All The Wrong Topics dot com

an epistle in episodes…

thought upon the pausitive elements in my written desires insinuating a self-certainty as though each stray piece is thoughtful in its own rights that each cell inside the body makes up the whole of humans making their marks upon the world at large defined by their winnings as much as their losses building a frenzy for distraction that alienates us from ourselves attempting to be better than that Other within us that takes its cues from the dead romantic endeavors that inspire us in legend and myth to epic high arts as yet to be undone amidst these mysteries of a humanity sorting itself from the insight out, assimilating all of the lessons to be gleaned from these all-too human dramas carrying themselves to the surface minus comfort or support which always occurs after the fact during traumatic periods like molten earth to boil up shifting what once was cold and solid into a fiery fluid broth that scalds the calm out of silent stony fringes of a dense sea of dirt and magma rising like a tide to wash those patented certainties out onto a crumbling assurance of facts, but laxative at the fact that we access this stability and structure to give us the grounded stance in order to stride out on a limb with the necessary confidence synchronous against a grain of assault that implies out loud that ‘we will not win’ at the ancient game of strangers that even as it seems time and space have all but forgotten that we still renew these qualities as though this were all that is necessary… a building upon what was already Here blanketing the lands we walk along adrift in floating sometimes when a sea of people seems calm on the surface though all throughout as much underneath us there are waves sending signals and messages as particles flowing through our veins of some atomic drama circulating in those swaying moods and our fates as history bends those pieces into palatable shapes to digest as rumors and guesses flake off the exterior engrained superior, no rest for the rest of us in fighting against the wicked Men who have long strayed from leading us into safety to oblivion where the gauge of your pain describes what you have left as renewable resource for the monsters under disguise of human features to churn out minions or victims as the need applies itself pressuring all of the denizens to obey those demands thrust upon us and them as the blame shifts like tectonic plates in social structures tilting from occasional quakes of reason and fragility trying to set things into a motion of an ’as they are’ perpetuity, and this leaves us to blame each other while impossible ideas staining filters to perceive each other as the enemy when we each try to manipulate the taste of fruitful destinations within a series of speculations inside our owned personal ideals of truth that were first instilled unique as traits and tales picked up as family became our external teachers corresponding to elements of an internal growth encoded and released as time has passed leaving us participants in an exaggerated life…

Thanks, khet.