Administer a millennial
Being a time, to other those responsible for my millennial, those word’s or memes, we all are responsible for them. Take a time to read them there are one for your occasion, you have you, I’m enjoying this slice of my matrix, it’s a deliciously prepared dining. I can’t comment on relevancy I’m enjoying a prepared dish by those who have memes for each occasion. I own a year in a day, they say, your wrong on thinking, because us and you find it hard to swallow a delicious meal. What your chewing on is not real it may taste like blood and is tactile as food, if this agression you have me at is real, then this vehicle dropping on your head will hurt in the sleight of you. This other be deeper and has you out of fed, we all bleed except for me to you. The nature of neighbours has you my example that I’m prettier and happier and I have rights you scare, no excite of me yet. Don’t be aggressive I’m enjoying this matrix, can you not aggressive me. I look like this in a meme, sorry they said it was always about me, you are mean like the other.
Adam Blewett © 2019.
stuck caressing
Loaded in agility and wrapped with honing desire, his wheel bleed to those irresistibly of the precursor, stringently longing every stride to abode, that of envious claim. It was irreversible exhaustion what was to drive his thoughtless vision to stardom. There were ties of the flagrantly rewarding chaws to help in transporting his hollowed heart for spoiling her desire, a help of the haulage to smolder in appealing her encased fatigue.
The option of fuel for desire grow in abundance, although a introverted desire wrapped in the falling night, help to relay to the day break. Their rounding love expeditious of winding through, to course the many that commodity him in abode. Her starting price, to reclaim his humble diet of the many cupped of baking a peanut brittle tart.
To rise before daybreak a nutty collection of her in the stave of employing abode, together a resilient income from the butter-nut-brittle trail. Him in a mapped fondness grew to exhaustion, the luster lack of all that grow in those neighbouring lots of land. They had treated well upon them, and this brilliance of colour struck the emptying heart of many an example.
Her man could no longer rise to the individual day, soon they lumbered to income for health and necessities. Residing to the yard, planting them a round textures, a reminding of her hearts income to present in a forwardly fondness to returning a spun wheel, of supported tiding from an ever increasing shortage of tart.
2019 Adam Blewett ©
Sailing time
I am in retort, my opening upon thought, or environment abounds in a stable or naturally transfixed state, although song or nature, have a transformative value, the ever changing harmony of art, will remain in sequence to my vision, and in relay by immediate result of emotion. I have always said that there is a beauty to all things. Even in the remainder of a horrific natural or man-made disaster there is a resolve in emotion, not by questioning its outcome or in a reminder of how susceptible living objects are to a devoid darkness. It is the exposure, time gives to draw the beauty from a death or rebirth of a image constructed. So defined we are of nature and art i have an optimistic regard for the brittle exchange, of a trustworthy or healthy emotion.
2018 Adam Blewett ©
Enter my world of imagery or all of the arts, if you have a bias to a particular eclectic or arts medium, there belongs a place of negativity, not a negative apprehension of an image, our ridicule of the art, but a stencil of negative imprint, and within the capture of the visual art there lies a response of emotion, whether that be a collective response or a personally subjective one.
Here I have ‘pinned’ this image below to a pages post at top, in monochrome, and of this image below, depending on mood or the pending day, your impression, may vary; say saturated with colour to enhance in vibe or monochrome to relay in seclude of mood. Either way this will always be subjective, so choose some colour and keep a mood.
2018 Adam Blewett ©
Love’s Wicket
Both had her love, and her recital gave to them a feel of being prepared, the aging theatre grew to a golden warmth. A child wrapped the stage, and knowing in task her hour had come, the nervous wait as hesitation held my girl’s name.
Like most of us at the healing hour, the journey, had begun with intel. Only the members could rehearse. And I remember those seasons all to well, it had the recourse of every foretold betrayal, then the only decision to be made was your place or mine.
The opening quail the sombre hearts, the chill of theatres friend. Those pages lay bound with smitten sound, for her song played to wisdoms purging heart. My hours turned and ferocity bailed, her dance was tremendous, sailing from seen to be sound.
We had met at sea, with this this girl in confidence, a prince, of her amour this captive pleasure, her seduction of the brightest stage New York. New York. Astounding, she brought down both of us, a gift to be held with merci of our Terra Firma, a land of hope and ice-cream.
2018 Adam Blewett
Calls of folly
the town crier say you all is good this is my hood and locks are prone my pennies are well and you cry my name as night is known by name of the lamp lit dark and all is well beats reclaim about your business the establishment will claim along these streets in a year of a month our villagers know of the name chosen this guardian of the village of one you birthed this town crier they behold exclaiming too hold logic now cognitive the town crier A crow of one and all is well: I know not of this crow yet this crow knows of me and does not reside in order of caged calamity of hours night, an all well of this lonesome town that grows employed of patrician and this voice i know and you know them and all is well.
© Adam Blewett 2017
The placed angle, shouldn’t have scared so pretentiously. My interviewing mirror to him a desiring charcoal, placed their attendance to my stranded suture a informal rise to repair the meridian lines, up swept neatly and precise, drawing out my curvaceous neck line. Incensed to direct a redraw her longing for my appearance remain. To have our repeal caught treason, fled throughout a demise of playing the get out way.
My look had run dry, in his hands, the automatic catch, had caught tightly. There remained behind the steering wheel, at large her pocketed key’s, stow away out of reach. A feel of remorse and the unexplained closing down of fear, raced within her tender heart. Driving the stencil to a degree of explanation, beaded once more, the doors attaching to the manner on relapse, the hood recoiled to imprint of reboot a charcoal of her inscription.
Resonating to the vinyls, mirrored intently to an easing sound of shallower to appraisal, exhibiting those gifting eyes, relying to enterprise in fooling the hearts desiring facet, a nocturnal ocean breeze. Replacing what should design in temperature, residing to the nameless and infamously discarded pines, the unimpressed capture to the increasing roar, blazing the repeat a sound sweeping through never quite caught.
Out of the ripping tide, happened her broken wealth, reclaiming to enclave an oceans age of swell, the holding retort pleaded to their flailing fulsome lover’s, a deserting heart to chapter in apprehension, ‘fulfil to him’ a desire, the romance could define forever, her keep complete, to savvy them brilliant by days, refueling a nocturnal getaway, lonesome in repair. Hitching a ride to find a reprisal of charcoal a memory growing sad.
2019 Adam Blewett ©
A strangeness in the shifting world we were to belong: on the statement he produced, the informal words, a concoction of silvery and maple letters transforming the image in print to this evolution by way of transport; delivery from a company manager, the blending ashen look, compelled a not to subtle lemon interior. Vertical lines of mismatched tones, helped induce the feeling of spirit to power a lemon harness from a immediately troubling power of displacement. The more i had fed those returning niceties, the arch of sound conversed through a connect to the energized crumple of how far to take you. Our everlasting of shifting miles, returned with a ferocious and strange abandonment to alas in preservation, a nurturing meek, of the residual confidence, telling no strangers we waxed them a dial revered.
© Adam Blewett 2019
As the colour weathered the exterior with a hue, that provided the passersby an almost incomplete feeling of direction, the cottage remain to escape demolition, the house was a contemporary prototype. Natural to the landscape clearing, the sighting bush-walker were to prism a abandon of history. Although the catching light, rendered the unusually, unobtrusive hub a contrasting mismatch to the filtered shadows, the relay of abandonment in this wonderful colour, would go unexplainable to the monochromed memory.
On occasion this impression replicates a desire carved to define, the pretense of inaction. Drawing the needed charter to uncomplicate, the most wondrous recitation, i had collected to the many artistries, a template to redefine this apprehensively ambitious view. At each a placed card, welcoming this ill attended settlement of reputation, so plentiful was my study, the waking hours enveloped a irrational appeal to justify my returning to the abandon of placement.
Tall the overshadowing, branches. The matter was mine, as song fled throughout an escaping territory of drone and grey, innocuous splatters of residual repetition. Full to life my fastidious walking through an unfamiliar surrounding, releasing the complicate to adjust to the surrounding wilderness, even the cooling and warmth of charging air, was enough to compass the indirect from finding the abandonment of desire.
The opening shaded a briolette of ground, the thief of sound crumpled with expectation, there a prism of conservation, belied only to the ill adjusted, did you have to a ashen of contrails. Forgone to this foreclosure of mine, the remedied chart show all to avail, mostly hues in a reconnected, definition to bane, the claiming light. So mainlined to close down the defining cottage colour, I caught chance and pixelated in definition, a well toned photo. To monthly my stopping by to photo shop, the image that compels a redirection.
2019 Adam Blewett ©
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