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the art tickles…

written symbols as words so easily and casually read by interpreters of the future created by these as displays conceived of and perceived by those artists we can understand ourselves to be locked in Here fully compressed not into legend even though cognizant that the end of a leg finishes in a foot in whose swift motion we are reliant upon as transport toward poetic feats we have all but dreamed of before this now as plow reinforced by a stubborn-headed tense followthrough that leads most of us to look at who we are as oxen through magnifying lenses geared to glimpsing this cellular minutia as details building up this dungeon crypt, a frozen basement in which the ghouls and goblins roam free though the human face worn betrays subtle hidden glimpses within the sallow distaste of dirty skinny person-like movements all foreshadowing a humane attenuation whose attentions are merely distracting and shallow reasons superficially teasing real humans to the surface through inspired aggravation and frustration as fuses soon lit to burn the fire underneath the masses of the asses inspired by change when possible as the portals open and close like phantom orifices, but as we begin moving out of an entertainment only phase as this human existence edging us closer to that cosmic destination we must confront in order to breach beyond this hollow barrier imposed by the beliefs we have kept unsaid and energized to prove these ideals true in ourselves as much the outside “real” world which envelopes us and all we do while Here through a focus upon the integration of information becoming the next part of the process digesting us and all we have made out of nothing but aspiration and the material requiring us… Man impresses his subjects against the truth with false claims fashioned as perfect to push a fascist agenda seeking only to control us without release in a biased iron grip of extremity made flesh and bone reality to the world population now marching to this single beating rhythm bleeding all compassion out of these creatures trying to learn for themselves what right and wrong are about to discover a personal rationale making this passionate journey worthwhile, aching to be aware that we are each a performance living though not always aware of the art we contribute to the overall picture that includes any of those parts we cannot perceive for ourselves as individual walking fine lines between on-rushing currents of repulsive hatred and loving acceptance as it shifts and manipulates our moods along our formal programming, but in no totality lost as to keeping up where we do not seem to belong at first as we take ourselves far too seriously to answer all relevant questions with an immediate and absolute clarity without some kind of struggle to learn further from who we really were before leaving these forms where they were born as human children finally grown to proportions outside detrimental norms…

Thanks, khet.