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this loser Illusion.

it is the collection of every one else and their oh-so-high standards that make this world a confusing mess… i am not searching for ways to brutalize my health and well-being, but some things in this world seem inescapable…. like brutality and retaliation for mistakes we have all made… somehow i know what it is now to be stuck in the hate-trix, as it tricks us into using our fear and hatred against everyone else around us, making us change direction in the middle of our mission statements… we have a disregard for other people, dismissing the human there as an animal in harsh rebuke for perceived slights of character perhaps, but my whore ability kicks in when crisis is queer like a different idiot strange Here… there are many discrepancies between this or that human, without any foresight into common sense reasoning, as the bullshit level of standards grows higher and higher by the minutia… all that debris stacked up so tall until it reaches a point of collapse upon the muddy ascetics below… the harmony is a real aspect of the experience that everyone can and should share, and the hearts of darkness stemmed into the real plane to stamp out the imaginary but just as real truths from all sides of the globe we call planet Earth, truth knows no boundary because this is raw experience filtered through every fiber of being… the tapestry of the cosmos stays hallowed and true even as human system wane in the coming harvest of souls, but get a grip, i am not necessarily the worst doomsayer in history… the thoughtless ones go back from whence they came just as those of pure intellect reconstitute elsewhere other than Here, while you and i are still sitting and waiting for our times to come so-to-speak, and we are willing to accept whatever makes sense in our sanctified brains… the harsh instrument of both torture and success, the pain and the pleasure that makes no sense, but occurs still in the real time world where demeanor means the most if projected outward properly… if it is not then let us see what will become of the both of us because time is of the essence and the shortness of breath is just the first of many symptoms in this ramshackle machine we are skeletons within, and we all go right for the throats of each other in spite of this linkage between that irreversibly leaves us horribly bound together with a ghastly mood subjecting the others to this bastard entertainment before the whole civilization, there are no rules inside the head except that which you let in… giving permission before the disqualified peanut gallery of woes and foes all chained together in anatomic purge of sensory data that will master us before the day is come, as one by one we all crawl the surface of this earthen hovel we would want to recreate in an image not our own, and we are always moving with thoughts in minds towards the next dawning phase in this homeless repercussion through time… we search endlessly for the things that will utterly satiate our hunger for the new substantial state, like planting our flag of colored cloth on something that is already not ours to take away, but it has been this way rediscovering the symbols all throughout this sensory obligation through bodies as clay figurines that in turn refuse to deserve a way out of this substructure… we are the living revolution, and this is the place that we should realize our desires, removing the strangulating collars underneath the projection of polite and kindness that our flesh suits might protrude from within…

Thanks, khet.