Rhythm

At the birth of All things, Rhythm was made. Rhythm though had no form, so All things had rhythm within her. Rhythm could never speak or create so Rhythm would dance. She would dance her sad beats, and played games with her self. Rhythm though she could not understand why she danced. And only made two dances. The first dance was the Rhythm of 'The macrocosm.' The second dance was the dance of 'The Microcosm.' Within and without once again made. All things loved Rhythm and she hated her. But she couldn't help but be in love with her dance. All Things took Rhythm's dance and danced to it.

Then when Nothing, Everything, and Anything were born, All Things gave them Rhythm's dance. All Things dissolved Rhythm into herself. So now All Things was Rhythm. Nothing was the first to inherit the dance of Rhythm. He and All Things danced together. Within and Without once again. Everything was then birthed and then was given the dance of Rhythm. Nothing no longer had the pattern of Rhythm's dance. Nothing therefore could create and hold all things without the needing of the macrocosm or microcosm, without sequence. Everything danced with All Things. Everything did the dance of the macrocosm. Something(The nameless One) did the dance of the microcosm. All Things rejoiced to Rhythm and repeated her dance forever within herself. All Things followed the same pattern, which later all archetypes originate from and all stories. All The dwellers danced as well.

The End.

I shall let no thing go unloved

Its infathomable that one of chanceCan be aware of its own stance
Beyond, believe, conceive
And that it mirages me to decieve
That it exist in actual dance

It rends my heart
To see another tear apart
Hate, Self, Love
Providence bestow thee from above
That all hate them they proclaim
These feelings to me are unacclaim

Such statements are lies
To continue the persistant cries
That all hate with out sound
That all has depressing doom around
I shall let no being be scorned
It is the greatest gift, from those who mourned
Sobbed, empty, needing
And that love could be the succeeding
Of this gift you gave me
That sets my trapped soul free
Hate me if you love each other
Love each other as a bother
sacrfice, burden, pain
I shall love you all no matter how in vain

The Measure (Part two)

 Is within and without knowledge all there is to know?


Something having saved herself from doom with self-awareness some more, must once more persist against the odds.  It is that she must be herself and further still through beyond dimensions.  The subsequent dimension is the matrix for all the beyond and all the preliminary antecedents. That dimension would become to be known as Time.  This dimension is quintessential to the happening of reality thus it requires measurement in order to construe an equation.  'Twas 'till now that Something measured herself as a point and 'tis now that she measures as a line, a point through time.

What is time to be measured as?

Days divided into numbers.  Eternity made simplified.  Time is known as a measurement, a technology and a tool.  It is a distortion of reality so that we understand the sum of the parts.  If such a thing could ever be complete what it may be in further time.  Measurements are models for reality, not exact.  They can be scaled and distorted.  The process of such is a repercussion of limp limbs, where distortion usurps the quality of actual reality.  As a consequence information is lost the further from the origin that it is translated.  Any information that takes homage in a particular dimension is in need of another measurement or surface to persist in the rest, or if they are to be translated to a dimension beneath then the information that cannot be shown is represented through taught understanding and accepted meaning.

 What becomes of the shape of identity when information is added?

When a thing travels through the dimensions and it is without the necessary measurement for that dimension it gains a new face for its shape of identity.  Because of its new face it is not known the same as it was in its origin dimension.  A cube on a 2D medium will loose its volume and depth but gain a face of its representation when it is distorted into 2D.

How does Something measure the shape of identity in time?

The Light Bender casts light on reality to see what it may be, light from all across the spectrum.  What is reflected she in spite of judgment accepts what she sees as her perception.  All things does not go within judgement but without.  From the without realm, where she operates through without bias, she casts her light like judgement to a fixture which service as a given.  From the without realm she can know further still without being within limitations the without is narrowed.

What is known by this measurement?

What is known is the extent to which the farthest the measure is stretch to encompass reality and its opposite.  Like a point the Measure is the center of All things to encompass but further still the measure narrows its direction to stretch the limb farthest in that path achieving from that direction and its absolute sister pole.  Anything will be the given eventually from there All things will be known.

October Child

" ...October's child is born for woe,
And life's vicissitudes must know,
But lay an opal on her breast,
And hope will lull those woes to rest..."

In the mornings light was born a maiden. With an aura of mystical abyss. Though only hint of this was glimpsed through penetrating eye stare. She had a mysterious wisdom and witt, that when those who listen, understand her word. She was mortal and young though. So she knew in order to live, she must make mistakes. Even if she knew how unwise it was. She wanted reason to live. She wanted a thing to love. Though years of her life she felt alone. What is the Maiden of morning light to do.

"All things truly wicked start from innocence."

Time works on all things. The effects of time have grown on the maiden of morning light. At her time she subsists as 11 years of age. Nearing her birthday where she diverts to the 12th year of life. The maiden mourns for time has grown the people tired of her wisdom. Time has grown them apart. She sobers for time, the thing that destroys her connections. The maiden sits silently on near her window. She is foucused on the night sky. She ponders that maybe somewhere out there holds the answers to all she lacks. Something that will fill her dreams, with the stuff of reality. Or someone...

"Understanding can overcome any situation, however mysterious or insurmountable it may appear to be."

On the morning near her hour, she the maiden is on her knees. Her old defectioness way of thinking has alas caught up with her. As it does to all souls in the infamy of time. She though has still the mark of mystery and depth that stayed with her since birth. She is birthed to understand, but while looking she forgot to know thy self. All of intimacy in comprehension...shattered. All dearness in its call....ruptured. All she thought what was is a lie. But to her now it is not what wasn't that matters. What matters is what couldn't that have come to be. She now has none, she now is herself. Engaged in deep thought she looks back to the sky as the day marked in history of her birthday comes to an ending. Her thought is within the unknown realms now...

Memory

December 2, 2010

By Jalia Hubbard

Our hold upon the world is a loose one. Memory ought to be rejuvenated to its fresh state. Our hold ought to be accepted to be studied. All weaves of the mind must be connected. The fray that looms upon the edges of our reality threaten to unravel our fabrication of understanding for inane vanity. For every string lost the hold as a whole is loosened. A string is a line and a line as a point, being a measure of our focus. The blanket as bundled focus made of string as it is to a line as it to a point. That bundle is a concept as is reality, a single concept.

Should comprehensive concepts be worded?

Our blanket covers all the features of reality including itself. A blanket that can wrap in around itself and discover itself.

Poetry I wrote during Sophomore Year

Jalia Hubbard

Jan 5, 2011

The Missed Eclipse

That which has brought havoc and death upon humankind

Has this December night provoked conditional pain

While waiting there was within the cosmos, a curious young mind

Whose hopes and wishes dashed from its self-imposed strain.

The snow, when known individually as the snow flake,

Is a humble living-dying thing, gone from the warmth of breathe.

However collectively, behold the havoc it will make

This December night it was a hope that braced death.

“There would be no eclipse in the sky,” the snowstorm willed

Our moon to be shadowed for once by our own presence,

Was the hopes dashed by the snowflake unfulfilled.

Lost to the possibilities was this forbidden event’s essence.

The curious young mind will go with knowing but however

She will keep the knowing, it was to happen; this lasts forever.

April 14, 2011

Blank Mind

Blank mind haunting

my brilliance it is taunting

I had a great joy but now

It escaped my focus somehow

So I am left with this blank mind

The stream of thought I lost, I cannot find

The blankness is bleak

My pride corrupted to meek

Blank mind haunting

my brilliance it is taunting

Expound the Sound

A Poem to Love

and to be lovedThe physical, emotional feeling we dear know as love, intangialbe to all
Empty to its call
impervious to vocialization
Implausable for visualization
Metaphor the only key to fathom such vis
Shared through the visible hug or kiss
sophomoric to the life, inable to dismiss
Uncapable to Expound the very sound
confined and misfortunatly bound
To the delusive ground
Nothing could liebarate thy
Woe and greif has captive me
What frees most
shackles, and take as victim
Such beauty in its name
Step on stones in the pleasure of the game
This love it only mystifies me
Beyond my knowing in this phyical domain
Seperated by this physical plain
Someday I may comprehend
For now it is only to far to apprehend.

A little Light gos a long way

An atom so small
That it can not be visualized at all
With a small hint of hue
The melodramatic color of blue
Twisting, Combining and blending
Oblivious to the message it's sending
Reflecting all that it is
This wandering sentient vis
Accelrating faster than all known
Convetion when it has flown
Filling in all void and available space
Altering our mood to embrace
Binding and bounding, limiting us as defined
Clearing to the mines of the newly refined
So little so much it can diversify
Only the dwellers it can not modiy
Little light goes along way

Brightening the night into day

Echo and Rebirth

Eloquence

Speech that flows more unyielding than the consistent wind. Wheedles the brilliant mind and perplexes the ignorant simpleton. Storming the emotions and elevating them to greater intensities. Words that when verbalized embody all majestic graces that are objected. Enlivening the dreary ear to its clout and force. Alluring so that its force is never oblivious. A kind of lore that is designated for sentient feelings and emotions. Eloquence is speech with a meaning. Eloquence is art that is made of sound.

Words Lack the Morality

Deprived of humanity and passions that fuel. Devoid of self expression or enthusiasm. Though these omissive things are used more frequently than any other form of communication. Even within these very written scriptures they lurk and dwell. Inhabiting all written objects devoted to lore. They can twist and turn into half-truths and lies. Destroying lives before Our very eyes. They lack meaning and can only define there kind, self-sufficient. These things come out from our very breathe. People slaughter and die for these external influences. Though the human who verbalizes them are committed with the enormity of its purpose. This razz ma tazz is spoken and its intention can be wrapped to such opposing sarcastic meanings. Gesture and facial displays of emotions can help sustain its phantom weight. Very heartless, though it naugh be an entity or hold and quantity. But shares the meanings with other existing dwellers. it leaches to it as if it could consume. It cannot grow though its appearance may be facaded and covered..Altered perhaps. Why...cause words lack the morality of reality and are illusions to have a grip on our virtual world. To hopefully comprehend it but with such we have lost much more. We have lost our morality and are value. Lost is never non-existent just misplaced, and we will have a grip of our own.