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the leper Erotic.

stick me with your disease, please, for i am the man with many libidos beyond my control… master of nothing but the fuck that comes with an artillery of self-possessed righteous displays and voices that alternately drain and reflect the bodily energies that lie at the core of personal being, but is that the Kundalini being expressed perhaps?… beast at the base of the spinal cord, a viral column of air that resides inside and breathes out upon the people who know little of the lepers carcass in the darkness of the blinded mind’s eye, and i mean for all intents and purposes do you see zombies in front of your eyes or actual human beings?… the cunning linguist is hidden beneath a veneer of flesh chafing against ingrained behaviors locked inside your head, i am speaking frankly of the dead who can dance like number up already, man… i am not a man, i am an animal of the modern man, and one pet that should be trained to be thoroughly in demand from birth once they learn to sell themselves properly as the repetition kicks in… demon genes that filter through the possession of mankind in the grip of defaced treatment by displaced human rage, we ensnare ourselves with obvious tricks and torments that somehow keep us all in pace with one another, but still it seems a disgrace to be a cruel and inhumane risk to the rest of this specialty grouping in the annals of a distorted history… a compassionate heir to the victory that might be human but more than likely but will be truly alien to us, and we are living in an age of the living aliens walking amongst us at all times, watching the angelic beings perhaps traffic with those perpendicular of mind below the surface of the waves turned particle physics way back when as alchemy changed yet again… the superstitious have always known a sense of the magical somewhere deep in their hearts as the energy left from ancestors with residual designs formed to resonate with that one primal consciousness, some could argue that this example is the original hive mind crawling with bugs and fixed problems that will always make us fall apart, but some people decide to search for actual evidence that this life is not merely a game to be played with the goal always pushing toward the win while screaming ‘what the fuck?!’… it is difficult to see through all this fucking like a thick fog of flesh begging to be saved from a perilous age of distant memory coming to meet them at the other end of this, reality fist bliss of experimental if fierce advantage taken by pirates of lust and piss attempting to swap spit and genes trying to remember this, and live in the moment from day to day instead of in anticipation of the face of death of from one worrisome moment after the next in the cycle… still at least the missile still fires if you know what i mean, that aspect of myself seems strong and alive at the moment as we come down to the gnitty-gritty of the details, but i hate to really brag about my situation as feel as though expert explanation would jinx my abilities the hide with perfect aim among the defilers and consumers at play, the freaks at play usually stay indoors nowadays hurting themselves in unstable frayed ends of the day… micromanaging the records of the soul when eating it perfectly sane, digesting the ways in which all earthen forms are naturally insane by deranged accent on the strange, and not just those obstacles left in the path for the observer to view in abuse as they watch and retreat into a world of their own devise justified by simple backwards means to jive the average hive… as though shake the wasps out of their nests if only to watch them try to survive in this blasphemous world, a triggered finger of the middle persuasion deified as though there is no other ride, and you need the windshield wipers in order to survive in this wilderness diatribe of false artifacts and solid illusion of objectives described… where is the end of the lie?…

Thanks, khet.