war of the races?

not entirely!

That's right, motherfuckers >--no offense intended--<. I am back in action. It's 1:03 a.m. here and I'm listening to Pink Floyd's 'run' while I'm updating my age old website. This webpage is almost as old as a tumor in the late, great Homer Simpson's head. Of course, that is irrelevant, considering that Homer Simpson is a cartoon character. I don't know, people. I am just really glad to be back online and back in the color black, the color of contradiction.
It's been a while since I have programmed any webpages, and since I have actually had the audacity to be able to connect two digital audio devices together to make one beautiful combination actually technologically work. I miss programming webpages, as it has been the pride of my life, and in the world of communication, it has also been the gift of that pride through online. Maybe that is somewhat of an exaggeration, but no less, an expression that is a part of me.
If you are still lucky enough to be reading, then most likely you are curious as to the intentional base of this entire writing. Don't feel alone, I am too. However, I feel this base as more a confident one than you more than likely do, being an internet bound stranger, looking for more internet bound strangers. I have to proclaim that you are not such a stranger, for you have found one whom is stranger than yourself.
...and there you have it, relativity.
I would like to introduce myself as we are commonality in conscience in our appertained relevancies. I am one whom you may believe to be Jeremy, the soul from the place that you are not from. I feel a little indescribable in the sense that I can't ask you of your name, but at least we know each other via electronic connection and intellectual connection. I'm not that smart, or acadamese, or nerdy, or as one person who often associates big words with little context might associate, but I just find it extremely hard to really focus when I am currently listening to hard rock music (Train Kept a Rollin'), and giving my best effort to type something coherent. It seems to be a talent to express my passion as a guitarist through the ASCII keyboard but also my intellect and depth as a writer through the words, all while listening to that which is poetry, and correlated, music and emotion. Emotion is a language. People say it isn't, but it's a crazily intertwined language. Like, if a baby was the only baby on the planet, then would that baby cry because it was sad?
And sadness...what do we base this concept off of--the lack of meeting an internal goal? What is a goal without some people to attribute it to and to brag to about it?
Free-style writing session commencing...
The bird floated graciously across the sun swept skies. The fires from the lowly hit horizons provided every last ray of colored beam to frolic upon the bird's back. This bird was the color of a red eyed herring's rage, and this bird flew with the winds of the cloudy horizon brushing tightly against it's feathers, it's fiery feathers. The phoenix had taken flight into the midnight air. The Phoenix had gained his empire, one by one, breeze by breeze; every last thundering flap had torn through the wind, and had destroyed all existence, and creativity had been frustrated by the lightning of the atmosphere. The phoenix had burned, blustered, killed, and sacrificed every breath in his life to destroy, being wrecked, and felt the last echoes of his heart, as every heartbeat, and every pulse in his beating feathers was felt at the wind's length. He oversaw his adversary, and felt it highly unnecessary; with the pains of his former life, he must go onward, and create the absences of boundaries. The future had to be made.
The air had risen from his back. Blackness and gray in his eyes were as present as the tears in the small child’s eyes. There had to be relativity. There wasn’t. There wasn’t a chance for it every to be. Everything that had been told to him were lies. He grew up in an isolated area and never knew anything but what the other elders would tell him. This was all that he knew. His sister, Theribose, was angered with his reaction the decisions that were inflicted upon him by the other tribal leaders. What could Argine do, but sit there with his legs immersed in the fire. These were the sacred fires of the Herrenkor. “Argine, stop moving around. You are going to injure yourself even more than you are already. Now stop moving, I say.” “But father, I have no belief in what the tribesmen are saying to me and sometimes I don’t even believe what you are telling me because I just think that you support what they say too.” “Yes, son, that may be true, but you need to respect them. They are more holy than you are.” “Father, I can’t just sit there while they command the very things that we’re to do day to day.” “So, what are you saying? That you want to dishonor the temple priests? That would not be allowed.” “Are you saying that you’re against me, father? Your own son? What has begun to happen in this village?” “Nothing is happening, Argine. You are just becoming an ungrateful son. Look at all of the things around you now.” Theodore pointed around at the huts, and at the sun drenched land of the savannah. “Look what the gods have given us. Look what Kelorin-Tak has provided for us. You are going to tell me that that is not a beautiful thing, and that that is not something to be grateful for?” “I just don’t get why I have to be grateful through the Kelorin-Tak, father. I am so tired of what they keep preaching.” Argine sat with his hands upon his knees, on the tarp that belonged to their only donkey. “I just feel so lost, father.” Theodore slapped Argine across the face and pushed him down to the ground. “You will listen to the temple priests! They are your masters and I am merely your father! If it was not for them, then you would not be here!” Argine rose from the ground, in bitter and angered tears, “What?!! If it was not for them I wouldn’t be here? You have to be crazy father! I am not your son. I am some stranger that had become birthed from my dead mother!” “Don’t say that, son! You are my son, but you are just ungrateful for all of the things that you have.” “How can I be ungrateful?” “You disobey the priests. They say to stay away from the river at nighttimes and what do you go and do, with your woman friend? You waltz down to the river and make love or do whatever you young kids do. And here I am, poor Theodore, to worry about what has happened to his son and to the only son he has ever got in this world. Don’t you know how that makes me feel? Do you?” “I am sorry, father, but Unilta and I have got a life together, and it can’t be sacrificed at the name of our gods.” “They were performing a sacred tradition at the river. How many years have you been alive here, and how long have you had to know that?” “Father, I don’t care for the traditions.” “Oh, that’s right. That just because we never had you circumcised. That’s all because of your mother’s sacred rites as the mother from the Krey-Cabinet. I really think that was a mistake.” “It was no mistake. None at all.” Argine peered into the distance, while stroking his face with his hand that held his knife. “Can we just get over this argument and just get back to eat?” “You’re right. It is about time to eat. The is nearly down. Shall I fetch dessert?” “Just don’t go messing around with that girlfriend of yours on the way, but yes, that would be nice.” Argine put his sandals on, and walked with his staff in hand, to the next few huts over, where there was smoke rising. The villagers looked at him suspiciously, Some were mumurring about him. He knew this. He had been the talk of the town for the past week. “Why? Do you stare at me, old ladies!” They went back into their huts. Argine was a popular man in the town because last week, he had hunted down the neighbor’s dog. The neighbor is the town’s representative from the priesthood. Johimbe had come along side of Argine, “Hey, Argine, are we still on for tonight? The river is running hotter and the fish are coming out faster tonight.” “Sure, that sounds like it would be something.” “That sounds very good. I will prepare everything for tonight. I‘ll see you in a few hours?” “Just make sure you don’t get caught like last time.” “Oh, no problem, I figured out what I did last time. We’re tight as the air under the wings of a bird, as good as home-free.” “Well, I feel a little more confidence in you. I am busy right now. So, if you could come back later on.” “Right. I was just on my way to my sister’s house.” “What business do you have with your sister?” “We’re attending the dance for the evening’s ritual. She is, but I am just helping her get prepared for it.” “There’s a ritual tonight?” “Yes, you didn’t know about it?” “No, nobody told me anything about it. Not even my father.” “The priests haven’t been very straight with everyone. They have started to pick and choose from who they have been interested in. I don’t know about what goes on in their little conventicles, but I have to abide in it.” Argine didn’t criticize his friend. He just made a quick smile before he went onward. “I’ll still see you at dark.” “You will.” “Good day for now.” Both friends stopped and bowed to each other before they went along their ways. The crows crowed in the sky and the vultures were circling around in the overhead. Argine grabbed a rock and pitched it directly toward one of the birds overhead. It nearly hit one, as he began to laugh.
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