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…scorDatura metel…

…myth owes us something for believing in it at all because we reflect the greater systems down to the very flesh taken for granted by the massive amounts of douchebags out there walking around in the dark about anything and everything in this world making exception for a few things that stand out in their limited sights finding those gems highly profound in the assortment that have compiled composing themselves as some kind of new-fashioned victorian banker or land baron making everyone nearby barren like a curse betraying their presence perhaps similar as to midas touch turned douche fingers, golden gods kill those they are attracted to thinking that love could be so easily attained by idiots who encapsulate raw doses of grotesque pain that it personally makes me weep trying to control the inner narrative without fail yet conscious suspension of disbelief or even belief for that matter in something supreme without attaching harmful eccentricity extremely unnerving regular bystanders who all have their own ideals of a mission to accomplish Here though often we are left to assume supervision for ourselves once we are able to command a reliable presence devoid of harsh wisecracks at the corporate expense, laid to waste as hollow insistence under duress of their company manhandlers whose capable molestation relies upon freedom of access to these financial circuits in systems whose size within the microscopic pockets is still unimaginably expansive perhaps deeper fathoms greater than our oceans Here yet while we survive this atmosphere aware of the inevitable symptoms of life motility running down beyond repair taking us all through that journey one might call out for everyday heroes or even those in the national perception who have shot people for what they believed in whether democratic or not means “greater good” amid the corpses… left drowning in inky fluids and dry dark smudges that used to stain skin when introduced to this thing it cannot read as art to the general public opinion caring very little for what others have to say in any context Here piecing together genius from spare parts pinned to the cork as though a butterfly or are we more akin to moths who probably have no myths to themselves selling their souls for some genetic interest before and after this concrete jungle of villains keeping the butterfly effect in checks testing reality as best we can disguised as agency, amidst the inedible combative competition cannibalizing our spirits without mentioning we are all children of the corny solutions we have been so intoxicated upon with relentless precision requiring submission to a lesser god of whose name was lost long ago yet still retains some kind of superstitious foothold among the natives Here to which my reference is to ourselves no one left out really because we can all be caught sacrificing our fates for an exchange rate we can only assume makes sense as a long game play hopefully triggering a sense of good sportsmanship knowing when to admit defeat, or creating drama that traumatizes those in attendance at whatever kind of affair one happens to be radiating pure unhelpful mayhem that is trying to eat your face off while negotiating a way to entice you to accept their intentionally grim dark whispers as though true qliphothic entities harboring somewhere outside Here that we cannot find but always call ‘home’ for its homeopathic qualities of warmth and healing disease for those of us locked into our comfort zones anonymously passive and just barely getting by on anything that appears to make existence appreciate you as though somehow possible as important…

thanks, khet_:/