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accent on the Queasy.

somewhere after the last pass for maturity comes the downgrade regression back towards child-dumb… a state of ignorant bliss for some, and proof of tangible evidence to others still, that the decrepit end is coming too soon… the realized gloss to the hardened enamel we begin to call home just as we start to be weary of decay, the hollowed out protrusion of shell in this material existence crying out for some understanding somehow, but do we ever find any solace aside from the grave?… this bereaved material spinning out an existence in space… this ease with which we claim to know the ways of right and wrong, as though our ancestors have known them all along, but where was that compassion or resiliency towards other characters other than their own?… a connection gauged between the harbingers of past tyrannical action, and only the mere mention of puritanical behaviors in guise of lip service to being more understanding of moral instinct weighed by a challenged few, and with intelligent way of going about the business of making us all whole with each other as a species… where we are the guilty and floundering spirit of innovation as peak oil drains from the stocks and barrels keeping this crashing lifestyle afloat, we are still always rediscovering that information that unknown sources have intentionally tried to keep away from our prying minds, and the conspiracies are not just in the throes of theory anymore as we are living in the pre-apocalypse age of conspiracy fact that we have been manipulated from the start… however, there have always been other humans and/ or otherwise watching over the currency within our social seeming in total fascination from their vantage point, and the problem only seems to expand as the voracious optical delusion faithfully eating space materializes as the dread god money… the measured, accredited unit of energy the value of which keeps dropping as the echoes of heroes reveal their merely shadow steps imprinting the madness upon other desires and ideas of wealth, and too many of us still train to see this system as the catch-all to isolate and filter for the things we need to keep this huge hulking juggernaut coasting along… the reality is not truth, and the truth is equally not entirely real yet, as much as we complain that we require it to be otherwise for anyone to survive this nasty debacle we have ourselves locked into with irony… in the wringer entwined with the casual assuage of our own meat, the wanton physical pulls orgasmically spastic in their ways out of our limp and battered forms, but yet we still feel that alien link with only two alternates of conscious reflection… that dichotomy cutting our training in twain like an etheric lobotomy, as the engine we are born with endeavors to digest its share of the material that is Here, but at no matter the cost to the struggling host outside of itself sometimes… unconscious of the ability that the mind has of getting away with itself, all tangents of thought as they open up through this organic portal, but it is the choice of the human being what stimulus it might wish to embark upon over the course of an existence on the real plane always… the ride may seem harsh and unreal at first, but the wary are always treated with some cosmic respect ahead of the unlearned approaches used by most of the overflow that such diversity creates, sometimes it just takes the patient waiting out of the happenstance pride that most of us take for granted is a necessary step in making real progress towards our dreams… they are blueprints for something more, but only through careful interpretation of our dreams are we able to better understand the dream-like quality of living itself… imagine that spinning feeling while drunk, if you don’t know it, you will…

Thanks, khet.