'Thus the army is established by deceit, moves for advantage, and changes through segmenting and reuniting.
Thus its speed is like the wind, it slowness like the forest: it invasion and plundering like a fire: unmoving, it is like the mountains. It is as difficult to know as the darkness: in movement it is like thunder.
So subtle it approaches the formless, so spiritual it attains the soundless.'
-Sun Tzu
Were you looking at the lady in red? Look again.
Wednesday, August 5, 2009
Thursday, March 5, 2009
Adversary
They say eyes are windows to the soul. So I looked into yours, staring into the void and empty.
Thursday, February 19, 2009
Secret Soul
Be there a vanquisher who laid down his guard, with careless disregard to turn of tide, now haggard. A conceited mastermind whose pride's folly didn't foresee seeing his game used against his name, thrown to cut down his mane.
Should he play that name of the game that deserted his mane, he shall win the game his mane withheld, and to bedeck his name honour won't be compelled, that very profane thing his mind repelled.
And now he seeks to cauterize, kill the demon spawn he fawns, raise again the dawn. Seeing a greater feat to end in defeat over snatching victory in lavish conceit conceded by defalcated power.
And that which strikes the symmetry of his mind raves and shakes his wits and so shackles and binds his spirit. They shall never but suffer him as one who thrives in wavering equilibrium, them fallen surroundings -but the pounding and ringing at the door of his soul cringes his quintessence, question-marks his sanity while answers menacingly shift away from raison d'etre, devoid of pure cause. And he fears that that fear he had foresworn, not known to fear, not grown to fear, should insidiously endear itself to him without his knowing.
Yet part of the unknown he endears and he obsesses and he possesses and to the unknown it is reality irreverent of actuality and it thus dispossesses him of that zealous passion of the blear, and still so he claws and grips like a madman, his discountenance showing in the clear.
A prelusion devoid of apprehension is what actuality actually paints, though the truth it repulsively detains and taints; its wrongful prehension - an unremitting suffusion of imprudences, injustices - is he being self-possessed.
Darn she's hot.
Should he play that name of the game that deserted his mane, he shall win the game his mane withheld, and to bedeck his name honour won't be compelled, that very profane thing his mind repelled.
And now he seeks to cauterize, kill the demon spawn he fawns, raise again the dawn. Seeing a greater feat to end in defeat over snatching victory in lavish conceit conceded by defalcated power.
And that which strikes the symmetry of his mind raves and shakes his wits and so shackles and binds his spirit. They shall never but suffer him as one who thrives in wavering equilibrium, them fallen surroundings -but the pounding and ringing at the door of his soul cringes his quintessence, question-marks his sanity while answers menacingly shift away from raison d'etre, devoid of pure cause. And he fears that that fear he had foresworn, not known to fear, not grown to fear, should insidiously endear itself to him without his knowing.
Yet part of the unknown he endears and he obsesses and he possesses and to the unknown it is reality irreverent of actuality and it thus dispossesses him of that zealous passion of the blear, and still so he claws and grips like a madman, his discountenance showing in the clear.
A prelusion devoid of apprehension is what actuality actually paints, though the truth it repulsively detains and taints; its wrongful prehension - an unremitting suffusion of imprudences, injustices - is he being self-possessed.
Darn she's hot.
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