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A is for ‘asshole’.

disgust from all places like a gust of wind, directed toward the urge to discomfort out of retaliatory forces acting out passions on display, hidden deep animosity leaking out of loud and belligerent orifices… the artifice moving before the warrior, the tin-mad dog motions killing off the respectable portions, like a jagged frequency that listens and absorbs unconsciously… that portion of sleep wagered against unseen, unwelcome phantoms like the shields of ritual actions… these perpetual attractions to ways of the devourer, consummate and commiserate with the unnatural fiends who please only to be pleased, the need for a divide in which to conquer maybe… one’s own dualistic nature itself yet again to be severed and separate as the ever-dividing extracellular zygote, the schizophrenic sidekick wet from just being plucked from ones’ own head, hydrated by the emotional weight and reigns… the tormented storms of unlikely things gives way to the teary-eyed downpour turn into floods born as we allow ourselves to just drift away… culture was the knife, a crooked and misshapen blade, shaking as it renders us each in a crude form… to grow from pets into people as we take turns soaking our bones, washing the conformity into our minds, but without the discretion that ages left… some people see the patterns inside the ones we are all given, the symbols that trigger the fireworks rise, like acting the phoenix willing to able… the palpable pulp fiction airs as the room spins down around, slow and wobbling fan blades slice into the space, and the curtain in film noir black and white frame dissolves into place… i have yet to win anything that wasn’t by chance, the lucky favors embedded in doubt so the surprise doesn’t hit as hard to the face, and a counterclockwise gesture to the antagonist’s wager… thinking fast from out of those slow thoughtless ways where lost things take days, and where the intellect always tries to explain, while the responsible one tries to get away… to step back and look at it all again from afar, imagining some last vital vision, as if to say that this was what i wished for… then the consumer wants more and more to satisfy an appetite that isn’t there, another action to recycle the energy so actually plentiful that it pains us not have discovered the way to utilize it as yet, it is true that all the pieces are there… the paper bag wraps around tight, swallowing the right to breathe in spite of the tears in the eyes, and the look of surprise undisguised as the death of life comes alive… from places constantly changing our minds…

Thanks, khet.