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the Fools of April

they have said ‘beware the ides of March’ before making the cliche resound with such due diligence that it almost seems a shame to waste the nonsense this far into bizarre contemplation of the words we use to control each other, languages in more than the verbal of ranges permeates through the spectrum or pores in the time/ space continuum leak as we sail off still farther from our destination than we need to be, but at this point the cruising speed won’ reduce to allow us safe passage through this ill-literal definition as childhood into the grown adult whose brave figures we have silhouetted against the bright dawning sky… it is now a different time of the year creeping upon us beyond the insults and pain, the filth and the fury and the frame of reference all come into play Here where the biggest losers take off their rancid underwear to then slingshot it into the hidden audience rooting on the turnabout as fair game so to be pawned like all the other pieces in the repertoire before the storm loots and pollutes the grey in the sky to decay, and left with a tinted roof in order to observe the sun shining like a lightning bolt cast from the heavens to strike the unwary dead or even dumbfounded like a lone sheep in the field… the rabbit perks one ear up to see much like a groundhog whether the shadow is going to combine the illusory with a vast array of wisdom to create the eggs of fate that juggle and shake with Faberge flourish in order to seem worth much more than the human cringe that makes this drama reach out in exciting inclusion of endings, the golden rush is on to find more of the most suitable ways of sorting out what to profit from in light of askew perceptions as turning into aliens when the gravity pulls their consciousness off this plane even there on the wings are also too many couched in the rain waiting for a chance to get into what was once mine too just to merely give away, and hoping to find those human centers of like mind that search out the shame and the blame as suffering to reconcile that view of dishonor currency with something more palatable to a people’s curiosity to understand what it is that holds them back as much as holds them up… from the edges our new cowboys saunter up to the bar as a standard far too cloying for any more valid use than as conceptual blueprint for the consensual reality we are soon building together whether we know we want to hear it or not, it can never stop itself from moving like a human centipede without most of the disgusting baggage that we can plainly see in the episodic take on such conceptual deliveries as mouth to anus proclivities as seen in the movies, but we are not all bad to be confessing to this horrid imagination alone and yet among the millions we call ‘home’ as a mental masturbation that disturbs this current of humanity as the gorehounds are many in asphyxiating and trivializing every sick part of the human experience back into the dirt where the sleeping is indeed most sound… where the dreams never stop working on the walls we place inside of ourselves like the idiot scream for life unaware of that final night of bliss humored as death by the collective fringe reading the words on the book end as jacketed with the dust relative in this busy place, not a trace of the residue usually left when one jerks the social constraint the wrong way with the leash chained to the last respectable testicle that chooses not to play the macho checkmate against the other players having stayed to watch this game play out all the moves that mice and men commit to in spite of needing a better strategy than bucking the odds at the end, but again i mention drifters on the plain in this way to emphasize the fact that we have a want for the functional slave to die and soon be reborn into another state of mind where exit is not guarded by anything secret… it would be a thick understatement to condone the lessening of knowledge carried by anyone, no one other has a payload better or more appropriate than that any other person’s weight added to the matter questing for an answer the the questions like parts of a puzzle that need to be asked in order that the conundrum may be solved, but there are no real smart people that exist only the destined trial and error which we breathe to survive much like an emotional air that fills our metaphysical brain or esoteric lungs with the energy of all ancestral force and momentum that has come before and will come after us… chimney sweeps of a great armageddon as we are the sheep hunted by the wolfish few who are predator through and through with their pearly gnashing teeth grinding away the bits of bone and sometimes fragmentary shit that comes with eating a bunny in place of a holiday swine or turkey cooked just right, a place where the innocence and an ugly ignorance confused at the juxtaposition of the two states where mind and body fuse into something that can give you this, but only for mere seconds of your precious time… was it worth you gave?…

Thanks, khet.