The old crow tied her shoes to ground her self to terra, work to be done, wrestling with Angels was all not done. The song to be sung was a frighting one that some one does not want undone. Essa was the oldest, it makes not difference that Jacob recalled a new name and to add on to the new it's Paul I have to view for his ways are my ways and even more too.
"You See my little pretties", said in my best witch voice, and it is a GoddessGoodness practiced witch voice.
Into the mind the Vulcan swims
back through time when She lived again
connections all around
crystal traps inverted images
flames converted into the eye
seeing is believing
look up through the sky
Alhamdulillah
or is it near
the fright that might
the fright that be
hiding close
around the corner are
We
BoBo (bonus room in home jive for 5 year olds)
Information flows here and there
War springs layers
growing underground
words spreads
adjustments on mend
every now and again
do you see a trend
Careful where you tread
don't wake more the dead
a rise they did and saw their plight
visions of freedoms
words back for alls delight
chains unbound
as Atlas releases more hounds
with Angels and Dragons
Valkyrie from space
a light the skys
Gods Good Grace
...
Motives are important to understand a human.
There once was a woman that hated her life.
There once was a woman that loved her life, thankful to God everyday she took delight in the beauty of the world; a gift, we don't get to choose.
They met on the corner of righteous and dread.
The woman that hated her life looked down the road righteous and that future she saw was chains of responsibility, of none she wanted so look down the road dread and she forged ahead dragging the children behind her not a thought of the loss and the mess of her stead.
The woman that loved her life look down the road dread and that future she saw was nothing instead, she yelled and she screamed this ways better it's True, as the woman that hated her life moved on and forward not a look back she did, the woman that love her life hoped her hear, 'I love you', I sorta get it because I know you but it doesn't have to be the future before thee.
The woman that loved her life knew along the way there would be places and moments again they would meet and mayhap perchance a glory to Thee, they will one day hold hands on the road towards righteous and Thee.
...
Thought experiment...have you ever seen video of an abortion, how they rip one leg at time off to start as their arms flail, blah, blah, blah they have to crush the babies head because it's to large to get through the cervix, better hope they get all of that clump of cells they sold you it was or do you know what happens? This is a thought experiment...When you look at the last four years, I'd say from 2020 when masks and the vaccine entered they actually didn't care one bit about you, not any one else except their own self as they continue to show it's they way that they do.
9%....in Xbeit math when the angels came down to warn Lot of the future and not ten good men could be found it equals dear friends.
You should look up, the sky has been beautiful of late, don't you See?
Is it just me?
The show you are watching in front of you
all over the screens
can you See it
Siting on Saturn, Mars, and Jupiter before thee
a bull with a crystal
truth comes to lite
should have taught your daughters
the truth of the world
with your wormwood water
disease to delight
enter the gladiators
I've been looking for a really good bucket, my whole life I'm seeing now.
Let me spin you a story of a home makers life, of peace and tranquility making things beautiful and right. To do such a things constitutes hard work and discipline sometimes things scheduled sometimes though a strangers knocks your door and when you open it your are shocked and upheaval mayhaps. Home makers keep their house and home in order for when the knock comes they are prepared for the stranger. To keep a home in good order a home makers bucket is as important a tool as is her broom. My broom is another story as it stands vigilant, a guardian and keeps the tack from beneath our feet as We sweep the trash into piles and throw it away.
The bucket has to be sturdy obviously no holes; the handle though is of much importance to be strong enough to carry a heavy weight and tight to not slip and not cause a dilemma. Often the heavy weight is the water with which we clean and make things not dirty and bright, nooks and crannies here and there, corners, window seals, behind doors and more.
Every hardware story I pursued their collections of buckets, one side of the handle always unhooked from their hook; so I moved on and left them behind, because a tool that doesn't work is going to cause a mess and I enjoy efficiency for it allows me more time for learning, I love learning, also crafting, but not the kind of craft you find at a fair, you know the one; no larpers allowed, I don't enjoy wasting my time.
Then one day not long ago, a few months in true no more than a year or two I came across a bucket in line with the others. I hardly pass by a bucket in order so to the handle I go and lift with wonder and delight as I shake it a bit to see if it's right. Not a jiggle was found. I leaned in with delight as just one sticker I would have to remove from this bucket I would use to make my home just right.
When I arrived home with my tool I was saddened to see it was not a sticker for me as it was emblazoned
Libman
so alas I was sored for this household name was not the cause of my dislike, the cause of my dislike is advertisements in my face. Most things that have their names tattooed I often find it's to hide in plain site and in turn become a house hold name with no right, from old bags to new bags, shoes, clothes, and more, now it looks like buckets that must prove themselves to also not be whores. (lol, funniest thing, this is a True story with a capital T, and a crossed one too.)
Different days it would be, for different means too, I would fill up that bucket to clean and more as its name emblazoned never for me to ignore. On my hands and knees I would scrub and polish working towards perfection as I would lift by it's handle so to dump muck and grime mixed with water down the toilet into the sewer it'd go and sometimes even out the back door.
Then one day it happened... there I was with work to be done, important matters at hand, not foolery and fun. My Libman bucket filled the right amount I lift the bright green handle of the bucket emblazed with Pride as it slipped from its left hook no longer a tight match the handle had come undone.
Now truth be told there it was another trash tool branded that has no business being in a household if it's handle to the bucket comes loose grime dirt and muck will spill out and a waste of time is made.
So I hunt and I look as I make my way, gathering here and there the tools of my trade, a home maker anywhere.
if your name is good you don't need to glue it
people will know
