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…a relax of Macaques don’t do it…

…to live and survive in continuity as society deems worthy to claim and confiscate cultural iconography loading crazy reverse psychology as the will o’wisp and faerie fire unleashed in the Moors of a slightly smaller island than Japan, minus a Mick Karn or David Sylvian to make musical the procession of time faked for the most part by those ones in the peanut parliament a far cry from any aisles-length debate from each other continuing to distort any ‘truth’ into a critical “reality” impaired by consensus very rarely any sensual journey to be consensual or wished by many floating up against the shit held in the other hand like sands tightly gripped, and these thoughts are merely some mind out of mind as substance enough to queasily repulse those sensitive of stomachs trying to change emotional lead into social gold before the veins run dry of its quarry while a canary lowered too deep to escape freely becomes acclimated into a dark empty where others are too cowardly to tread whether climbing crawling or in casting out creatures to exile such is the case with the Scottish variety of snow monkey now living in Japan’s hot springs fruitful for bathing and fucking and staying as hot as hedonism requires in the way nature intended for all the while becoming entrenched natives… but C’Loud MacAque as last of a lineage from the clan MacAque in the Scotland not too different from our own, must attempt to bring these many generations worth of primate now fully familiarized with their new home back to the Scottish Highlands even though knowing not who did this, or how to restore them to glory as ages passed enough converting ancient memories into an odd manic and inconsistent mystery… ideas of where to start were difficult to presume for this very last scion of a strange snow monkey clan especially since by some weird genetic mutation C’Loud was born completely human and thrilling off the quickening adventurers’ high that occurs when the terms of service are appropriated into the satire of classic standard themes written by Frankie, who once went to a far away land called Hollywood and something like this, ..”macaques, don’t do it, when you want to pick fru-it – macaques, don’t do it, when you want some fruit”… which relates a whimsical novelty in perspective and relevance to a martial arts move called ‘Monkey Steals Peach’ wherein those combatants are directly across from one another, though one takes the lead and swiftly lowers down by means of splitting the legs while reaching out with one hand forcefully as with a strike, grabbing the opponent’s “package” firmly then pulling towards themselves all in one mighty yank… in this regard, said “package” may be ripped off the ‘genital couch’ or pulled with such ferocity that the male opponent is left cradling their own sensitive genitalia screaming perhaps, although it seems quite intrusive that i wish this tactic on no one… because a thirst for revenge is total and unyielding as blood lust by those whose practice makes their recklessness seem justified, even a primal reconnaissance finding clues to a greater purpose within humanity’s works like this seems fraught with confusion when the path is unclear it leaves the people who are lost in massive numbers left vague and uncultivated when the words like sex are swift and lucid and graphic even though acidic stains reign from the air as much that expanding clouded viral dread outspoken by the rest adrift in this claustrophobic mass of laborious fingers raised hand held flat because there cannot be survival Here…

thanks, khet_:/