Perilous Thoughts|| #RAeyes
This blog is a collection of thoughts, poetry and graphic art. Most by me, some shared from others.. ----------------------- The content here in is MY opinion and perspective solely. You want to chime in, go for it, I'm an adult. ------- I tend to follow those who follow me, but I reserve the right not to fill my dashboard with shit. :-) -------You can call me The Analyst.
  • perilousthoughts:

    Contests aren’t my thing and I think I have a small enough group of followers to promise to post everything submitted!

    What are you sending me?

    1. Think of an art piece, jewelry, poem, comment, quote or picture of yours that you’d like someone to review and write about.
    2. I reserve the right to…

    No takers? :-( I didn’t mean I’d pick it apart! I was just looking for outside works to consider and look for an alternate perspective. Or see if it spoke to me some how. 

    It’s alright. Can’t say I blame anyone. :-p

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  • perilousthoughts:

TICK-TOCK as time counts down,
TICK-TOCK that hallow sound,
TICK-TOCK we bustle around,
TICK-TOCK commitments bound,
TICK-TOCK peace can be found,
TICK-TOCK as time counts down.
 
♀|} The Analyst

Tick-Tock “work” never stops. 
  • perilousthoughts:

    TICK-TOCK as time counts down,

    TICK-TOCK that hallow sound,

    TICK-TOCK we bustle around,

    TICK-TOCK commitments bound,

    TICK-TOCK peace can be found,

    TICK-TOCK as time counts down.

     

    |} The Analyst

    Tick-Tock “work” never stops. 

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  • perilousthoughts:

Some people are like Vodka;
in small amounts, they make
the world seem really amazing,
but long term consumption
can kill you.

♀|} The Analyst
  • perilousthoughts:

    Some people are like Vodka;
    in small amounts, they make
    the world seem really amazing,
    but long term consumption
    can kill you.

    |} The Analyst

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  • Anonymous asked : write a poem about death?

    I was a child when my father’s Grandmother died.

    It was the first time I got to watch him as he cried.

    I too suddenly felt the drip of saline sorrow,

    but it wasn’t mine.

    I willed him my strength to briefly barrow,

    rod in my spine.

    He slouched with grief fighting him for every breath.

    Since then I’ve come to think I’m a conduit for death.

    Strangers to me will confess,

    A loved one passed.

    Few show no signs of duress,

    The rest are masked.

    I offer them my condolences to another casualty.

    Debating the extent and limits for my hospitality. 

    |} The Analyst

  • Anonymous asked : Why don't you like money?

    I suppose it’s not the money itself I hate, but rather what it has done to society as a whole. Money tends to make people forget to experience the simple things, the awe of the earth. It causes worry and provokes greed driven independence. A lot of people don’t even seem to realize it. Our quests for independent wealth often supersede our quest to make the world a better place or help a stranger without judgement simply because we can. For those reasons generally, I loath money. The “Credit” Industry even more. 

    |} The Analyst

  • Honey Bees of the mind will build energized bricks of conviction;
a secure wall to stand against burdened by the weight of dereliction.
They are a self-defense mechanism spawn of a natural conscription; 
conjured to pollinate the life inside with an inspiring inscription.
On your mind they seed motivation through internal encryption;

designed by the subconscious to provide the perfect description.
 ♀|} The Analyst
  • Honey Bees of the mind will build energized bricks of conviction;

    a secure wall to stand against burdened by the weight of dereliction.

    They are a self-defense mechanism spawn of a natural conscription;

    conjured to pollinate the life inside with an inspiring inscription.

    On your mind they seed motivation through internal encryption;

    designed by the subconscious to provide the perfect description.

     |} The Analyst

  • Sometimes I get angry on purpose. 
The heat of rage to hide why I’m nervous.
To be reminded I still have the capacity.
Power driven by an unbridled audacity.
Just to harness the surge of energy.
Mentally expelling it  with intensity.
Sometimes aimed somewhere specific.
Often feeling morbidly terrific.
Boiling blood for me to call into service.

Sometimes I get angry on purpose.
♀|} The Analyst
  • Sometimes I get angry on purpose.

    The heat of rage to hide why I’m nervous.

    To be reminded I still have the capacity.

    Power driven by an unbridled audacity.

    Just to harness the surge of energy.

    Mentally expelling it  with intensity.

    Sometimes aimed somewhere specific.

    Often feeling morbidly terrific.

    Boiling blood for me to call into service.

    Sometimes I get angry on purpose.

    |} The Analyst

  • MIND OF A CHILD; EVOLUTION OF AN ADULT

    I keep a written journal with numbered entries like a personal bible. In it I write the truths of my life, sometimes vague and other times in detail. I re-read past entries from time to time, considering my evolution. Today the words spoke to me by way of feeling. I think many of the same things, but I don’t feel the same way about them. I’ve learned to let  a lot go and in that, in reading, it dawned on me this must be what it feels like to peak that moment of metamorphosis of adulthood. Still aware of the childlike purity and simplicity of seeing things but evolved with a broader level of comprehension. Too, I realized there will be more of these moments to come, as I believe there are many parts of ourselves which grip childish tendencies which hinder us in our own happiness. One day, we’ll grow past that until the only child within us is the one constructed of our natural happiness. 

    |} The Analyst

  • ".. lost in a moment; i should have written it down .."

    TRUE STORY —

    Doing. Thinking. Speaking.

    The moment moves on.

    Side thought of brilliance.

    Dark. Inspired. Brief.

    Too short the interjection.

    Not pointed enough the agreement.

    Lost. Tunneled. Intent.

    The moment moves on.

    Next topic brought up.

    More doing, thinking and speaking.

    I should have written it down.

    The notion is gone.

    Lost in a moment.

    I should have written it down.

     |} The Analyst

  • FOLLOWERS, yes, YOU!

    Contests aren’t my thing and I think I have a small enough group of followers to promise to post everything submitted!

     What are you sending me?

    1. Think of an art piece, jewelry, poem, comment, quote or picture of yours that you’d like someone to review and write about.
    2. I reserve the right to write what I’m inspired to write, though feel free to request an inspired reply, or analytical thoughts on it.
    3. Post it on your blog Tagging #PerilousThoughts  and #The Analyst Answers
    4. Click on my post-signature “The Analyst” or go to my page and click the “?” under “Home” to message me so I know to look for it (I’m new to this, so sometimes I miss posts.)

    Give me a week max to review and re-blog with my reply. Of course, if you’re not ready to do such a thing, feel free to send questions, comments, and random prompts of inspiration my way. Anonymously or not. :-)

    |} The Analyst

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  • The MEN of my dreams…

    The men of my dreams are diverse

    yet cut from the cloth of desire in my mind

    they are weathered by war (inside or out)

    and likewise scarred by the trials of time

    men capable and able to do the darkest

     violent things, too, still known to be kind

    they are curious of me

    and understanding

    though they instinctually see the line

    they hold me still

     eye to eye

    saying nothing

    as their soul rides the energy of their gaze into mine

    these men have a quiet dominating presence

     and capacity to strip my synapse of its analytics

    for the overload of sensation crashing

    oceans of endorphins though my system

    they know me

    despite lacking the details

    they seem to see the impact

    leaving echoes of my wisdom

    etching dark voids in my prism

    such men are always strangely somewhat faceless

    and ever attractive for all the subtleties of language

    intentionally or coincidentally provoking a fire within

    these men are excited by my virginity

    but driven by a passion for my complexity

    perhaps men of past lives

    ancient crossings of unlikely companions

    each together, each-other’s champion 

    |} The Analyst

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  • WOW! Wow. wow. Love these black roses. This picture!!!
I’m inspired:

LET THEM DIE AND PAINT THEM BLACK
I’m not the sort of woman to be won over by red roses.
The darkness in my heart will only see flowers in poses.
Let them die and paint them black to be kept eternally.
Leave a note with a few words to provoke perversity.
Allow them to represent your acceptance of my heart.
They will tell me no abyss or death will drive us apart.

♀|} The Analyst
  • WOW! Wow. wow. Love these black roses. This picture!!!

    I’m inspired:

    LET THEM DIE AND PAINT THEM BLACK

    I’m not the sort of woman to be won over by red roses.

    The darkness in my heart will only see flowers in poses.

    Let them die and paint them black to be kept eternally.

    Leave a note with a few words to provoke perversity.

    Allow them to represent your acceptance of my heart.

    They will tell me no abyss or death will drive us apart.

    |} The Analyst

    (Source: drowned-in-daydreams, via roseswillbleed)

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  • njdom77:

heybaby-doll:

master-randy-paul:

I’m 50, I believe that qualifies. 

Looooove older men :)
-bd

I’m right here waiting little girls

I am more attracted to older men than those my age or younger, but I wasn’t originally going to reblog this and admit it… then I saw the comments. Particularly the “little girls” one. I’m 5’8” with Viking blood which means there isn’t much that’s little about me besides maybe my patience which wouldn’t last long if someone I was attracted to went about calling me “little girl” even if he was taller and broader than I. Now… “Little Lady” I could probably let slide though I would be questioning if I fit the definition of Lady either. :-p
♀|} The Analyst
  • njdom77:

    heybaby-doll:

    master-randy-paul:

    I’m 50, I believe that qualifies. 

    Looooove older men :)

    -bd

    I’m right here waiting little girls

    I am more attracted to older men than those my age or younger, but I wasn’t originally going to reblog this and admit it… then I saw the comments. Particularly the “little girls” one. I’m 5’8” with Viking blood which means there isn’t much that’s little about me besides maybe my patience which wouldn’t last long if someone I was attracted to went about calling me “little girl” even if he was taller and broader than I. Now… “Little Lady” I could probably let slide though I would be questioning if I fit the definition of Lady either. :-p

    |} The Analyst

    (Source: paralyz-ed, via blueeyecandy)

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  • When i look at this picture, I almost feel like it’s for me. A reminder there’s some man out there to be jut opposite enough to keep me warm when I’m cold and sane when I think I’ve lost my mind. 
♀|} The Analyst
  • When i look at this picture, I almost feel like it’s for me. A reminder there’s some man out there to be jut opposite enough to keep me warm when I’m cold and sane when I think I’ve lost my mind. 

    |} The Analyst

    (Source: bobprometh, via mermaidsbite)

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  • In cases where this sort of statement might be needed, I’d bet a round of drinks I could de-escalate it without throwing a punch or getting sexual… :-p
♀|} The Analyst
  • In cases where this sort of statement might be needed, I’d bet a round of drinks I could de-escalate it without throwing a punch or getting sexual… :-p

    |} The Analyst

    (Source: blueeyecandy)

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