firstly, how does jesus or any religious figure from the past or any other time in history become any holy functionary or missionary of function perhaps as better put into words within code embedded into the human heart to try solving these alien problems by creating yet more problems that no other person contains a logical conclusion without some prevalence of literal interpretation of all kinds by their scriptures in order to justify the beliefs of the few, and then secondly what exactly is my definition of a proto-eso-terrorist… romantically, in an attempt to understand ourselves from other eras to some extent i believe, we are drawn into the suffering of these christ figures from ages past because they can reveal a deeper substance within us all that should not be undermined by a superficial excess as promoted by …
you are the epitome of stupid or perhaps ignorant as the fear washes over you and your frequent lies you say are true though of what standard measured are we so subdued from establishing free contact to these parts of our universal culture instead of the biased by-product of the mass-evading concern for compassion in part reinforcing the shapes of the traditional amid the troubling dissenters whose known curiosity admits their weakness to question aspects they do not know as fact, those suspicious factors attacked with no graceful approach in a statement of violence rather static and obnoxious to witness as the howls of victim and victor share in a space thoroughly devoid of happiness or respect but only an animal instinct latching onto the weapons of war and cruelty of terror and atrocity as the various social plagues …
i hate you, and your lazy ways looking for the opportunity whenever it lays in your path to betray and exploit or display and distort any truth to the situation out of guilt or shame for the words as you might have used them in error to your idiotic melees with the powers-that-be casually random which is pitiful behavior to remain an adulterated specimen yet barely an adult fully-grown to size up with as many of the rest of these capable people amongst you, might as well call it quits before dancing gig is up while a big wig with a name souled amidst the buyers’ blitz as zeitgeist jinx on all good things that may haps comes to pass as a bold expression revolting against the timelessness of these as hollow phases we go through again and again …
posthumously from days after the fact these words like explanation have worked their way out of this odd mind of mine built up after years of this daily occurrence where everyday it all changes no matter how potent the ritual take ahold of us in our mechanical quizzicality as has made us the ever-evolving casualty a mutation of self consciousness, tradition masks the ignorance and insecurity that is derived from up-keeping these disguises so well distracting away from the personal search for the meaning of life as we mutilate our hands and our lands and our minds to fit the efficient paradigm that eats away like decay at our souls when we have fatally sold out our last strand of sense that could save us from the authority of oblivion, and the knowledge that rhythm and melody can help …
‘poet, as dreamer and artist, takes the simple cosmic gestures to heart as yet another lock and key formulaic state residing within each of us even as our states of being sure of this concept are divided in complimentary symptoms to beat back this systemic infection… fascist age learning curve purging of the hatred and all that attending ignorance that has us pointing raping fingers in political correctness at each other to better our worst enemies of course not the ones within ourselves making others into victims in oblivious pursuits to individual happiness’
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…’
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…’