All The Wrong Topics dot com

the Acid, Man, Cometh.

we came and saw what we needed to see, the acid opens your eyes for a time, and it all depends upon you as the survivor of mind-bending perception of waves and particles beyond the static reality that our senses meet with on a regular basis… everything appears in a way differently to me as much as i may have the traits in common with others such as you who consider themselves average or normal in a variety society, but the archaic similarities end there as each human being truly represents a dynamic portal into this real time living world, as Timothy Leary wrote about this as a womb planet housing alien life that has chosen to grow within an animal time and space… the home planet is only temporary in the equation, though, as we struggle to learn and expand further in the broad base of knowledge… the universe opens up to us if we would only give it a chance, even then the lesson of fear comes in as active balancing agent to throw off all of those leery elements that are not able to sustain their grip on the shifting platform on which solidarity and stability was built that much longer ago than our human history would contain, and all the perspectives that we are unable to hold and perceive as the animal retained to act in physical correspondence to the emotional Self grown up as a new human being that somehow reconciles the atmosphere of the mental with either previous systems at work… the circulation is strong beneath the skin of gravity and humanity the flowing push that always carries with it a forward momentum grasping any one system at a time while trying to upkeep all those lines that came before this one point called ‘Now’, the essence of Self that tries to be careful with the wording as it can be so critically important to be understood correctly, but inspiration is a crapshoot in the random cosmic flux of wavering elements as they would assemble and reassemble in many different structures in order to claim stability as a right and not merely as theory… the blurry lines become clearer the closer one gets to the goal or destination, as clear as a vision might appear from far away, it is still an internal projection of what one desires to change whether of themselves or others or the environment itself… all are characters as the drama unfolds piece by piece, each increment of the puzzle affecting another even if there is not obvious tie-in or connection between two or more subjects or objects, but there is still the instance of intersection among raw elements floating within a sea of data that has never had the need to conquer but merely compute itself through interchanging adaptation of experience as it allows the various particles of consciousness to incarnate as the necessary collective forms of life to build and restructure… my fellow proles and i organizing for anarchy’s sake, out on parole from the police state statistical prison in which we are key and gate, and prowling the midnight nightmare monopoly in its own streets and backyard retreats to make absolutely sure that the wealthy never escape from their own damnation stagnant in the one-sided capitalism that has made it easier to get Here from the place that was then as right now has no end for either of us as we decide favor on the grey area that reality truly inhabits as neither this or that but a combination of all sides at once… it was built into our genes which we wear out so well through our perilous travels through and beyond the shallow nowhere that ebbs and flows against the void as matter and mind meet the world soul to break into shards of this distant mentality we live utterly within and without, as we all seem to take turns at accentuating that brash, fascist stupidity as it tries to jerk the system to a halt oh-so suddenly seeking out the energy to judge all of the surroundings accurately before sensing others’ channels of intoxicating wilderness into pockets blurring the ecstatic motions between innocence and the ignorant… the many opposed possibilities contrasted with the one-track set mind narrowed toward the oblong box oblivion, the reason weasels its viscous way into the head in storm of self-satisfying sweeps that push out as many of the bad things only to rape and obsess over the good things, and then to purge the ancestor saints which are not anything more than templates and archetypes from which to draw upon energy for manifesting change in ways that make the complete Self an eventual reality… how many of us, though, are patient enough to wait for this?…

Thanks, khet.