out of Context;
‘in at first subtle ways into frenzied wringing of the vocal cords… one, two, three Guinness in my stomach that night… to be topped by two previous blog posts, and a wonder what the next open mic night will be like then, finally though people seemed a little tired of pointed speaking of personal wreak as the time grew wee… the friendlier i became after the casual ranting with aftermath involving two more alcoholic beverages along with a jib provided by these newly acquainted friends and i, loving every minute i was allowed to bleed my heart and head right there as it was such an involved process that summoned so much inspired positive bliss as have never had before, and that followed me half-asleep all through the next day as i truly could not express…’
out of Context;
‘the unfortunate are those who cannot defy their cage as though it triggers strange nightmares that eat the soul’s truth for some bizarre death wish that takes our time in surges and waves as a spiral graces the caves with its sunlight rave in present collapsing naive sprays, and words with nerves lash against the brave with stinging sudden rays, the dark soul of the neanderthal struck dead… but they still live on in my mind, you see, through the graphical limitations of your mind’s eye as i tread this vast distance… the ghost in brain matter undead… my mind is now your mind, though you still do as you wish i am always there now, and you can temporarily rid me of this link though sometimes they do come back…’
out of Context;
‘to give up too quickly is “retard”, or i’m sorry, to be retired… making us no better than any other moron among us, which we are anyway you slice it even if you defend yourself otherwise, and nearly everyone seems utterly blocked by this polarity of spirit… to move too quickly in a direction you wish uses velocity of state to make one numb enough to understand the new information, but polarizes those who have no idea of the range of experience within their vapid opinions based upon other opinion yet still, it seems as though no two ends of the same scaled and visualized spectrum would be able to be connected… however, it is this bizarre attraction between the opposites that literally reacts by pulling their frequencies together…’
“in days of heat
sticky, sweaty
a carcass living
casually weeps
in the shadow
no ordinary tears
but tears of blood
the tacky wet
red, moist
as the ripping
waves pulse
like a blow dryer
an antagonistic sun
the hairy face matted
the guilt, the rage
hot issues all well
spent with no
mention of rot or
decay featured now
a carcass dying
in days of heat…”
out of Context;
‘a dangling whip-like appendage, the Clitic, stands distinctive in this corrupted linguistic trick of the mind… the process of control seems like a theory of control, different for each unique character scripted in this act, and appearing as continuous variables uninterrupted by time… even as our vertical awareness stirs our soul, the opinion mentioned earlier is responsible for sending out batch quantities of life for specific end results, to control a discrete robotic assembly working to manifest its will… a theory on process theology could be described as not everything is god’s will, but god has a will in everything as all experience contributes to the process of reality, you could further break that down into god as persuasion…’
the world warps around the continuous consciousness that grows…
emitting a signal that replenishes the dynamic of energy that gets drained
as the cosmic joke funnels our souls into this chaotic state of matter…
we wash ourselves with the pity and sorrow and laughter
inherent in the suffering of succotash…
the diabolic parabola, the learning curve where the junk collects,
whether at the bottom or in the middle of the air…
the objective? the collective? a struggle…
we were meant to juggle our reality by the thread of a yo-yo,
and by then the merry jester tugs back upon our dreams…
like a simple-minded fisherman reeling in the catch…
the imagination gets a fierce degree of gravity from the inner child,
bearing the bubble back to the ground, but quickly caught off-guard
by the up-thrust of windy retreats…
where is the imagination left now?…
gliding off into gilded realms unknown…
the karmic …
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;
‘was there ever really anything left?… or was it all just a series of facts?… the poetry translated through a tormented scripture… no, just the repressed buttons and switches and levers that resist the finger, we down play the mutant suffering motherfucker unaware…’
out of Context;
‘the rape, the rape of ourselves and the land, and this misery translates again and again… tearing the tainted thrust apocalypse into the wind, and savoring that drastic sigh, as all hell broke loose in fits at night… the mind an unsavory stew…’
out of Context;
‘to grow from pets into people as we take turns soaking our bones, washing the conformity into our minds, but without the discretion that ages left… some people see the patterns inside the ones we are all given, the symbols that trigger the fireworks rise, like acting the phoenix willing to able…’