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so myth Tickle…

domestication over adaptation as the thrill kill wears us thin as Mankind’s excuses for a cold and ugly glimmer of hope if as gritty in the streets as it is nitty when the going toughens up some against the dichotomy when dictated to us from the lobotomized scope of conquest the walls coated with blood from cities Jericho onward toward other projects of urban renewal building the tallest or most phallic of inconsequential foolishness to predict a future where not one is left behind to watch over the babysitters when they are tired of watching over the multitude of a subject in our populace of children and the youth that which we are still apart whether we know it or not, the systematic infection has become a total melting of affection with affectation promoting then factions within factions as sub-units that don’t need to feel any data another sentient conscious entity whom we assume these people wandering and considering whatever facts we are given whether clearly as intelligent or vaguely stupid makes no difference as we have a complicit foot in this particular grave into which our darkest fears and guilt lies abruptly hidden by uncertain urges that are unforgiving, and Here we are a bit deeper in the nightmare than when we were previously being conceived as merely trivial bytes of dreams and flesh floating alive in the atmospheric womb stewing in septic fears and guilt trips gone awry until that most highly anticipated birth of the child whose worth fills out wholes left empty by those cowards and craven villains matched to meet the maker’s edging with the branding marks on the chest used to signify these commodities slow to lose value… the fulcrum of power a full turnaround devoured as the tale of the ouroboros in its traveling surge leaving crumbs of glory in the wake of this world ocean manipulated by waves of these peculiar individuals who do what they do without the interests of others to drive them as selfish needs push favors out of hands of those who need them most as a trick of the wrist when risks are there to be taken then forsaken, the granted land acts as a transit while one sits pondering along as mental pathways to be lost or found unconscious when confused relies upon this confusion as the moral gist of the gifts to be wasted turning some peoples’ heads away while others do a double take when sights of a mighty better appear to give us solace enough to grace the energies of a heart broken by the subtle disparity of a mad world always in some fundamental tumult that requires attention, but is it ever really safe to begin with when fate has a funny way of flowing in different directions under the surface so much so that as it runs away from us we feel so nostalgic for the traveling back in time we do with our minds eyeing to that vast horizon the prize we have wedded treasure to truths to reassure ourselves that what we are doing can prove that we are of worth and value extremely commodified in the enjoyment of those we will never meet…

Thanks, khet.