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calamity of the (god-app)errant.

sew the cheque gets dropped off from the holy dive that working into blurry lines has become for this heir apparent to nothing in particular… the banquet, with their feast of cash on hand, will gladly eat up my money, but we shall see if there is nothing in return… finances have rarely enhanced my feeling of being blissfully unattached, merely deterred by heavy-handed fatherly wisdom… being independent feels fine without pushing buttons with the exception of the authoritative advise that overtakes an isolated sense of inferiority… wait to see if the energized money will sit well with hungry-eyed bank bastards and retarded cash-handlers, and maybe go-fetch will be same game as previously played before this day… my account means nothing but subservience to the crooked pages and barons of the banking community… none of them would happen to have accounts themselves… no, their stashes are in the form of investment or mattress bundles under their beds, I’ll wager… only those burdened by the responsible and not rabidly awaiting it have the unlucky option of needing an account structured to make the fools look intelligent, the smartest people seem foolish in demeanor… chasing the bank farther away would seem more taxing than talking to the cheery persona of the father figure… his leering twisted smirk teases the damaged property that a son has come to be viewed as by the others… it may not seem the worse of burdens, but shouldered by the sheltered minion of the master’s making, the outlook appears far more deranged for the freedom used to fret over… no hope and no problems need apply for the subversive sectioning off of my livelihood… what is left of he chastened beast apparently tamed by age? I know not what is left of me, but obviously there is a pillaging going on somewhere that I am not involved in, where pride for oneself means nothing to the mediocre mob mentality of macabre and obscene dreams… where is this noise coming from that emits a small buzzing from the skull and forehead, this thing that traipses around my mind like a voice from some far-off place where no sway is held by a ruler or guiding system of measurement at all… the conflict is always there, and the few that see it outside myself run right into the eye of the storm after it chews them up for their bystander posturing, love is not enough to quell this anachronism of mine… not even a thorough purging of ego is enough to douse the flames of opposition, nor swinging changes of perspective, but there is always some kind of refuge here where no other finger of thought touches me… opinions come and go, but my isolated form gets the better of this material harness that I wear and am aware of… sometimes the mind drifts away, and I cannot seize a comedown from my own juvenile crutches of yore, emotions…