Blessed be the ambiance.
The peace and initial calm.
That moody silence.
That torment in peace.
Blessed noises blowing minds into unfathomable smithereens; fathoming the little stuff.
The same noises to which Tornado slaves for.
“Collect broken minds and coagulate smithereens at infinity into a dot!”
Yes, noisy master 😒
Blessed be the silence
Blessed moody silence.
The blank stare.
The flicker of hope.
Blessed be fools; in the name of passion.
Passion which enslaves gods and liberates men.
Fools have conquered passion.
Fools remain slaves to men.
Blessed be the turbulence.
The reason we reconnect the spirituality plug.
For the smooth sailing life is a smooth sailing lie…
A mechanized bore soothing only laziness.
Blessed be the ramifications of the conceivable.
The grand master of seduction.
Blessed be ink.
Blessed be ink!
As lightning cracks parting the dark clouds,
So ink cracks parting clouds of thought on white canvas.
Blessed be maple.
Blessed be leafs.
Blessed be leafs in maple, maple in leafs
And every concoction of their permutation.
Blessed be abundance.
Oh! Blessed be choice.
For choice is abundance perceived as the absence thereof.
Blessed be the creator of moods
For they alleviate the self and conscience beyond actions and repercussions.
In the name of the bringer of rain—to whom all wild vegetation must be thankful—all these are blessed.