All The Wrong Topics dot com

the Hippie Eaters.

the systems we work within sometimes coagulate and stagnate because there is not enough recycling in of the rich integral history and knowledge that has been passed among families and tribes for ages beyond the famines and madness, and the diseased wretches scattered and roaming about the countryside spreading the disease of fear in a subtle tyranny at first touching upon a sense of the weirdest supernatural craving to protect against awkward Mysteries in the light of new world swindlers, buggers and scientists of the new Victorian wave of empirical laws inflicted without too much regard in the tail end of an Enlightened age where the natives were ever overtaken by the resource-eating naive alternatives to a respectful human being… there are some aspects of the human psyche which have led to great leaps and bounds of exciting transition into which molten futures are formed from, the second human womb after the spiritual has been fully manifested in the first there comes a next becoming that puberty’s bells ring during the spring of our ill discontent when we are subdued by our inner confusion and turmoil revealing a world both of rebirth sometimes through revolution, and the cruel concrete fascinations that need to be destroyed eventually in order to move on more successfully even though anchored by a wont for static landmarks to guide us into space swelling for that imaginary slingshot to fire us back home… any place that is not Here, but what do any of us really “know” to be an absolute truth, when all we ever pay attention to is patterns in the first place as a means to challenge spiritual growth like an electric trigger through human genetic culture plate… these symbols and patterns we allow to dictate our lives no matter how far we have to remove ourselves from our humanity unless one can see beyond the blinded drive to be purely only to succeed as one experiential hair on the omniscient head of whatever god is, and that is if god is what it is when it is whenever we would so choose to call upon its majesty that seems to grow more diluted with every apparent tragedy that eats in as form of decay and eroded motions hidden by their slowness, a force to be respected rather than to be reckoned with implies some harassing violence that remains indistinct and damaging with the power of the words and emotional intent than the instructions to have demised upon demand in the face of their adversarial nature… the catalyst that changes the state of mind ready to open or ready to close, no real option except for the one imposed upon the Self with each choice in distraction or direction to be opposed by the next step to fill the aspects in-between this and that, and perhaps an alternate spiritual limbo to which one frees oneself from the self-inflicted prophesy that can be the fear of decision even as action dictates different… each one a different message at most a lesson in trust as the pieces compile themselves in some idea of a uniform fashion checked and dated to the age which we can relate it within, the tag will stick everlasting until the demise of the end which nothing survives as the end of a cycle and everything else scatters from the energy to the material, and we are each nodes or receptors on the grander scale of reality as nexus into what we might consider the ‘individual’ personality or perhaps ‘ego’ is the only thing that guides us and shapes us into the creatures we become much later on in life… whatever the case may be, i do not claim to understand more than the rest, but have happened to have had some of my more visionary moments while Here in the manifest reality protruded and extruded from the creative construction of an ever-manifesting part of the collective consciousness going through its trials and errors together to create something that makes sense… though it is that the question is lingering, whether it might happen to be crossing the taboos drawn out in detail like blueprints from some stockpile bible of a manifesto written in despair in the confines of some tower about to be struck by lightning as the tornadoes reel whipping about the landscape and escaping out of the airy funnel spinning as a raging catastrophe, or it could be through the mouth of a moaning in masturbatory glories raging hormones while the deaf sit there grinning with grimace instead of a joyful innocence which makes our ugly children so beautiful in spite themselves and the shared potential on the other side of the world in competition… in a distorted world, we require guidance to linger awhile longer, and yet under thrall in utter worship to cruel saints as ancestor spirit watching us in neither awe nor joy… instead, we looked upon as their entertainment, reptilian and feasted upon at worse… becoming glorified to an overzealous extent, to be claimed by god and saved from tragic disaster while fucking all the rest of civilization to start over again, and yet nature isn’t alive?…

Thanks, khet.