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Conform or die.

conformity can be a grievous gripe to undertake, affording too much gap for the advantage to be taken by the doomed, and thus allowing endless potential to be wasted away by the erosion of the human soul… we cannot allow this anymore, but a complete overhaul seems unfathomable to most persons set in their specific roles, which leaves very few of us to actualize the new reality alone… innovators and iconoclasts hide themselves from full view to perpetuate their function to question beliefs, sometimes we mistake our leaders for these people, but they stay well away from the attention that would destroy them… one, it might seem, needs conformity as the support structure… especially in such a drastically chaotic social scene such as ours, where everybody is indoctrinated to compete on the edge of violence, and the wars have spoiled our victors… corrupting them into further corrupting the society that takes its citizens for granted anyway, constraining the next generations into boxes of planned conformity, but at the same time we try to experiment on their boundaries to further progress… even at the insistence that there is nothing more than the unknown plateau out there, we still debate and fuss to the point of hostile tensions, and all presupposed civility is lost to the animal instinct… all because our passion for conforming hits a base need for survival comfort, that zone of adaptability that is unique in its system of assumptions and awareness, and the urge to see what is rightly aligned with us personally… it is all some kind of cosmic gang bang where everyone takes a turn at the reception, and those blase few that eventually get to provoke a penetration into this sacred tension… between people, this tension is always there, and at times awareness lends us an insight into the alien concepts of respect and humility… we can take quite a bit from the previous time lines we have lived within, even the myths and folklore create a primal memory for the rest of us to be involved in, and makes up the forgotten foundations conceptual of civilization… the mythic operating system or MythOS… case in point, the working class on our way to ascension of the next great age, as though like the Olympians before us, needing to usurp the mass hysteria of the Titans before we get eaten by this systemic infection… the machine functions as that molding muscle meant to manufacture this indecisive force of chaos, left with never the most accurate of terms ever, and still asked to make sense of some other punk’s orders while making sense of your own wills to live… this subdues the true cosmic energy pulse that races through us after miserable fucking day, whether we like it or not, but the hammer comes down hard on the cowards crippled by their sugary breakfast flakes in the middle of a break-through occupied by that outrageous consumer awareness left always needing/ wanting more… somewhere a darkness diverts us from a destined motion made by our individual spirits, the flustered individual takes a breath in to realize the movement of every thing else around them, but the sight evokes the same response yet again as the insight wields a heavy range of mood-inflicted bruising quick swinging of boredom-laced fists… why does the fight have to be so personal all the time with the ones you barely know?…

Thanks, khet.