out of Context;
‘the dragging feeling tries to harvest our stinking atrophied energies, or rather what is left afterward to be harvested properly is what the energies we mingle with brings to the surface, like sweat through our pores in fits of fear or ecstasy as we release the beast within our cells of the divided and conquered… we race to find cures to things only the wealthy are trying to fund as part of their plans in prophecy to wrack havoc with the real patrons of the movements in this place, in all its flawed appeal and production of commodified trysts tightening the woven fabric of this cosmic thing…’
out of Context;
‘not enough answers, more like too many of varying diameters of contradictory opinion founded upon opinion, and used as a moral leash by the “chosen” few made up of inbred sons of mad single thread family trees… the involved betraying fundamentalist quotient of ‘let’s fuck this shit up right’ makes me quiver with spite at the attempt even made, a shotgun blast of a metaphor pushing a belief currently possessing the future from the puppet strings of an evocation that invited something smitten with our reality, and how our energies can so easily be diverted for their function and purpose of proposed ideals… the verge of something that we try to breach understanding as it tries to understand us in all our diversity and depth…’
original songcraft by C. Michael Keaton
excerpt-‘to take a look at truth… you must go for it
to see the goal clear enough… cannot just run to catch up
bring on the irony!!!…
a noiseless conspiracy… to hide the fears
the insane and senseless… flock to the seers
‘whor-ree-ors come out and play-ee-ay!’…’
out of Context;
‘the caustic sanity intense and remote as the human struggles with attainment of some probable equalization, distractions of all manners smacking one in the face without respect of forewarning, and this dream flows and foibles its way along the destination to something lifelike… the state of bliss fragmentary and not always so quickly attained as each “shortcut” only illuminates a single particular consequential path, and even these routes eat energy only to output a shallow and dangerous trick of the mind, this is where the delusion starts…’
out of Context;
‘the perceived “good” and “evil” are two evils, one is lesser though both are for the material manifestation, and the motion of memes constantly-reinforcing the skeletal structure of the deadly ideal matched by the “dark” extreme… the manifest lies because it houses itself inside of the safety of illusion, the emotional/ mental adaptation of the psyche specific in each one of us, and it is this cosmic womb from which we break through when we are ready to take the next step… the organic portal opens up, and leads us to a realization of the neutral, that the expansive void cradles the rest of potential energy beyond this world…’
out of Context;
‘this linear adjunct gives me the bends, a series of twisting and turning inclinations, and yet pulls you back into place for the next round of shit… not too much to sift through with these haggard ideas of the ways things should try to be…’
out of Context;
‘to play my songs somewhere Here close by, busking on the street corner or open-mic night for small amounts of plundered coin, and is this the part-time scale that will please?….is this my missing need that i crave and ache to please?… we shall see, we shall see…’
out of Context;
‘the grinding autonomous press printing the crest of gather living eyes to sway, and utterly repress the instinct which before now had come so naturally to one, though there are few ways to survive this information as such without the erosive feelings one gets when reading this…’
out of Context;
‘slide into September like a sloth, three toes that it lost a long time ago, a cost of fairly even weight the kind I cannot even Here demonstrate… what is another year anyway, which is to say this, but what has another man yet another year to live?… the solid concrete forms of His years, whoever this man may be in the future or past, a traveler nonetheless rehashed…’
Dichotomy at it’s finest, that. In death it seems life can be reaffirmed, and in loss a gain. Perhaps this vague collection of words has deep meaning, or maybe the deep meaning can’t fully be expressed through the construct we call language… which I’ve found to be more often than not the case. The lexicon of emotion far out-nuances the lexicon of language. Well, the english language anyway, I suppose I can’t speak for any other, since I can’t speak IN any other.
Ramble ramble rant.