All The Wrong Topics dot com

a sword-Like process…

anecdotes like antidotes cure the ailment through laughter and humor though for some that means a sly lessoning at the end of staid debates and monologues as those that twist at the conclusion of statements fed to a republic reprocessed into bits of fragmented data shifted from case-by-case to class and race where the struggles never end Here where some would say the sidewalk ends though rainbows thrown afar into the winds that cast rain and storms and it even snows our way sometimes waist deep the further we go as impeded by the cold and ugly and indifferent attitudes as the change in seasons, we reason there are no reasons to go back when the track propels forward out of the darkness into the heart of the light as a diseased metaphor for the belief in an absolute of the infinite resource from which to draw all potential so it may become kinetic no matter what entheogen we take to enter the church of our subconscious motioning all the little sicknesses away because there is no use for us bowing down to weakness as though the only dominant force i witness pulling us apart as much altogether even when severed from each other, but as an aspect to the greater all it is merely another fragment to be weighed against the good of our heart as though in the underworld chambers of Osiris and the Egyptian pantheon hinted at in their rites and rituals a theory that brings us Here beyond and on the other side to all the eclipses and cosmic phenomenon we are yet to live through to tell tales our grandkids might hear with their own ears hearing between the lines as we and our grandparents did perhaps… though thoughts do turn rancid when cataclysm strikes as the irradiating shards of life shocking the monkeys away from their responsibility for their actions once it is that the options become chosen for us and we scatter to the edges of the earth for fear that authorities will harm that stability we have created over the excess of access that living Here has created in cruel thrusts upping the ante as stakes of technology and prowess are tested again and again, but we are not altogether failed experiments chaotically crawling like ants without a mound found lost among the gigantic egos whose ghosts float about critically expressive at each expensive device switched on or off while tuned in to this grandiose machine’s approach at these situations we have when signs tell us to weigh the obligations against those machinations that whirl still further without the person there, the one who tells us right from wrong in the beginning perhaps as a guide through the perilous doorways and lonely halls echoing from the ridicule and hunches broken by exclamations of pseudo-truth seen glittering through the subjective eyes of the beasts both inside of ourselves and those of the others to which we donate our time frequently and our energies still without a hint of the ironic casually sitting outside the Self some might say lurking outside these avatars always arguing for more…

Thanks, khet.