You have entered the realm of a writer.

Welcome to A Writer's Landscape!

You have entered the realm of my mind where words play with the fabric of our existence. This is the map of my imagination: the very foundations of inspiration, musing, and thought splayed for your wandering eyes. Dive deep into the tides of these forces and experience my reality, my fantasy, my world; and if you should be so inclined, share your words with this land.

Peace and Love!

J Hart F

Sunday, July 18, 2010


Like fuzz on nerves numbing everyday experiences to a lack-less appreciation for the extravagance of miracles performed daily. In itself, magic occurs without regard! For the senses to be outrageously disregarded because repetition condenses in specific locals the mind seems to judge occurrences as necessary or meaningless, to place a value on each decision, and to tell itself to stop counting the passing moments with the reasoning efficiency is lost with extra effort. Therefore time persists in a doubtful existence somewhere between the subconscious and reality. The social understanding of Monotony is tragic. Lessons of great importance live deep in the continuity of Monotony: how life is lived, how the soul survives, the misunderstood perception of time, why fantasy and reality pertain to an interrelatedness lost to the desire of foundations to which we cannot hold, when and where we relate to individuals, and how we can stop ourselves, amongst other vital lessons.

Monotony is monotonous to say which therefore brings speculation upon the word itself. The M starts it off on a lingering note, resonating like the Om of life: it fills the mouth, vibrates against the lips ever so slightly, leaves the eardrums humming for that split second afterward. It opens only because the pressure builds to an unbearable awning maw filling the air with awe in a quick reflection outward of the reverberating existence of the M. Precious O, the mirror of the world living as an eye to see the whole of the word through. Your repetition makes Monotony wondrously omniscient through its time. The N is but a progressive step, or hindrance, to the next O; however like a change short lived during the similarities of moments written off as unnecessary. Swirling in the dull opening of the illusion seen before brings time to a ticking T traversed just as quickly, barely touched in hopes the break means the short lived timelessness will end. This T is a crossroads for the mind to choose, and is often overlooked out of boredom. Onwards the rolling ominously goes. By this point, another O seems welcome as friendly despite all the cause to regret its prevalence. Perhaps the third eye existing holds all energy balled within the voided center rounded gently with an infinite number of sides. It looks out across the open space between neglected moments and sees more than its fair share of the missing revelations. Thus, the one moves on still to the N, not understanding that it is different than the one preceding it. They all begin to look the same, just as similar as the general life of one going through Monotony without realizing the importance of such experiences. All the O's know of this tragedy, and thus explode into the Y, hanging by itself at the end of the word, throwing the observer back to the beginning without a second thought, though its intent is simply to encourage the observer to actual live in the moment and not let it pass, much like seeing the whole of the word Monotony.

Only after looking into the hours, minutes, seconds, and instances of the disregarded affair will anything change and become a better part of life. As depicted, change benefits an individual for looking at the little times which seem insignificant but hold so much more than previously believed. Lessons can't be lost. It's irresponsible. Monotony, chosen over the myriad of other experiences, is detestable and should never be accepted as a state of being.

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