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litmus test of the Damned.

jesus was a carpenter, but was he a righteous man, or the sobering final assault on humanity from a demon god in the wings of a high belief?… in monsters over myths to guide humanity closer to their future of public humiliation as though at the hands of polite bathroom attendants for not flushing the toilet when finished Here, the old and doctored wage in faith that the church might ask out of distortion of the mental state as the wave of heat rolls out the threshold scaring the worshipful harangue of the blissful ascetic feeling justified in prayer, but who is to excuse all that remains of us there?… as though a superior god would care for every part of self and cell, as if a cell were a collection of roles to make each part work together at the same pace in an odd timing or competitive sway between authorities in compliance with any of the pre-described modes and functions for a profit-reaping endeavor deemed to be worthy of moving forward by the powers that be commanding in the current state of interpretation on the heavens and earth surrounding us all, and no being is ever left out of the cosmic scheming that goes on without a total lack of knowledge as it has been subduing our collective consciousness far longer than even we can imagine as ancient astronauts landed eons ago probably before primal human could ever speak so easily like they can today… the chanting changing to suit the different deities as they rise and fall as one of the many possibilities in a paradigm of a continual circus quality, a cult dedicated to each in their time when humanity is ready to assume the burden that comes with being human in a peculiar way as the rest of the universe demands, and under some kind of sacred subliminal spell opening the mind to ancient entrancing techniques to guide the consciousness back toward the ground after the ego has lifted the intellect so high aloft like a seat of power destined to rule and measure… to contrast the proud and the fool in a setting that makes sense deep inside the writhing donated blood, a secular tool in the box with hope and the rest of the feeling monsters that were trapped in there for more ages than need to be recounted Here always the possibility of more is difficult to describe, and the ‘qwerty’ keyboard filled with its magical symbols leading more circuits to click and hum in mutual vital recognition of one another’s role inside the form as the fingertips move in sync with the rest of the solidified self incarnated Here today and the intent in motion cycling through variations initiated to begin… as it seems we all have to be initiated into some kind of social order to interpret the Mysteries correctly, all various tributaries of the same basic conceptual fount from which we all derive knowledge and learning stemming from the consequences of choices made long before our time now, and our families and friends participate in the scheming subconsciously to stay embedded in a society that is familiar to them even when it seems obvious that it would lead to naught… a union of wasted souls as observed by a person who stands afraid of the next day and the compulsion for change that moves time along by leaps and bounds as manipulated into place by lepers and maniacs, but again, this is all observation from slanted viewpoint as filtered through a jagged opinion and dispossessed self-esteem… concentrate of the consciousness in confidence transforming a state of being the words cannot fit, and only living for the self exposes a selfish ego likeness recapitulating only the points relevant to keeping the loop in light as though shining it through the film of the life movie as it plays for each person, the only interactive display from the perspective of conscious decision that a human being can relay communication… lying subverts the shrouded practical mind that leads into the realm of the false self, following the brightness of intuition to learn the necessary lessons required to get through this perilous existence, and especially if that means treading a different path than the pack as it might mentally appear to reveal yourself as a follower… a predator slowly stalking and looking for any delicious scrap or morsel to digest in the flat field of a neuter human passivity, but it never passes for civility except from the perspective of the blinded heart, which is the cultivated prayer from a group enslaved by a broken and selfish concept of god that espouses few ideas that do not seem to contradict each other as they maintain the mantra of suffering Here… a segment of populace so distinct that it mutilates the face of the casual onlooker that lives from within making each person little more than the vicarious sacks of skin used to a world presented as betraying and berating one another for the sake of the damned gain distortion game we all seem to be playing in, the odd damnation games we pay to enter and play to win so that we have trained our mentality to get through the next survival ploy as we actively fund the disparate wars, and self-absorbed subconsciously in what we want to watch… how bold and proud our country has become in being the world’s greatest defiler by proxy to a solitary frail and weakened nerve of the lone human being scared and twitching, left wondering what it is worth to keep moving in this direction without compassion or respect for the everyone participating in making this reality stay alive, but we have become too absorbed in our own microcosms at times mirrored by our waking hours stretching through the plateau of time only on honest energies as they are compelled into some fragmentary destination that a relative majority will misunderstand easily…