All The Wrong Topics dot com

the art of helping.

a warped, waivering thing that has overcome the author Here… the reflective chancre that persuades the dim view darker, and people wouldn’t start caring if their lives depended upon it… we are divided into packs of roving families that seek and destroy in the name of nothing more selfish than a sense of superiority, draining others of the potential energy to make something better of this life, and yet there are some individuals worth mentioning because of their endearing compassion… however, I don’t happen to work with any of those people right now, and too many “good” people are relentlessly flushed because of the capacity of still others to do wrong… there is the ‘see no evil’ old fascist, the ‘speak no evil’ foreign silence, and the ‘hear no evil’ ignorant hag… all average, and all lead by their fear from higher authorities, with fiends like these how can a world change?… where to start with a description of the fiction, and there is much to tell of this, is the necessary explanation for this site to exist really… the ventilation of soul that I utilize, and allow others to see the future through, there is no boundary implemented by more than that there damned casual general Law… this is no mistake, my productive little friends, the trip has yet to end… as other pedestrians may have been observed otherwise to say, the militia for change is never dead nor asleep, but always Here to confront the more plausible disgraces of mankind… so, aside from the deformed sentient monkeys that I happen to swing alongside, I impede my own existence in subtle ways that aren’t usually seen past the waves flowing around everybody always, the energy that is… the hypocrite am I, friends, on one hand is the person who waits to aid in the next gesture standing there, and then it is in the other fist that the person who pokes around to find their limitations out for themselves lurks… the active pacifist perhaps? the wounds are deep, thinking about how the Self uses and shuffles the mortal form around to seek, but what possesses its’ needs and profound overwhelming desires? what do we find after all? I can’t multi-task for shit, it has been this long since any new passages have introduced themselves into your minds, and I have waylaid myself between the ominous workforce during the daylight and those other interests that I don’t care to have add to my income… the freedom is what I wish, to write and express and experience all of these things that I have at hand, and not to waste or take for granted what opportunities I have left… music and imagination are the intriguing tools to focus the energy into results, and producing something that defines me as a creative person… is that really too much to ascribe to?