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Empty of a Delicate Psycho.

the delicate things are alive it would seem, psychosis is a dim excuse for the little slow children wandering grownup like they own the place, but this habit of ours can make us very blind to the actual reality around us as distraction of ignorance can shift the balance of power so subtly for no one to notice… we put our socially grown cannibals quietly in charge of the masses swaying and sweaty to see the deciding vote, naturally the promotion moves with the majority of those who choose to play the games like political Olympians of an utterly epic quality that anyone and everyone should take notice in the booby trap laced to catch the average group humanity off-guard who try supporting ideals that cater to the grand and pompous towering their gathered wealth overtly as a shadow cast against the powers that are a humanity united subconsciously, but the hex-on-hex-on-hex mentality of generations needs to give way to the emotional weight killing us all as it crushes upon further rungs of the genetic laddering effect with some double-helix cringing in fear in the corner of some room padded somewhere once a palace of healing potential shattered by the wheeling corrupted official with no one else’s best interests in mind but his own… a Man who thinks and therefore believes, and is so becomes his own fraudulent god idolized and mortal because of whispered voices inside the head while the other being there cringing becomes the many fractal faced thing dreamed of in its bizarre and isolated corner of the world hearing similar voices telling different tales that view the given reality in a far more insightful light, though the former party lacks a respect for the other one because of a strange confrontational demeanor of the latter in the attempts to show others the ideal truth even as neither really has any truth or respect to offer as this is where the space betwixt the obvious options becomes the loudest voice offering an abundance of even random-handed variations among the highest stations to the frequency ‘definition’ which taper off extending into either extremity as descriptive… we now speak of right and wrong, life and death, and certainly all the other attendant dichotomies official and collapseable with diction… the stiffened competition to define something critically or with unique original intent, in the short space of a life span from out of nowhere and interested in nothing special as the days come quicker where you wander where you are meant to go running, but to where is it that you were running?… in the stretch between life and death, at those constant and odd coordinates that living beings always use when tracking each others’ movements through this jungle earth where the current cost of cheap labor is life’s lost from this world to the next to one where energy is a different frame of reference in the supranatural silence enveloping both as the individual and all of the humane grouping of peer-oriented and generational justice which permeates upon that sniveling coward crying because they know they deserve the pain, and Here we are holding back the tears for fears of the hypochondriac suffering that those martyred induce in their subjects of alien experimentation we happen to be living in… the cycle recycling the rusted circadian age for crusty archaic and stayed perceptions in act never changing nor made to waver create things that never change, but support the creatures of habit who are enjoying hearing the critical understanding defy all logic to right the wronged ways already made betrayed by the loopholes as hidden goals and ulterior motive for Manmade distortion of humanity’s educational necessities as the human being grows to choose rebellion as one’s chains become bound over time at once disguised as one’s obligations to the greater good, while also being all sneaky up around sneaky-ville which in hindsight is bound to occur as the priests molest the children so too do the laws molest their citizens who live by them… a vicious merry-go-frown where no one survives, this is the spiritually mechanical urge that perhaps defines itself as eternal judge even as it chooses to live and be realized through us as humanity’s touch creates the laws to break its own personal rules and familial stakes and claims laid to waste, but the symbol of space migration while ideas of integrating humanity leaves the jungle behind along with the animal-like side for most which seems post-Victorian like the cosmic source’s dark side from whence nothing has ever returned unscathed… though what can be the point of life if one does not scare?…

Thanks, khet.