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the minus touch

golden gifts that grift their way across the planes of grain where this boredom reigns supreme among cultured youths born to take and choose and gain nothing but apathy for the others in Here fighting a veiled attempt to curse us into that ignorance which hates the self in its own ways that leaking through to drip onto our faces with the feces dropped from the errors passed around like a communal calumet as meant for these pilgrims looking for a freedom not puritans looking to condemn and conform the excess of a native population into imitations and examples of what not to be thus taken as old lesson from then on as we retain the darker bytes through our organic composition composting from the bad decisions made, a holy Son is inert as myth manifested soon infested with selfish definitions that accept no one else to be king of kings when the true burning off of the supposed sin comes from inside throughout a furnace of the soul as the sweat hangs limp in that diesel breeze cooling and drying this stink onto us forcing us into re-washing everything dirty and damp with ideal clean routines that due the trick to kirk imagination from our fingertips as we lose touch within our dreams for the absolute certainty that takes place when there is no one but ourselves to guide us, and find us lacking as that diabolical critic manipulating the social physics universal amongst us to make everyone feel oppressed and depressed and distressed at that weighty amount of condemnation to relieve the burden we have become as that turd in the punchbowl floating mysteriously dropped by someone who enjoys leaving the mess for someone else to clean up as it takes a real lack of humanity to disturb the majority and those at rest on their morals… the art of foil as in those comedic thrills as peals of laughter chime and ring belting each of us with distinct blasts of human intuition what this thing is that makes us recoil with such gaiety within the depravity of this pit in a sensual test of one’s ability to reside inside of this beast all the way to the end of the tracks as this train of thought pulls into its last stop for perusal of business and pleasures alike, and we are a destination inasmuch that further continuity of human explorations and innovations toward which we have always reached from the beginning as i think though some may argue the point in any of this as there are so many disagreements yet to resolve their cases of what is claimed is not the case to be proof eventually, can indeed be the end of civilization’s grip upon the collective psyche trying to make peace with all of this i dream perception into reality as the naysayers are wallowing in their soothing of think sordid prophesies idly sewn as the service to disease offends those that grow up from their past mistakes as manufactured to change the stream flowing between the common people to separate each from the Others to suffer alone with our thoughts who choose to stay with us as pieces of the continuous…

Thanks, khet.