Difference between revisions of "Alexander Ryder"
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=• Early Life •= | =• Early Life •= | ||
− | + | Our wisdom flows so sweet. Taste and see…. | |
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+ | TRANSMIT - initiate the lonely ghost signal -RECEIVE - initiate the abandoned frequency- ONE IS THE LONELIEST NUMBER - initiate the rainbow protocols - THE SADDEST EXPERIENCE YOU'LL EVER KNOW - initiate the unloved syntax - WITNESS - Alexander Ryder | ||
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+ | See the red dust, sweetling. See the gently waving fields. See the browns, the beiges, the greys. Do you see the simple paradise? | ||
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+ | Look closer. | ||
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+ | Do you see the tracks of two feet, sweetling? Do you hear the soul groaning prayers to an empty heaven? | ||
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+ | Follow the tracks. | ||
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+ | A form huddles, hiding, in the umbral darkness of the shadow of the barn. Draw closer. Do you see how the shadow quakes? Off-beat rhythmic pulses beat the drum of sobs as a low voice mutters between choked-down cries. | ||
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+ | So many tears you all can shed, sweetling. Draw closer. Hear the words. | ||
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+ | “I didn’t do anything wrong. I didn’t do anything wrong.” | ||
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+ | Hear the haunted tones, sweet one. Does your simian heart break when you hear the young man chanting? | ||
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+ | Reverse. A jump to the left. See what happened before. | ||
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+ | A young boy of fourteen begins to awaken, as all your kind do. But his eyes do not turn to the soft curves and bright giggles of the women around him. No, though his life would be easier if they did! His gaze is drawn by the sharper lines of male forms, angles and planes. | ||
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+ | Initiate the house-is-not-a-home spectrum. | ||
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+ | The boy sits on the floor of his room. Do you see the barren shelves, sweetling? Do you see the man and woman standing in front of the boy, one holding a leatherbound book, both praying and sobbing? Not all families are made of love, sweet one. | ||
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+ | Fast forward. Initiate the step-to-the-right protocol. | ||
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+ | Do you see the boy at school, sweet? He is older now. So young, but his eyes show such age. The eyes are the windows to the soul, you know. Why then, sweetling, are his so dull? | ||
+ | Do you see the others, sweetling? The football players, the athletes, the stars of the show? Can you see how they burn with rage when they see the young one glance their way? How they mutter dark threats, taking such offence at what he does? | ||
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+ | We do not understand, sweetling. Your kind are alien to us in so many ways. | ||
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+ | Fast forward again. | ||
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+ | Do you see the youngling? He stands in the study of a man of the cloth, who folds pious hands over a hypocritical heart as he judges. They all judge, sweetling. | ||
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+ | Fast forward once more! | ||
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+ | The young man, in the dark, sobbing once more. | ||
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+ | The young man, with bruises the color of tentacular futures on his face, stony and silent. | ||
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+ | The young old soul, laying down in bed, an empty orange bottle next to his head. | ||
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+ | The note, short and pointed like a dagger to the heart. | ||
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+ | “How can I live, when everyone, even God, cannot love me?” | ||
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+ | A flower wilts, slowly, fading away. All good things need love, sweetling. Plants, pets, even you. But what happens when someone receives no love? Like flowers, cut from the root, they fade. | ||
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+ | The young one was wrong, sweetling. We saw him. We loved him, as we love all of Gaia’s children, all of you. | ||
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+ | Initiated the honeyed soul-balm protocols. | ||
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+ | We showed him our love that night. We brought our thunderous words to his fading monkey mind, and opened him up to all that is. | ||
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+ | He, and we, will see you in the half-light, sweetling. | ||