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EnsLaBored.

predicate like a predatory state defining our propositions of fate with faith in the life of words and their wording as though strings with things attached are forming these origins of the feces adapted to air-breathing in smog-covered shitty environments once humanity got past its’ primordial crawling phases, before the spiritual being is experiencing a metaphysical defenestration as though thrown through the window of the mind’s eye as in the loosening of spiritual material flowing out of this holy orifice as a surge of ectoplasmic intent moving forward to find the ideas to explain, but as slow a process can be in its eventuality seeming lost to all these other forces at work as their truths come first amongst this more studious tedium steady as some stronger than average bonds are created between those various selves inside people… the shaman of shame have spread their servicing disease far and wide with the fellow peddlers of a mystery too trivial and specific to be mistaken for wisdom bought and sold to whoever is randomly willing to fall for the tricks and the gimmicks, anchored to the decisions we make by the drugs we take as the fools we become stay kids all along in our lives trying by force to control this ideal “growing-up” hole we are buried into kidding ourselves in avoiding creativity, and separating the pseudo-visible ideas of working hard and labor as epileptic fits we just have to deal with from those actual realities we can learn not to just live with because the freedom is in our choice with any vision of heaven we wish to show for the pursuit of it… the craze affects us deep where nothing can touch us but these ego ideals attempting to imprint themselves upon the psyche so it can survive vicariously through energy inside another’s body in other lifetimes, as the civilized masses are systematically infected with a rebel-lazy indifference that is mocking the real tang of rebellion with evils of hatred and infiltration and general dismissal of anyone’s feelings on the issues, but that seems to be the way this vague ranting goes through one’s brainpan like a diarrheal trepanation that is suddenly flooding the system we live with in smelly bile and the wasted next steps to reach a developed floor once the ringing has abated where the muzak remains softly playing to none…

Thanks, khet.