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…in a wicked shitty

the ball of confused dirt and magma molten liquid rolling internal with these dragon-like fires flowing in against primal seams upon these biased seas of samsara felt drifting and lifting through holes into surface realms where these children playing adults travel to one side from the other following on the lines of ley left kept for purposes of magical journeys throughout this sodden world whose brains like reins are held by the archaic educators vying for influence on yet another minion-to-be still jogging on that treadmill making efficient the units of erg humming up and down like a heartbeat pulsing behind us, trailing this bloody accident as the emotional baggage weighing into us as much onto our invisible burdens that life shifts for us as we travel picking up various new insights as they are revealed opens to us when seeming to occur from out of thin err as mistakes stack against the impenetrable position we have built for defense though all these defensive beings bump and grind in an autonomous dreaming under the neon lights that cut deeper into our psychic impressions of what is than anything else can or will glaring stained color, but it is this that does not mean anything at all in training us to fall not just for easy disguises and the poetic words in which we all seem entranced dancing upon a binge and purge relevance to expose the worst images of our demonic pressures propelling us forward ever onward to the hidden universe of our souls as an immortal self that never leaves us behind because we are the memories filling in gaps like paste lying in wait for the right avatars birthed Here to take up where the last one tracked off in adventure… posed to death by the breath of life living through us as yet that not lost and eternally silent under these waves as layers of years and continuous movement from all those forms of adaptation striving to reveal natures unseen until the puzzle framed seems completely real to the observing eyes viewing only the one of the many sides shifting place with others in a dramatically epic spinning of woolen yarns and tales to tell some passing from mind to mouth and winding back in again, that urgent surging of warp and weft inventing the total together somehow without exception leaping amongst the waving fabric whether cages or stages into which we are displayed for the rest of this world whom would choose to witness of their voluntary reasoning to take in the shows certainly not made for the faint of constitution or whose moral sense is too easily disturbed, or it is the fluid that drains from what we try so desperately to retain as this human road is bending and looping and sloshing around all these liquid pieces that carry both a sense of identity and a memory upon which this collective feeds without a moment’s hesitation in this out there bewilderness dropped out of heaven for our amusement suspended in disbelief when desperately in learning to attempt tuning and channelling out these animals maybe as humans…

Thanks, khet.