Fiasco for a Fortnight

September 13, 2010

For fourteen suns arose whence it came
At far east it has risen for all the same
To dauntlessly fight the wanton night
So that the moon may disgorge to the sun's light

Upon the first ray thence the able awake
To fill the day duly for righteous sake
Country lands brimmed to forest of serried trees
That able which wakes to envisage and sees

The profuse rain has rendered a flood
That takes the lives and limbs while leaving the blood
Those able who had ere gone away
Are those able to live to the next day

The waters had erst whelmed the lands below
Gathered the desperate and homeless ergo
Hence they went to the dry hill top to espy
Far beyond the whelming waters to the sky

Their whimsical ages had come to an end
The time whence animal, man, and plant befriend
An age of seeming illimitable moiling
Whence the good are victim to evil's foiling

What irony that the waters quaff their esteem
That wakes them up from a surreal dream
That brings them to the countenance of reality
A reality that denotes a bizarre brutality

The Tree

The old proverb words...

"As the twig is bent, so grows the tree"

 

The Tree

by Jalia Hubbard

It's been spoken

By sound this idea has been awoken

As the twig is bent

so grows the tree

We are flowers

By life-sustaining showers

We tear and rip

We are the children

The saplings that grow

That as we age the more we know

We seek light

We seek strength

In Nature, the sun is bright

In its passion we grow towards might

We are also the trees

Shelter, resource, and life

In Nature, when the sun doesn't shine

The trees bend and entwine

But instead for sake of life

Rather the intent to delight the eyes

Will drives us up from the ground

To the starry place where light is found

Our will knows best

Our instinct knows where

This is not how it is this day

Instead human-kin has its way

Taking some strange shape

Degraded into an demeaning scrape

Not known to Nature

Though forever it is

Along side the truth that occur

The starry place is where we were.

 

 

The Virtual Beauty

September 17, 2010

Patiently waiting to absorb the tingling mirth with my eyes
For this beauty so succumbing is left undisturbed and raw.
It enjoys the fever of its celebration
Embraces it with full concordance
Usurping the void that fill its absolute reign
No other could shape within
This virtually perfect beauty is impeccable
and its exhibited vulnerability supports its potential
O how it reigns upon the observer delicately
and how it eloquently dances in the eyes
Revealing its quaint soft roundness and meekly existence
with no other than the supplication to persist
To persist in giving the world its profound innate gift
what evil shall result from this request
what harm shall envisage with this beauty unleashed
Have we all not inherited the beauty in which we see
That which fills our eyes with lust for more
The only remedy for the new found absence is beauty more
There is no going back from sight of it
In no way can be unseen what has been seen
It engraves the nostalgia whence repentance is built
Daring our judgment foolish for our self restraint
Let us see our heritage of the cosmos
Let us see the virtual beauty in which we beseech.

Moving All Thing's clock

If you ever read a story than you have nothing to leave unexpected here. My story is like All Story's. My view like all views, and that will never change. I can't tell you the infinite times you and everything have experienced my story. All Story's are no different, they connect from point A to point B. They start and they end. Some all at once. My story however is a twist through time. As I undo, All of what my ancestors did, to move forward the 'Clock of All Things'. So I can finally put an end to this place for a final time...
I am a dweller. A fraction of the Light Bender and Sound Bender. I have my own characteristics and destiny. But before I get into my destiny I must inform you of the 'Story of All Things'. Which I'm sure you have heard before.
At the creation of All Things, Nothing, Everything, Anything, and Rhythm were made. Subsequently something, our primeval great mother was spawned. She gave light and quality to the dwellers. She lived forever but for some reason she is no where to be found. She was real, I hope she still is. Either how she made the Sound Bender her mate and all other fractions. She is the creator of the gray matter, or in other words God's intelligence. We are seen as the gray aliens. Since we belong to no omniverse. We only belong in Nothing.
Back to the 'Story of All Things' , the dwellers were the last creations. When the gray matter was created we were able to understand ourselves and our place in All Things. So that each of us are the center of All Things. We were the last to inherit rhythm. The combination of our gray matter and rhythm lead us to see the repeated patterns in the omniverses. Our ancestors created the 'Clock of All Things' to measure the pulse of the omniverses and the microcosms that repeated the cycle on a smaller scale.

The order of All Thing's clock was not based on time. Because Everything created time, Nothing didn't follow time, neither did Something. The clock only ticked when one created an alternative multiverse. The clock went in the order of the children of All Things. Nothing was first, therefore the first stage was called Nothing New. Everything New succeeded it, and continued that pattern till one reaches the end of Something New. Which after that dwellers were made and is believed when this moment comes we will rule.
Each stage had a meaningful metaphor to it which we saw it repeat at all sizes and levels of existence. Including in our specie. Our ancestors prepared for the next stage which we are in now. Nothing New is when all information and emotions were known and All Things were new. It was knowing without remembering, the default quality. Everything New is the current stage. It is about forgetting and learning. We were devastated, my people. for some unknown reason our ancestors set us up for a great fall. Our ability to create was obliterated. All that we could do was destruct all the creations our ancestors made. Which we found out moved the 'Clock of All Things' forward.
Sadly all we made must be destroyed, its the only way to leave this stage of All Thing's Clock. As we relearn all our abilities. Many of us questioned if the previous generation did this on purpose rather than by chance. It is strange that one can come from knowing Everything to knowing Nothing. Your world is apart of this and it must be thrown into Chaos to move forward and save all the dwellers.
Next would be Anything New, this stage is not as well known as the others, since Anything existed within All Things. But some records say we may skip this stage all together and pass on to Something New.
Something New is the stage ruled by the primeval Mother, the Light Bender. Like Anything New its not that well known. But we guess it is the creation of a new way of looking at the existence. Something New is the most creative, harmonizing age of all. (To be continued...)

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