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psychAEdelphia

i hate everyone but those i love mean more to me than life itself even if it doesn’t appear to be true because the illusions that life presents as fact are with only a small amount of discretion aware of surface thoughts uncaring of the despair conflicting with our human emotions dissociative elementals are couched within these semiological actions layered as insinuated those grim things such as we being already dead once the momentous self-awareness breached by our collective conscience in our pinpoint spark of enlightened visage begins to spray insight as though this strange radar love satellites that as nightmare gothic inserted Here in a perversion of the superfluous trademark of truce through disagreeable emotional instinct translated trying to utilize as greasy grey area next to or parallel perhaps as the microcosmic meets to gather energy from the macrocosmic scale hidden behind eyes that listen to vision alone, inquisitive to seek a purpose though lost amid damaged souls with surface caliber equipment to find someplace worth the value set forward by defiant crosses brought against those who would choose to lose their lives in a ritual of sacrifice carried over wishing for total physical awareness meditated in depth welding active motion in a decent collaboration reading moments ahead of that impossible timing crucial with an empty mind flowing gently as soul or possession of self the gift granted from birth to be ours revealed through rites as passage from life to life in synchronous vision with the throttled pestilence a throbbing gristle burning in the casual tortured throat keeping up-to-date on the madnesses housed within holding the trigger fingered lightly so as not to attempt pulling an occam’s taser too soon, or the difficult party accepts what must eventually be an accepting of their fate as the final words drip drifting casually growing up surges making more messes than doses of caustic compounds to profess one knows how to throw down vicious catapults of rhyme out of season within broad circadian rhythm mother nature circuiting this curated an exhibit inhibited to cure itself as the wired brief life continues pacing a reckless outcome out of what might be real to see, but we arm ourselves to reject thought so simply worn away as eroded surface bereft by banishing singular incidents not even as time related spent willingly lending an ear to truly hear without judgment or advice quick and cliche to ascribe as though no one were to ever speak of theirs as powers of witchery or they too shall reflect the choices of those before them in calling out to demonic vibrations when the mood suits them to imbibe as much be social with a certain outcast attraction carving choices into the monolithic automaton we might think is ‘god’ even though it only represents the one malformed aspect of dysfunction fashioned by some as being hip… these people are idiots and in the long run we all die anyway so what other conclusion does one need except nihilism and love when the crass and embittered sides of our thoughts require that fuel surging triumphant fury through the furnace a soul becomes channeled properly though never with the programs one sees upon the tv screens causing bewildering patterns to emerge when no one else yet is to look in timed harmony with the rest as humanity stacks its invisible odds on the worst bets, surrender was never words talked about when heavy doubts are revealed exposing the trends for any possible mends for that cosmic tapestry we are caught lounging on as seen by some perhaps as a still life from afar on islands of free will put closer to insectile hives nested in hills and valleys while the rest of us burn off like bugs in the heat of the sun tempting tensions and pressure from all who survive when the shit reigns from the disguise of a turd reich making all of us feel shitty, but strangled to snapping end stationed in a peasant of this wreckage stuck on a human outpost in one of the last middle of nowheres toppled by rage and respect in ratios best figured to be imaginary as there very few towers not darkened by blood or held within relics or alembics of one’s faith carried as though it were a knife brought to a gunfight that will greatly affect your life if not careful enough to keep a fine line tread dreaded by puppets once this instead of men or even then just a unified eye on an interesting aspect upsetting movements to then start a series of further navigations upon these squared off seas sowing the seeds obnoxiously jaded Now…

Thanks, khet.