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Kill the Profit

kill the profit as there is nothing else left to do in the new world order way of things chugging along like the broken scar of motor function ready to collapse, the power and the sour wandering fatalists without anything worth mentioning who are coming far too close together and creating an electricity between the two social poles, but what of the messengers who are bringing the new future to us in light of our ignorance and painful regret as knights templar in the spoils of war?…. or horsemen of a gilt apocalypse as might stride in through the darkened horizons clogged with smog and fatal congestion?… the neo-fascists hailing the age of the storm as they use their skills to provoke darkness to fall from the sky in praise of false gods and a human sacrifice made ever special by the dying of the light into dusk, the rust of falling objects that come from spaces out of time filling our lives with dusty fragments as unassailable by thought alone as the aliens that reach out through the void to make their children obey if only subconsciously, and a developing system faster than tried and tested remedy will allow in consequences relative to actual living creatures as creations of a greater structure meant to be in Here to maintain and struggle under the watchful eyes of mechanical angels and the street demons left alive after the meltdown becomes a rhyme we teach our own children in the line behind us as spawns of the next age of defeat and suffering implied… the collapsing reality of a bubbling crude politeness in the lieu of a fake political correctness that crushes our sanctity into place those natural and most fertile tessellations like smoking hate bombs utilizing most of our auxiliary energy bent to nefarious ends in themselves, and taking the whole mess with it into the wake of futuristic speculations that none of us seems directly privy to as information swarms and pulls at the subconscious states in disarray, trying to work a little magical order upon everything there is because there is always fun to be had devastating others than yourself although there it is very little to gain spiritually from these juvenile tactics that breach humanity only to benefit those sensitive to the social strategy that would use to order the limited mindset that one would then require to provoke damage to harm everyone else… few are gifted or that static enough to be those handful of lives on the gyroscope twirling about changing the natural control over all things as they loop locking together weaving tight the intersection of time and space one might call a tapestry in the deep dark matter empty of the vast void out there, there is no breathing in for those who would seek to know the void and how it reconnects us all on fundamental levels of experience as we ride mindway into the outer depths of the soul as seen through the eyes of the human animal bred into strange place in the series of many things all at once counteracting and yet shaping the wave as it undulates in the solvent sea, and our err is in thinking we know the perception as real upon learning that to air blowing wind is not breathing but the movement of reality on layers the eye cannot Now witness except through our instruments allowing us to see and touch the vibrations we are given… the rivers of blood and years of darkness both before and after we were Here only too soon depart when we ever believe in getting the hang around this state of pace in motion with the rest of the swaying, shifting lazy derelicts of the phased varying idea of human reality made flesh by the past suffering of the masses in conceptual planes and fields before leaping from the page as it were into a false linear real we seem have Here, but we are as diamonds in the dust buried beneath the skin and flakes best left to rot at the bottom of the box unless it is burning then the sins shall carry thee soul out into the ghost realm of weeping willows and pale-headed gloom with dark hair and a comfortable wit that death can consume just as any other trick in the spire another stray strand in the holographic DNA dance macabre for the sorts that ignite a fire inside the imagination that sparks that inspired lust and desire standing firmly among all the bitter criticism for the worst a curse… a sinister one trick pony full of bologna and sausage in the now-dread dead masculine age gone spayed and neutered with a casual and winnowing taper that has paid off for that handful acting like the greater good resides with them, and a mask separated from the humane genetic material that parental tumor whose boredom affixed a child into this world of plunder and mayhem pushing the garbage further forward into the metaphorical abyss, a severed limber mind as the body without organs becomes alive and steps into the fray with a movement meeting the GIST into other forays as this totality in motion…

Thanks, khet.