out of Context;
‘the absurd takes effect ensnaring us by all accounts in a running gag of sorts that we are unaware of from within even as the dead canned laughter tries cueing the socially clueless to what is really going on committing ourselves to playing these games, managing not to lose our shit calmly taking hits from the fallacy of the peanut gallery making our lives shameless focus of the cruel and captive attention locked and trapped by their idealized gritty guilt trip on actions to be dismissed and repressed for the biased betterment of all involved…’
~ Oscar Wilde on art disturbing the reduction of man.
out of Context;
‘marching feet treading social mechanism as soldiers on psychic assault armed to the teeth, the wizened war-bred bounding into the heats of hell’s highway county seat seeking any solutions that won’t spell a defeat for those helpless ideas with much to lose from these barbaric myths made a bloody cliche of ‘kill or be killed’ passed down foot to mouth as these conquerors painted red the world until the faltering power-mongers meet their ends…’
out of Context;
‘hordes in orgies of the damned are fucked and raped by mobs of aping humans chafing each other this way out of duty to suffer for another false holi-daze trying to smother the real love inside of humanity beset as it is by all the wannabes swarming the shallow end of the gene pool looking for a mate-like material somewhere in the out there, putting all their eggs into one basket where it can apply as long as we could get whatever we want beyond merely this one night standing around waiting for things to happen…’
out of Context;
‘we leap through loopholes in our systemic infection showing off how jumping through a loop on fire won’t phase us at all… the vampires within all of us suckling parasitic in the soul as our shadow stirs underneath the skin when the light of day has flown away home to await the next, and as those left here resemble statues in the rain oxidizing in the open space wondering for what reason we have to chase these things we do in vague and subtle ways that escape even the poet’s powerful potential for saying as the memory a page resurrecting itself to cause the lips to enunciate with the proper precision as an artistry beyond the artist who displays the right sequence of talent and learning as watermark left and made the standard…’
out of Context;
‘the contrast of ideas berating quality of depth to which finding myself irresponsibly throwing around terms half-strewn of the brain like ‘beating a bum rap’ that’s been hanging loose around my neck for years now like the well-framed critic whose near-untouchable intimidation to be used in mocking me, and a furious audience taunting my subtlety of technique as at first we seem to enjoy each other’s presence in the short times we have Here soon erased by tiny bit as the tension melting our second opinions into formative opponents combating us internally in the urge to face this social reality figuring we might ride the waves or weather the storms together on this friendship…’
‘There was nothing particularly odd about him. No facial veins or clumps of bristly warts. I told him about the motel woman’s description and he seemed puzzled. “Don’t let it bother you,” I said. “Just keep in mind for the next few days that we’re in Louisville, Kentucky. Not London. Not even New York. This is a weird place. You’re lucky that mental defective at the motel didn’t jerk a pistol out of the cash register and blow a big hole through you.” I laughed, but he looked worried.
“Just pretend you’re visiting a huge outdoor loony bin,” I said…’
out of Context;
‘something animated through the detritus we conceive of to produce to somehow tuck us into the place where this space/ time riddle conflicts in distracted path, and can the altered fates this animal of Man whose protrusive curious demeanor means curiosity in urge to conquer ridiculous fears and those apprehensions that try to eat the solo self taken as granted in a universe as full of fellow conquests debated and razed through the ages paid in the wages of sin and a lust for life and terror for mistakes made wading waste-deep in the excrement of the past…’
‘In the air-conditioned lounge i met a man from Houston who said his name was something or other– “but just call me Jimbo” — and he was here to get it on. “I’m ready for anything, by God! Anything at all. Yeah, what are you drinkin’?” I ordered a Margarita with ice, but he wouldn’t hear of it: “Naw, naw… what the hell kind of drink is that for Kentucky Derby time? What’s wrong with you, boy?” He grinned and winked at the bartender. “Goddam, we gotta educate this boy. Get him some good whiskey…”‘
out of Context;
‘generations moved forward whether truly ready or not… unwittingly aiding whole corruption of vital components with an aching appraisal for the systems as surging and surrounding all of us all the time all within a culture of building digital testaments, trying to supplement some of the negative and devastating aura of a dying blind eye with some ravenous renewed hunger for a youth and sacrificial pulling the willing into the damnation game perceived to be real only as for themselves the price paid for the condemnable actions committed…’