An Introduction to How I Process by The Rhetorician

Idea Space…

The worrying never served me well. The thought came from eating oranges.
The peel resembling the protective layer of skin on my foot I think I have from being aquatic.
The idea sprouted from my mind,
Don’t lose it!
It can roll off the tongue, dancing and sloshing around in that ethereal idea realm.
We are in a world run by ideas and we are the instruments.
Ideas travel constantly through us and go back wherever they go.
That realm is kinda plastic, kinda gooey and bizarre. Spend time and get immersed.
Where ever I choose to make memories, under this star pattern. I’m just glad I got the idea.

DEATH TO OPINIONS…

Do we own our opinions? Who put them there?
They whisper and scream everywhere until they are regurgitated. Spreading like red herring in a Elementary game of telephone.
I don’t know the origin of them but they are laced tightly to feelings. Tighter than a toddler in a winter jacket, feelin constricted, and unable to construct rational thought.
I over analyze the stitching and try to convince myself that my assumptions have worth.
How much of my life gets valued by opinions? Can one truly be free if you value opinions?
Watch them work and you can get shackled by self doubts while the mind longs for solace.
Death to opinions, let the freedom of life be without. And let the freedom of life be without But as I sit here what would I have to think about?...

The Dialogue Glitch

Hybrid Vegetables

Small talk is a snag in the matrix. The thought came from sweeping up napkins.
The napkins soddened with pavement water & fast food remnants.
Tumbling into the dust pan and discombobbled to the finite position of decomposing.
Sort of like the words in a conversation with a passing stranger. The words fumble off the tongue. We know exactly what to say and the clichés dissolve like fizz candy.
The conversation about time or temperature, and slightly comforting like sitting on a warm toilet seat.
How long can two strangers’ eyes dance?
I have three sentences and three breaths.
The invitation, the response, and the phrase of departure.
Any longer and I might try to sell you on my creative endeavors…

The blackberries tasted like eggplant. The DNA structure was quite indecisive and tasted hybrid. My tongue bending and analyzing to see what invaded it’s surface.
It’s like Before God decided to invite the ravenous humans to earth. Him and all his helpers were categorizing and deciphering on a time crunch.
Don’t put the tomatoes with the vegetables, oh wait they go there.
Once they find the mushrooms that will send them for a loop.
Who put the blackberries and the eggplant in the same basket? Somebody asked.
Everyone looked..
We are going to have to throw this one out…
When that moment happened it’s slipped out of the helpers hand and Made its way to earth. Only one of these strands exist, and I happen to be eating it in this very indecisive moment of my own.
It was the first box last time, I have to go for the third or the fourth one at least…
I didn’t see any threes, or fours today actually I can’t select those…
How something tasted, and panic have to be related in some way. They aren’t cousins but maybe they were friends in a past life.
Geez wrong again, box 1 every time…

For Booking Contact

ROLLS OVER AND LOOKS AT PHONE.. “WHAT ARE YOUR PLANS FOR THE WEEKEND?”

SOMETIMES I DAY DREAM (Pt.1) … BY THE RHETORICIAN

Does hope yawn in the morning? Does hope look like light at the end of the tunnel? Or is hope the breath that settles you calm moving like liquid throughout the body?

It is gravity that puts us still in moments. This unidentifiable force that manipulates matter, but my emotions are unaffected they only seem to rise.

The sayin, “time cures all” is misleading… When its the hand on the clock that is a hairline and represents the present.

Senses and emotions rush me into imbalance then this hairline of a moment is a constant reminder of what this is.

Emotions lodged in the past and anticipation and expectation glooming in the future putting me in a hard place of the present that is fluid.

I like Tumeric & Superfood Elixers…

The sky fits the scene like it knew it’s purpose. Setting the tempo for what was few and far between. Are we all just a part of a machine?

Sort of like the clicking mechanism in a watch. Force within the gears turn the kerfs and notches within making the hand that floats and spurs random action.

Conflict here! Reaction here! Growth here!

Do we live the lives in an echo? An echo?… our future selves correcting memories that is…

To feel life without pain and suffering doesn’t make room for a story to tell. I believe it’s the way we recite stories that will dictate action.

“What is happiness to you?” she asks..

As the Laughter fell, the silence came in.

The wind is a reminder of where I should be going. Sometimes fighting, sometimes adjusting..

I do my best to keep fluent, universal energy moves me into synchronicity.

I am not attracted to what makes me uneasy. When new leaves turnover I do like the feeling of seeing the new angle. Potential brings the giddiest of feelings you can say I’m a slave to my imagination.

I live years beyond my years, take trips and experience the whole spectrum of emotions.

Everything held in place by love and the occasional moments where I find true stillness..

Wanna meet by the Boulevard?….

Sometimes I daydream… EPISODE 2

They say be vulnerable.. until you become fragile. I recite my origin story and tell it to anyone. Oh this fragment of myself, feels like a curveball, off tempo, sometimes forgetting elements that make the rotation, and it’s evident if I deliver it and it is deformed.

No Matter how I mold it my role in the story goes from villain to hero. The more I get in touch with my past intentions, I see it as neutral.

Why does self acceptance deal mostly with darkness?

I feel the change that is me… Flashlights of self love lead me down the tunnel. I don’t know where this leads, but are there enough lumens for my safety?

Has anyone you ever met found themselves safely?

I think I said too much in the voice memo…

As I sifted through how I was feeling I began to see something familiar. My soul and I had a long consultation, we drew up a contract, and strapped a hard hat on.

I tore through the ego, I shucked back the exoskeleton, removed the rib cage like a complicated game of operation.

There it lay, the heart with broken pieces of glass around it.

Porous and vibrant as madrona pulp. My heart open and pulsing like it was surprised to see me.

“WHO WAS HERE LAST!?”

It lay there confused, shocked, repeating phrases, and mimicking beats that were not it’s own. It is by far the craziest organ in my body. Well my lungs need some help too atleast.

Last time my heart beat this fast I put it in a compartment that was all mirrors and strapped it down. The only way out was for it love itself again. It did not do well at first… it rejected the confidence, it did not know who it was, and it had soo many sleepless nights.

As my soul and I picked up the pieces of the broken glass the game plan was how do we build so it is stronger than before?

You know when like your words are on point and your emojis are too?..

She preferred the blind love, the reckless kind. The stars gave her personality and the moon told her how to feel. Our common ground normalities is what I hoped to be mutual. Meeting needs is never simple. Not when fulfillment fumbles around like a solution in a plastic bottle.

Carbonation rises in spontaneity bringing surprises to the surface. The fizz bubbles exploding and sustaining excitement. If I could freeze what I love most.. the law of change would only allow me to embrace speculation. Observation is sometimes best done from a far.

But the real excitement is jumping in feeling the bubbles rise and hit your limbs and make you adjust like one of those pressurized bubble games you played at Burger King.

I like to close my eyes under water, I under estimate what I’m capable of when I trust.

I’m sorry I missed that.. SOMETIMES I DAYDREAM…