P is for potential…
past lies dead, long live past.
sitting, thinking, and crafting the ideas that will continue to shape my being beyond this death… such an odd string to attach one’s conscious thought… October passed with a fairly hushed tone… no parties, but feelings for strangers are pretty moot when there is far better companionship at the heart of one’s daily existence… even dreams of the recent future do not placate my psyche calm, and drugs are the least of my needs, no matter how distorted the perception may be to outsiders… festivities aside, though, there are many things learned over the course of this strange recall into slightly misty areas of memory… interactivity seems strained but feasible, and the bits I have come up with are mere shadows of the solid firmament that makes movement difficult, to be aware and understanding of them in small increments… …
peopled fecal.
the desecrate excremental breath of life given to sell out the soul through doubt remains pure.
purified by a codex of wishes of the moral imperative to ferret out all suspicions of name and place.
placed here as refugees of a lost cause to cause the suffering case for great trial and tribulations.
tribal copulations mimic the feigned religious revelations and epiphanies to the height of filth.
the extent of which is fixed in a race for a known god to sort out all the indifferent species.
leaving the the feces to rise to the top of the bowl with dusty airs they stole from a past relieved.
to be relived with not one of us to take heed of warned prior debts to the concrete laws of odds.
stacked against a wall of drones manifesting a manufactured and manipulated peace of mind.
sent to task to …
“Peace in Boredom”
the world is a vicious place, and few inhabitants within in its vicious cycle realize this. not those of the new religion, nor the people looking for safety, and certainly not the political mad dogs sitting in their ivory towers bending the strings of humanity. all are prey.
the post-13th.
the marriage of the ridiculous to the erroneous was in stark contrast that day of days…the sacrificial scapegoat scraping by on loose amounts of change and reason…an altered ego applied against the fascist status quo with onward fears of where to go next…the ulterior motive sways precariously from limb to limb, and my senses reel from the chaos that ensues therein…the drive is a creative one, but manifests in bold swatches and swathes over time’s collapsing rays of hope…seeking release deserves its period in the son…wordplay not so much a game as a means to express and digress throughout all progress Here…discoveries of the other parts of me are taking hold, and my mind defiles the kindness that forces itself upon the others…authority counts the moments until my demise, and my eyes can’t see what the point ever truly …
the pre-13th.
so another one is on the horizon again…how severe to be stuck in this space of confinement yet again…the motion turns it on tomorrow, but my eyes need not see, no ears to hear through static contemplations…the intriguing sustenance gained from positive flow is undeniable, and makes my feelings ring with a passionate pace, though the negative space filters in through like a radioactive drip that keeps lingering inside the instinct…an industrial strength flair for the impassioned plea to exceed…the goals from parents, the thoughts towards a desecrated future, and the delivery of pursuit into an even darker reality…what is this fear that resides in mind of the hatred that succeeds to pull the distracting muscle pushing backwards on the teeter-toter of realized experience and the nature of second-guessing?
….I speak of jealous things that well-up from the heart, eating …
pieces of dream.
the wall was built to protect the advantages that others kept to themselves…the rot was more of a side effect than anything else…the excitation was diverting distraction’s edge…blunting the blade, as it were…laughter fills the air with the knife in one hand, and a reasonable doubt within another grip…the alibi fell short, and my friends feel the pressure…the intestinal fortitude scared my sensibilities…the stylized rhythm filtered through the air, the particles and the space betwixt those, but came to settle further into the ear of the madman…the altars are a swollen place…the fusions losing all form…the suckers have rowed ashore for ages since…the functions lost tales long ago…forgotten…turned into those short phrase situations…the ones where a dull silence pervades the sickness, greasy and matted over the conversations they speak of in the dimly-lit rooms…hair flattened and dense in the …
the Pouls
the next half to the Pouls demented story as they travel outside of their isolated hometown, and search for some new adventures at a resort town down on the beach. regardless of where they go, the Pouls bring bad moods and wicked feelings wherever they lurk.
The plight of realizing.
What is this life that human beings take for granted?
I feel distraught at being Here, understanding as little as I do about the workings of this human world, and questioning whether it is our destiny to inherit the keys to these things we call bodies. Death is the lingering concept on the other side of the coin, but into what slot does this coin fit? The whole of me is this coin, and the bottomless pit is where I land, a sea the more barren the deeper it gets. Or is that the illusion that we perceive? That there is even a direction to go, up or down and left or right, but is there a single fact that is right? I have trouble dealing with life’s anonymities and anomalies, and it is the …
the perception of e.y.e.
the perception of…
Every…
Young…
Entity…
eye see, eye see…visions of the masses through their children’s eyes, and outside of the mind there are reconstituted effigies of persons who walk by, hardened by the growth of the creature on the surface…the eyes, however, say much more from the soul then many other physical points do, but that is not to say that there is no way people can flow with this energy from every pore…most do not even pursue such abilities…in youth, we have everything that cannot be condemned for the loving newness that makes every moment breathtaking, but as we grow older, it does become easier to use experience as a shell from this freshness…not an innocence, per say, but an undeniable potential for anything sensual or beyond the six senses…man is five senses, but that example is that devolved man that …