out of Context;
‘I may not be a great, but I respect the leap-takers more-so before the gyrating dollar-makers… Money is easy when you have no plans for a permanent future lodged in futility… As a human, I feel that the experience requires humility of me, and stubborn extremes if I am bold enough to stand up for them… There is no way to get beyond your own tormented plight if you do not want for more at first…’
feeding the imagined soul, not the outer hollow realms, but the real ideas that manifest outside ourselves.
please me more than a sense of rhythm, a thing that lends itself over to anything, and still makes depth appear where none might have been visible before… the shallow now does not seem hollow, and rational senses give way to following the music… whether classical or rock-inspired, the muse is never far from the thoughts of all who really appreciate the gift that music can bring… this thing that moves the soul to and beyond the gathered status quotations… a haunting melody is not always the necessary key to the forgiving weight of instant gratification… sometimes it is the momentum of a repetitive rhythm that lends to freedom of mind the most… that freedom of movement we all require in order not to feel as though our actions are controlled by others who don’t even know us… if …
out of Context;
‘…To define thought as just another room to enter…The space between shadows, and the space in between those, the particles that sing through the passageways and patterns of wherever we are…’
out of Context;
‘Where there is a glimmer of hope might be just enough noose to strangulate the good times out of you, but the negative sight is not all there is to see. Even manure grows crops of some worth, but sometimes I wish it wasn’t just this cesspool in view…’
sweat pours through the blood-strewn dance floor as the streets grow grim with fears. breaks are for those who can’t take the heat of the black light specials being passed around. the height of unfounded abandon in the Western world’s culture of self-gratification.
The basement is closed to us.
A flush of excrement welled inside my pants.
This is what they have always meant by change.
My scrotum crawls up into my abdomen.
The choking feeling of change for change’s sake.
My limbs feeling as consumed by fire.
Wallowing in misery for far too long to fathom.
Gripping my sides in welling agony as dread fills me.
A new light opening my eyes.
As the sweat pours off my skin.
A new awakening begins to show.
The nerves start to crackle with pain.
The anticipation to interject a different energy.
The stomach clenches, and butterflies fill me to spilling out of my mouth.
The reactions to a voodoo logic as the magick becomes far more.
Falling to the knees, my body begins to thrash around, and the skin is electric.
When it’s all gone from me, somewhere I lose the train of thought, and the light fades in.
Thanks, …
creeping
the thoughts
pour out
too
much
too
quickly
insanely
dripping
slipping…
drip…
drip…
drip…
dripping
dropping
from depths
above us rain falls thunderous…
out of Context;
‘Ah, the gibberish never stops Here at the fun factory, and eating the subconscious matter of fact, breaking it down and floating it off. Here we never see the light of day, only the right of way, and it seems to be such a certain sway that washes away stray thoughts…’
