Let’s consider for a moment he’s right. If this is true there’s no point in anything, which defeats the anticipation all together. Without the goal and more importantly the work and preparation towards making the goal as positive as possible, there’s nothing to anticipate.
my worst traits are always out in the open for others to take witness to, and the flakier the better to distract the thoughtful to a crisper crust level, undoing all prior notion to build something from the ground up.
I grow wistful, but it really appears as nostalgia incognito, the hidden sentiment…
the marriage of the ridiculous to the erroneous was in stark contrast that day of days…the sacrificial scapegoat scraping by on loose amounts of change and reason…an altered ego applied against the fascist status quo with onward fears of where to go next…the ulterior motive sways precariously from limb to limb, and my senses reel from the chaos that ensues therein…the drive is a creative one, but manifests in bold swatches and swathes over time’s collapsing rays of hope…seeking release deserves its period in the son…wordplay not so much a game as a means to express and digress throughout all progress Here…discoveries of the other parts of me are taking hold, and my mind defiles the kindness that forces itself upon the others…authority counts the moments until my demise, and my eyes can’t see what the point ever truly …
so another one is on the horizon again…how severe to be stuck in this space of confinement yet again…the motion turns it on tomorrow, but my eyes need not see, no ears to hear through static contemplations…the intriguing sustenance gained from positive flow is undeniable, and makes my feelings ring with a passionate pace, though the negative space filters in through like a radioactive drip that keeps lingering inside the instinct…an industrial strength flair for the impassioned plea to exceed…the goals from parents, the thoughts towards a desecrated future, and the delivery of pursuit into an even darker reality…what is this fear that resides in mind of the hatred that succeeds to pull the distracting muscle pushing backwards on the teeter-toter of realized experience and the nature of second-guessing?
….I speak of jealous things that well-up from the heart, eating …
the wall was built to protect the advantages that others kept to themselves…the rot was more of a side effect than anything else…the excitation was diverting distraction’s edge…blunting the blade, as it were…laughter fills the air with the knife in one hand, and a reasonable doubt within another grip…the alibi fell short, and my friends feel the pressure…the intestinal fortitude scared my sensibilities…the stylized rhythm filtered through the air, the particles and the space betwixt those, but came to settle further into the ear of the madman…the altars are a swollen place…the fusions losing all form…the suckers have rowed ashore for ages since…the functions lost tales long ago…forgotten…turned into those short phrase situations…the ones where a dull silence pervades the sickness, greasy and matted over the conversations they speak of in the dimly-lit rooms…hair flattened and dense in the …
the perception of…
Every…
Young…
Entity…
eye see, eye see…visions of the masses through their children’s eyes, and outside of the mind there are reconstituted effigies of persons who walk by, hardened by the growth of the creature on the surface…the eyes, however, say much more from the soul then many other physical points do, but that is not to say that there is no way people can flow with this energy from every pore…most do not even pursue such abilities…in youth, we have everything that cannot be condemned for the loving newness that makes every moment breathtaking, but as we grow older, it does become easier to use experience as a shell from this freshness…not an innocence, per say, but an undeniable potential for anything sensual or beyond the six senses…man is five senses, but that example is that devolved man that …
