22 August 2014

Two Hundred and Ninety-Seven

297


Cutting up a pie with different metaphors does not for a different pie make.

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How can that which never dies ever be born but through imagination?

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Putting all the filters together cannot help but create one vision.

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What would you care to do this fine day, my Sweetness?

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The monkey-mind, irrational from its inception.

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Your last breath will prove nothing true.

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The portal to the origin is within.

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Here now, now here.

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Self-loathing, don’t do it.

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So much ambition to be nothing.

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A good guest does not destroy the host.

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Sure, keep on defining those terms as if it matters.

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What fearful grip can death have on those who exist now?

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Truly want nothing, and the mind evaporates into its eternal nature.

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The recollections of time create every sort of tyranny.