All The Wrong Topics dot com

sleep, drowned drama sounds.

so it is the pay day… my tolerance for the infested massive of this culture knows no bounds that can as yet make sense of the knots we all fail to see, invasion of the differing psychic assaults of the earthen heathen beast in charge, and the means to bitch and complain to my heart’s content with all of the things lodged inside of my mind’s content… unreal issues of modern slavery to manipulate better ideals and principles, bottom lines and gory details that fade away with the passing miles of wear on these tired and frail beings beginning to find the light through this weary darkness occluded by the clouds, but caged by words and terms we are coming up with the effort not to listen to the propaganda anymore as the hordes try to tear the sense of self away to be replaced by a homogenized pace that was set as a standard to corrupt a populace of its individual worth and values… sensing change in the works when you are a cog far too removed from the center of the real efficiency for energy, and it was made this that way on purpose so as to diffuse all the available sources of the people toward the goals of others in the know, in this convenience culture the denizens of welfare emulate a decadent opulence of the wealthy in their one percent ivory towers overlooking all those labors and fields in the vapid fits of professional snark and hum as a means to carefully hide that darker data which just floats inside as quickly as it sinks into the sea of dreams and the nuncio from where we came Here for more than just merely observational purposes… we seek the sweet relief in a lover or repose of distinction apart from the rest of this heated substance we are so easily given into, even though to tear the meat from the bones is murder as abstraction delivers like razor’s edge to sliver and slice through the misshapen manifestation made realer still by rummaging through the realms of memory and perception, and the rubble of rebellion left in the wake of tragedy rippling on the tail end of stories told like broken stones dropping off into a contained pool as catalog of forms each telling a different variation on the same loopholes we were not able to find the solutions to fix before this happens… underscoring experience like a drifting soundtrack of wandering violins and cello as the classical fades slowly into the modern rock opera of vanity and betrayal that consciousness and the creature have to face together in order for synthesis to prevail, until there comes a time to develop a better means of telling the story we truly wish to reveal to the rest of this miasma that until we are ready shields us off from the horrible truths to be understood later on real life as witnessed through a lens of self-awareness as we all experience its’ lone path for ourselves, but keep company with those aspects of self we claim as ‘friend’ even as we should never feel ashamed when such parties betray our personal and hopeful reflection for them… this is how we can so easily isolate ourselves from each other and disengage from the actual variety of living that takes humble precedence over harsh ego-stroking movements to appease a beast with gnashing teeth intimidating power from the world, the snarling survivor as it attacks and penetrates the mind’s willing eye to see the pain inside such ferocious hearts diseased by their rage and insane take on the blackened filter bending around their frame of sight through unreal eyes, but this is what we get as by-product of a system that shelters its prospective blanks to shuffle from school to work without problem even as there is the interjection of trauma into the world makeshift as the child develops into a being bringing forth a hard contrast to sift through between these modern manipulations and in the mythic tales woven to explain things from the inexplicable past… the human drama throbs from the complicated threads connecting us as these disparate sources from which these glorious goods and existent evils are sealed within us as universally as the DNA pulse surging into decay as the civilized pique from empirical study and purging of profit turns sour and frayed, the ends as they beget their means without acceptance of the spectacular nature beyond the stark white walls built to house our fears and nightmares, and to make naked through this same studious attention detached and minus the natural compassion and inclination toward a healthy respect that cannot be quantified in cold process… a fusion of concepts and morals to smash the natural order to a state of molten ideas and a more or less malleable society that will follow orders as they are stated when they are stated, facts before fiction and all the clout that could ever bring one in a world based on powers that be as vicious competitors to see and smash into pieces that one god can feed to all the little fishes, and baited by the masters wallowing in greedy pools of sweat and piss as they wait to drown and devour yet further still to propel this cyst’em of infinite growth to absolute destruction… not much of an ending, eh?