the real me is but a pigment from your fragmented imagination, constipainted…
defined by the palette and hues in your hand, the brush your guide to the inside…
the mind pouring out its’ wisdom, drained of a cacophony clamoring for retreat…
voices of spirit taking over, perhaps the ghosts of past or present regrets…
the meat of the brain might distract away, though sometimes as obvious change…
enlightenment the vital remains creeping in, to prevent the ficklest of fate…
choices seem random at first with few certainties, except for those one sees…
that judgmental voice in the back of your mind…
…”the method you mention is madness, a dancing repetition
moving behind the eyes, a variety of senses and images
looking for a sense of gravity to pull details aside”…
‘sitting, stinging, slinging
… pen to paper
… an authority,
gripped in a cacophony
a phony, mad cockiness
throwing random angles, as angels to faith, manic head full of fate
this tangled stasis, a mass awash in faces, displaces interest between
these jagged fragments, of man incorporating machine, to seize the world
in a capital scheme, the extreme of which, takes a cruel touch
to collapse a hateful trust, dreams to mutate dreams, mutilate and conquer
disagreement achieving, an uneasy humanity, moving slowly across the page
the tormented sage, spilling words of was-dumb, refused or accepted sum…’
‘this? rhythm words, kindness, the inert…’
of power being manifested in money
a quantified tool for the wealthy
how do you make others do as you wish?
shine the currency of your favorite
country or society in dire straits
if you are one of those observed to have
more than others and flash it around
gratuitously only to be robbed
by a system that makes money
out of Context;
‘to shock and amaze you with my strength and skill even as i deny myself the praise that naturally involves the person this way to behave, but i relent Here as this is my space where the mind can dispose of its weight in the possibility that any one person would read this trash is an ungrateful fate… this opinion masked in words that disguise the acts as they occur to in fact blur the lines between exact and vague restriction with the chemical plastic symbols at my fingertips slightly constricting my movements on the keyboard that opens these gates to the greatness…’
out of Context;
‘there is only a temporary haven of the ‘out-of-sight’ kind of sanctuary as darkened forces pervade every molecule in the cosmic stream whether we like that or not, the loose ends are always being tied by someone somewhere in the hiding shadow falling as the sun moves further out our unwieldy orbit a MAD extension (Machination Attempting Democracy) in spite of the corporate fetish fashionable among the TV watchers watching us right now… the monitors hidden by the heads thrown back in sad laughter at the state of things today, and the inhumans trained to dis-involve their true humanity until the time card is punched out…’
out of Context;
‘applied by the liars on either side of the affairs struggling with their confusion of glaring eyes and dares disguised as mainlined hard-to-define row of words supplied by your narrator, and it is my mind’s eye struggling against the lair of the dreadful and unaware brutal minds as they enter without careful consideration of where they tread so light and fair… with caution proceed, but do not lose your balance to your disease, keep your center as you have no need in using overly righteous conjunctions or confusing preconceived of judgments Here… the bliss of the mind is that it can retreat…’
