that resin left.
Kismet for the dying culture in the unquenchable age of thirst and famine for knowledge.
personal afflictions Archives - Page 26 of 29 - All The Wrong Topics dot com
the carnage of pop.
out of Context;
‘pop implies that a cataclysm of conformity will bake us inside of our skulls in a way that we shall never really recover from.’
the 666 words
out of Context;
‘the tunnel grows sharp as it inserts and asserts itself in the anatomy of gesturing symbols… they twist apart and leave their striking point in the conscious plane… it changes from mouth to mouth for a chance to stick somewhere that it has never been before… a furious freak out that we can’t see as deftly as we need… under the surface, it mates itself sparingly with torrential outpouring of restless emotions…’
the coundensing of rhyme. the riddle divine.
Nine times…nines times, I have fought for these threads. the clerk nodded, absentmindedly.
seemed to agree with every word I said at-large. clearing his throat, he calmly replied cautiously.
What trouble would you have, sir? my defiant stand made him quite clearly affected, a silent stand.
the lone vagrant diatribe cautiously relents into the darkness of his forgotten intellect, a swine standing. there where a man just stood, relenting against a painful system infecting him. his twisting made leaps into the insecure nature of impact, as the crutches fell away to the floor, and he faced thunderous approach into a concrete surface. the flames ignited through a human anger flew and spewed to the floor. the scream at the end left no doubt at the intrigue in the wake of the apparent. Did you like that, cripple? he was not afraid to …
dribble the spittle.the perilous riddle
this tainted toss oozes lust from the crust
a dark dismay apparent with the skill of a ferret
sneaking the belittled bites into those filthy minds
what powers these mortals think they are squandering
from afar the sight seems wrecked, ramshackle, and split
the terror enters the secretions of the mob as the feelings pour
bleeding like crying for the benefit of more and taking less time spent
tinkling against the pavement becomes a game of thieves on high as fiends
totally aware that they taint and mash our dreams into the pie of belief and cream
bought, buying, sold are tastes of exquisite resonance as the thoughts dance forsaken
expanding fists into hands of needy remorse for lost wages tossed aside for the personal
war of the skill masked by faith in crime of life stealing met by chosen ones in the street level
size of force to manipulate the …
there is no tolerable commitment Here.
out of Context;
‘waving black flags in the distance, signaling to the others that the fray is still yet in motion, and moving to plunder the next method within this tempest of madness…’