All The Wrong Topics dot com

kHeterotopia

i can’t hear my words, they drain and flow like bitter turds retarding my suspicions when i can sit and wait for this shit to come down my metaphysical colon, some people are so good at projecting their perspectives onto others and my work should speak for itself much better than the human could trying to explain this or that detail away like the opening of the curtain on a difficult magic trick to spoil the occasion by revealing what is behind the illusion, and then standing back while the audience riles around howling out for the ending to rest more than comfortably into whatever the person is already familiar with to some extent questioning the symbols and signals that garner respect for those that know how to play these vindictive little games that mute more than one or two voices to exorcise the random ghosts of rebellion out of the system… i cannot stand this rage at an impotent stance neutralized by a credible opinion from out of ivory towers gilded in a shroud of oblivion as a humanity staggering out from underneath the shadow tries as many keys as possible to unlock this doorway as an exit, in some kind of path through all the collected works and versions of this station earth as a manic materialism has filtered out from moral and logical debates into this current fusion of contradictory opinions managed by the few handful thought capable, or perhaps made to become sedentary as random displacement in this ectopic expression does not allow more than the rare drifting organ to play havoc on the surge of virulent conformity wrapping around the brains of domesticate humans… utopian ideals permeate the wants for a triumphant future or herald the perfection of everyone succeeding in what they choose as final product or a destiny to prevail when all else seems to be prone to failure, as casual complications take what is compassionate human into the more professional consequence of enantiodromia (a tendency of things to change into their opposites) as time is always marking the cycles as they tend to phase in and out of historic reality, and this is where the consciousness rides into the spaces of human geography instead of image or idea that is not real but a perfected vision of a world society (called a cosmopolis) made up of cellular autonomy under some form of a General Operating Directive…

Thanks, khet.