

Yes! The rub is there, beneath the physical procrastination; it is above the vain mental lapses, and all up in and through the putrid glass-like soul of one’s ego. Can one leggo? How sweet and melodious those chants be! Vulgar and delicate confident and courteous avec savoir faire. 

But the weighted and the feather-weighted choose to play it fair with every one but themselves, avoiding the silent, thus “awkward”, situation. 

sure!! also hi~

seeing someone watch x files is almost as good a treat as watching x files itself & season 3 is pure gold

so far the last few episodes of season 1, first few of season 2, last few of season 2, and ALL OF SEASON 3 SO FAR are my favourites

not at all i’m glad someone else is enjoying this LOSER

artists! people who make art. gosh im not sure what system to use when picking my fave artists, so these are just.. a few of my faves…..

tove jansson

emily carroll

john bauer

tadahiro uesugi

gustav klimt

top 5 anime

tsuritama is that one anime that i watch when i feel sad or just want to have a good time, it’s very dear to me

baccano! it is entertaining all the way through, has lots of blood and hot ppl and action and humour, love it A+. pls watch it. i am reading the light novels also

mushishi somehow made it on this list despite me not having watched all of it, how did this happen?? it’s just so calming and beautiful

fma: brotherhood, even though i like the manga better!

cowboy bebop

top 5 moments with my cat

bruh every day with enzo is my fave moment