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blessings and Curses.

errant self drifts away, a sentimental something… allowing our jobs to matter more than the people in those roles, a performance with haste to garner the most attention or adoration perhaps, but all are parts of this systemic motion with our reality in transit… the anonymous move and make things happen that would have otherwise never occurred, postulations of the corrected and the natural ways are mere assumptive tissue to build new humanities from beneath the wings, and it is from these fringes that humans can still find their way as individuals… it is all about transfiguring and translating the experience of being Here to the more naive and less-than-knowledgeable trainees, a succulent subtle ‘disaster piece’ for some, or perhaps epic series of works dubbed the ‘master feces’ because that someone will boldly pronounce it all as shit… the critical eye reads the notes and digests the writers facts and foibles with focus and clarity that few others have a preference to summon, an inner conviction for finding order and elaborating upon patterns where previous versions reveal none but the potential Here, but there are aspects to the facade that overwhelm the instincts and the simple intuition altogether like a fatal collapsing bridge into frigid waters that hide away large chunks that need to be reassembled and put to good use… the pieces are there whether obscured or otherwise because the other people have put them in the way like obstacles as they have lived and died together, the energy recycles and stirs the rest of this cosmic stew, and we all eat from this guesspool of proteins and protons in real-time space… we speak of small miracles to submit to a truth beyond ourselves, beyond our frequency to realize honestly among the liars that surround and defile that calloused witness through the lifetimes of experience acting as layers of atmosphere that gets tighter as we allow ourselves to choose and be chosen Here, but we are truly not condemned to one side or the other of this struggle as we jump over the boundaries and back quite frequently… the sounds of the other inhabitants of this burg seem lively to cover up any further sense of responsibility on the individual ignorant person’s part, and they take so many good parts too, like the vapid social scenes which they have overtaken completely… the madness that lines the streets is toxic in order to keep everyone following a single route to hell, but only for those who get so lost inside themselves that there needs to be burned out that sacred chunk of ember buried too deep to dig for, we just have to wait and let it see for itself of what worth we conceive… the dragon pitches its head back in fits of laughter while the industry of moloch grinds gears harder for the iron-clad contractual obligation to the Man, this being disguised in a man’s flesh suit that undertakes the most diabolical forays into human manipulation, and all for some self-confined focus that cannot be shared with mere words even as the disease is transported as such… a disease of the tongue as it forces the syllables out among the people waiting for defeat from a holy guardian angel that we can’t see or touch, but have to live with its derisive remarks nonetheless as it ships our consciousness into new realms of exclusion, and we harken back to the appeal of an unknown fount of hope and of dreams that can still seem decent… in the imaginary pools of simple rules that follow us instead of beings locked into them, we are happy because we respect and feel respected by one another in some new overwhelmingly positive way, and embracing the cursed among us is one way to defeat this…

Thanks, khet.