Motion Pictures

Motion pictures need dialogue as much as Beethoven Symphonies need lyrics ( I sing Ode to Joy     I repeat Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony, and the choir cloisters and clips as a cupid     The symphony solars and sonars submarine interrupted by Taryn torpedos, a scar tissue scherzo     I speak motion pictures     I quote and homage and Quentin Tarantino     I digest dialogue Reservoir Dogs and Pulp Fiction, the collage into vision violence and gun god gore
Dead permeate photograph and picture, symphony and symphony     Dead spread the split spawn music, and music massacres movie and motion     Movie and motion machete music, somber sonatas entangled with composers in decomposition     music makes alive and Adonai lacerates light, light compact and light compressed, and light vines the veins blood foam flowing frothy left-sided heart failure
Nevertheless, music makes alive Adonai the anointed Messiah     Nevertheless motion and movie shape the slime that animates slim slender sinister, left in Luria, and he laughs the limitations of light bursting Benjamin at its vessels     versicles review the chanting word wormed between the antiphons of my flesh, and I fashion the flood after the fleeting light     light lyrics rhizomic rock the mother moss and lit lichen clothing canopy for the Sabbath Queen and the forest furs as a garment     light laces its linen     Christ crashes her Christina cotton
The Baal Shem Tov was very fond of light and said, Or (Light) is the numerical equivalent of raz (secret).  Whoever knows the secret of everything brings illumination     Or order or offering Other the Outside and I transgress the Outer for the Inner     I sin in secret and pray in secret for the sake to make the Inner the Outer and the Male Female     The secret of everything is the Woman     The secret of All is the Word

But woe to them that are with child, and to them that give suck in those days!  The whipperwill welts woe, and the woe forgoes worship      The wolverine wheels woe and woe forgets swift swollen swallow     Birds first woe in flight, the flutter feather heather rowing woe, and the woe wraps rest no rest non saturnine Sabbath in the blessing     Woe differs difficult, serial manipulation driscolls droll parietal incomprehensible, each partial impossible yet its impulses impress woe drowned in bone     Woe resembles bone stretched over stone tools testing marrow tomorrow      Woe remarks bone carved over bone implements, chipped flint and fire for the roast war     Woe wars and rumors of war     Woe maces and flails the sword into hordes     Woe insider woe and wheel inside wheel the chariots run riots over civilians     a civil war      a formal war     a polite war in genesis genocide generations and Joshua jams the joust into jawbones and joints     The Lord Saves     The Lord is With Us   

  The Child plays     The Child improvises (free improvising with little reference to the jazz tradition, sending splinters of notes into the ether and summoning ringing feedback from the deep innards of his ax

  The Child plays     The Child improvises (such was his dedication it was common for him to fall asleep with his horn still in his mouth or practice a single note for hours on end

  The Child plays     The Child improvises (involved reducing music to the level of fragment, the moment, with individual pieces or moments lasting mere seconds or a minute, perhaps two

At this formant, I feel in fragments     feline fragments in flesh embedded flesh at the catwalk     cakewalk cakework the crane boogie woogie banshee and jump blues blaring as marching band blitzed at the halftime show cornered in cut time     this fragment cuts as a crescent, saxophone soloing     this fragment cools as a child, conicals and cylinders     Evan Parker conic sections     Evan Parker lines burnt in light     I listen slowly to the fragments circular multiphonic looping     I build a fire in front of the audience     The fire flares the play, Christ in the combustible, and she smokes the suckling child     The fire flows the plow combustion Christina, and she smears the child with its own blood     Blood bends light between blood and fire flashes red ravens, beatific birds blessed in the banging cymbals

A person should listen to what he ordinary just looks at, or look a things he would ordinary just hear      I listen to the Face of Yahweh and the Body of Christ, the snap of the Eucharist     I look at the voice of the Spirit and it drives deep wilderness woman, the Taryn Tempest

Me and Asia
:  I do wonder how this stuff is prophesying sometimes though
:  I don’t think I can help you there.
:  What does it mean for you?
:  I see another human being try to create connections to the divine within them
:  Very witchy.  I’m concerned for the state of Christianity.  What a toxic wasteland a good portion of it is.
:  That’s why I left.  I’m not a fan of organized religion.
:  I’m not sure I can leave it.  I probably can’t.
:  It took me awhile.  It's not for everyone though.  I separated Christianity from God.  I believe that human beings are incapable of knowing god’s nature fully, so that means the American Christian idea of god is flawed
:  But one can attempt to expand the bounds and limits that Christianity places on itself, and what America places on itself.  There is a postulate in creativity:  Restriction makes one creative.  Perhaps Christianity is my restriction.  I betray my Christianity to recreate it.  I make it my mythology so I can remyth and remake it.