to those about to fock…
you are all lunatics perverted by the lack of real control that I might seem capable to sustain
khet’s coroner
(higher thought)less
Conventionality is born of stagnation and a reluctance to relinquish our grip on antiquated social observances. While it’s understandable that people want to revel in the bastion of the familiar and shun all things foreign, it should be etched into our very soul how important it is to learn and evolve beyond the mundane, for to grow stagnant is to stop moving forward, to allow convention the right of way is to disavow our own humanity and free will, and squelch the fire of imagination, and crush all possibility of really feeling as though we’re alive.
Tulsa backwards is ‘a*sluT’…
topics through the mind meat, somewhere deep that can never be touched by human hands, but torn apart with a simple command…we might have the impossible journey stillborn in our hands, but, goddamn-it!!!, we are good people…yet, where is this fascinating syndrome i have come to feel?…
the old excuse maker…
indecision abounds, and I can’t clear the ol’ noggin, friends… gaps in time lead me to be less than fruitful, and I can’t help but classify myself in these retarded constraints, even when I know I am not that terrible… Just uncomfortably lazy…
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… …
that resin left.
The droppings left on the ground formed a cake of black tar. There was no smell except that of a plastic soul embedded somewhere in the crust of its depth. The ground it was laying upon yielded to the substance as it absorbed into the dirt, making a place for itself within the seeping fingers of the still liquid underside, and prevented all normal growth from underneath. The texture, to the touch of anyone who dared, was noted for its sticky compliance yet absolute solidity when stressed. A potent substance derived from nothing… so nothing is the only result. Thoughts lost when least expected, to be left for another vacant mind, and perhaps leading to innovation in some regard. A terrible feeling, to know the dark matter was once a part of you, but the other part of you …
the night showers…
those grotesque blues in a haze of blissful repose… so I chose to get my teeth fixed after years of supposed tormentia like a sinus infection, rotting 3rd molars, and a general lack of proper hygiene for my mouth… first, the teeth were cleaned….. oh, but wait, I am forgetting a large chunk of time… due to the poking and prompting and care of another human being, I saw a doctor about my sinus infection, and was prescribed a few things to take care of the situation… such as flonase and antibiotics… after a short pause, the problem became an afterthought, and soon receded into the memory… however, my teeth were still in a fairly awkward condition, but I was more than comfortable to avoid that conversation long enough… with a direct insistence to keep myself healthy, and a …
what comes to mind.
insert a slip of the tongue Here. i bear no harmful intent, but in my wake are funereal rites of passage bearing the marks of intolerant behavior. the likes of which we may never see again in the same way. the creeping sense of the all-encompassing crowd, and the panic related to dealing in the social sphere. there will be no justice where there is no esteem for each other. again, though, the graceless slip of speech, when mind and body misaligned to reveal the magnetism of failure. that negative monkey wrench that has been thrown into the works to corrupt our severed senses inside the bubble culture. the cure to fecal retail is to put aside the walk of a lion, and champion the righteous noise of dysfunction, once and for all. to adapt to the painful attributes …