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 …
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…’
the rage the planet must feel at the tiny invading force enveloping and breeding like mad, but one day there will be justice…
…and flowing from the night sky with grace and progress…the daydream of the habitual liar, and source of the extremity that was, the childhood impulse at large and streaking with that blazing sunset…what have you when you came here in the first place?…
‘appealing…convenient…onto the table…’
the crawling things take no relent.
the stirrings of the possessed senses.
the protest of withered hands in function.
the machines take their roles in society.
the cost is too much to deny now.
the motion makes waves appear.
the friends are nowhere now.
the husks remain to play.
the games of discord.
what is the price paid for the creative mind?
‘negative…raw nerve…all simple needs…’
slow days at the factory, and futile thoughts of the future for a future’s sake…
seems to me just phases through the waves, and I’m the one taking their time…
no paint nor print, or posture low in synchronicity with any other, just written scrawl…
thoughts and prose of madness, one and all, and manifestos without balls…
where we all seem to stall with forethought, and I can’t take the apathy any more…
you may feel small, but where is your thirst for change of mind…
rise and stand tall where the shadow falls below you as you stride into the night, fearless…
understand this decrease…with faltering steps approaching the state of numbness…the dollars fall from the pocket, unnecessary trinkets…possessed fetters of a material existence…the spirits of a central intellect gather around the newborn reality…a gaping hole where the music dies…vast and unforgettable echoes of senses pushing past the boundaries…ghastly quotes from the rogues who eat the slithering silence as they pass…standing at the edge of the public opinion…with regard for no one that defies the collective will of this mob…this is where destiny is said to hold sway over the whole…the technique is the guarded secret of creating cultures…moving the tribes of conscious humanity to the corners of their kingdoms…the mentality of the writhing mass invades the strength of the fairest ruler…undermining the ability to think consistently…for the protective structure…the chitinous form has many layers to formulate and carry out the …
out of Context;
‘with questions of intellect turning from the emotional realm to the moralistic, and even into the religious territories of wonder. hurdles and experiences one-and-all, but not without certain rewards to be had. the machine grants the probability for success, and a contented cog is an effective piece of movement, free of distractions and earnest to better progress.’