All The Wrong Topics dot com

into the pleonasm

it is difficult to say that I might be overly wordy, but I digress to speaking of fellows like HP Lovecraft and the like-minded of a certain verbal sculpture. where poem and prose lose touch with reality, and combine altogether into a mix of parts anecdote to antidote, call it all about being there in the moment. the discovery of unreal ordeals and how they strain against our reality Here into the middle of nowhere in particular. we lose touch with awareness at times, with the best of intents to cherish the present, and forget the most important details of the real point. the ironic chance idea to take over the world before you are dead. only the human animal could give such harrowing tales of incredible whim. the document of life living is witness in the movement all around us as the universal and binary god. the system of orders that reflect a general melange of chaos for some nondescript point. what right do we have to impress ourselves upon the inanimate, as their movements reside deeper in the theory of longer moments, but only given the larger macrocosm holding us in its hands. the rage of chance anger or luck is perhaps the ickiest of idle affairs when manipulating the relationship of the natural order, dominance is the oldest profession next to prostitution of body or soul, and has been used a natural weaponry to disable opponents. escaping the eyes and ears of our personal institutions, and replacing them for grab bags of medical care and prescriptions. taking a natural order with it, and grinding it into the dust of speculation, substituting a new form of order still. one best left in the realm of theory, I would say friends. the great gray matter at hand is the discussion of suppressed information that is relevant to each individual truth there ever was, we all take what we will just to leave very little for the rest of what might be considered humanity, but I would rather call it a hive mind out there. the destiny of all things is at stake, but we are some impudent fools Here in the wild nature this ball of dirt can muster. our brains fry in the sun’s glare reflection off of our windshields, the traffic building into the fray of boredom that drives average beings into a craze of frustration, and terrorizing the whole of the mob mentality. far from an aspect of civilized humanity, of a caring humanity, but there are only survival techniques that I see at work Here. there are destructive cravings that kill the insides of our minds both collectively, and at an infinitesimal scale of existing, thus negating certain traits while bringing others to the foreground. the canvas holds many layers revealing the intense virtue of trying to manage again the puzzle of existing at all. to describe that at all is blasphemy, and desecrates all manifestation of the unknown grace of innocence, unknown to all those grown-up and dead. this schism that drives the madness to worldwide proportions, behaving like an unannounced stranger into a fistfight, and wheeling around wildly while trying to defeat the swifter opposition. the self-embedded claim for competition, but even that claim lacks a certain essence of competence, competing for the sake of riches and pain. the spasm of growth in this mad infestation of the bugs that control our thoughts, laying to waste all countermeasures to adjust, but leaving open the next idea to create another world. leaving this one of former intents to rot away, marking only as a memory, and tolerating an understanding inbred of the twitching pulse that would appear to submerse even that so isolated soul into a social situation. the pools of twilight resorting to actual petty theft of real time, and trying to deny the whole incident into an infinite empty space. nothing makes any sense Here, where the spoon and fork do not always mate as pairs, and a glimpse into the definite becomes weaker in the face of adversity. deep in the eyes lies the distinct presence of a raw strength that permeates the corporal form, that surface dwelling where anything dreamed of can be real, and magical is the nerve that makes us dance in place so hard. hard for the intimate entertainment promised by the imitation of god money, our wills land us far beyond the common farce of thinking, and appeals to a seedier perspective within us. we are greedy for trying to understand even that which does not need to be known. taken with the ability to undermine our own future for a piece of the puzzle now. this is how the monkeys react to a structured gravity, breathing air and swallowing water, but giving up a piece of themselves to learning the truth that is truly out there. though it also lies within us all as well. this potential energy to kill or create the next universe. too many words, not enough pressure yet.

Thanks, khet.