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Beautiful is decay…

we will all die and feel nothing about it though only after the fact, but while Here in this visceral feral reality as it bequeaths thee as an individual to dual with your own inner strife and struggles as a fierce wind picks up the sail to move you toward as yet another destination with a gravity that flows further deep into that unknown, in facts and their friction relying on completing consequence to conquer the clarity in wishes like fishes are swimming through the sea of magniloquent words as catchphrases to be caught in the unsuspecting network jerked up past metaphor to language as it lingers languid like liquid description used in verse and term as to further define the old distinctions we have in our midst… the sanctity flowing through me is the blessing a curse needs to reverse on its’ heels on passage towards this positive change in the works likened to the sea opening out to the ocean with its’ emotional motion flowing as ocean of knowing showing the fluctuating information, shining as brilliantly as in moon and sun alight the trails through the stars and cosmic expansion narrowed in this becoming the you ever-changing as you are now as always will be, and even as the flesh melts away in slow death sways or quickly as in the emergency state of apocalypse stains that come like rain through the worm hole by state of the art blitz of nuclear hatred abused by shameful masters that plague us with ready disaster… pieces for free falling off into a pile on the floor as the body shatters apart like an explosion of molten hot core fragmented from the dirty bomb made to cure the infidel womb of its’ heathen possessions, in screaming out for more to claim the right to divide and to compare the evils we see with those needing to be freed from this hassle as it has pushed us each in our time to reveal the truth to ourselves even from those of shady suspicious sources wary to seek the good without mocking the wooden rules stiff and chafing the rest of this world as the boy will not grow up once released from the tree of its birth, but a stunted growth trying to become real with no hope of waking from the bliss of zeal as approached in life when one tries actively living within it before taking a sensitive plunge toward the finish in a rabid attempt at making your reality exactly the way you’ll have wanted it… the coddled reality with its’ messianic (read messy antic) children wandering away as the sun sets over the curved blade of the horizon as cut out against land and sky looking quite the way it did thousands of years ago as the dread of Mankind loomed as silhouetted statue backlit by the sun, these idolized efforts of making gods as real as these unnatural vertices loading up ley lines with the vast residues of centuries cast cross-examining in the minutia of detail by generations after the facts have been set into place, but always hot pursuing progress obstinately whether there are consequences for the worse or not in these days so strange as they range the gamut of moods and attitudes set on kill to fill time and space in ways that may seem cheap from the outside but it works… temporary the temporal thrust that takes the energy out of us as we commit to these odd daily chores as obligatory stations on a marathon race to keep the dirt and grime from sealing our fates as collective martyrdom dumbs down the real state of grace that resides just inside of the truth that knowledge is free, it is as the gold in Midas’ touch can be presumed to correspond to the touch of betrayal in Judas’ moves as it turns the organic machine from love into something cold and metallic in sheen searching out an opportune path to march down, and assimilating this materialism out of our myth and legend in equal sections of this caricature of thoughtful alliance between corporate powers and the flowing of a futile currency evoking distrust at the state for the debt incurred without any regard for the public appearance of these rates as they follow the slow-to-supply and the high-in-demand forces working the puppet strings of this tainted capitalism causing its’ members to strike and smite each other in order to prove who is the better… is there a better self or seeming reality of a person who does not make mistakes as we choose to?…

Thanks, khet.