Realising again and again, feelings of superiority in judging-down others is the rot. A bad move and habitual, unless arrested at every turn and far-as, remoulded out. 'Sanctification' -- the dynamic and description.
This stupid drunk on-self behaviour, sours our insides and life in Christ. It's a difficult-not, and the demonic . . .
(Not sleeping, so go typing and talking through/to one and only)
Living among a blank generation. And man oh man sense my own blankness. All I can do is scream out. Quiet and physical volume, low aching moans, and needing God. Much, madly, badly -- without sense of circumstantial ease, that keeps me light and... easy.
Stripped of a . . .
The onslaught of UK etc authoritarians in the guise of liberal moderates, aim to put what remains of freedom of expression to bed and sleep. Make private or prosecution? Into the digital bin this'll be going.
There's always an unless we... but silence-about and tired apathy reigns.
TS later, will be about this. Of course, no one . . .
Have less than an hour. Be alone and God time. Desolate and desperate. Look no-other-way mode. The all-surpassing powerful one is present. Would like an hour or two or... more. This'll have to do.
Dopey choruses drum in the background of my mind. Pushing repetitive verses. Speak gently in tongues. Usual struggle and what's the . . .
Regret and reassurance.
And the graphic/verse is about the absolute strength and wisdom in forgetting all past... All. That thoroughly. Whole shebang. No reach back and realign or psycho -- what have you. Forget and forget again.
And like all good that most matters, need God to. Need unseen operations. Holy amnesia? Actually it's . . .
Talking about someone like they're not there and they are, is a typical blind spot among social care workers. Or, outside someone's presence, slamming about in a think-know-it-all, play pretend detective or psyche.
Central-controllers are molding-up these predominately waged dupes to be their slave masters. The direction -- few see . . .
Confessing away here. This world – note I don’t use ‘life’ – leaves me, bit sad and flat. (Or, seems/feels so, in these early sleep-not hours). Hardly know half the time why I type this or TS?
Oh guess me do: Hopeful, as yet not unconfirmed, obedience. The drive not to be a hypocrite. A crying in the wilderness. Wailing and what the Bible . . .