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False raptures.

the anachronistic anarchists make the forceful appeal of their time Here, that it isn’t worthless yet within some subjective system trying to use the demon of control upon us all, but we all gripe and complain through our negative eyes we summon a satisfied glimmer of coping for measures on the beat with what jive this spinning thing hands to us, frightening those without the means to prepare themselves for the wreck age as it begins to fall into place for the odd Western world, but without the usual savage amenities… to feel isolated from oneself is to feel isolated from the greater amount of others, playing the oblivious boy on the bench as the garbage truck at night shakes its wares like a brutal, stinking fist through the air… the shitty life is everywhere Here… the leeches and cream cropped short to show the extremes… alienating the alternating direct currents dual sided, but not everything is the obvious form of duality, analog/ digital as opposed to acoustic/ electric “gray” area created as the perceptive layers overlap… all subtractive colors forming a “brown” as the solid hologram, but is there also the gray matter housed in the meddlesome sack of monkeys, a hooting and hollering for an escape from their cage of domestication… questions whether there ever is a separation between inspired and the inspiration?… (inspire-all) the inspiral brain as the countless binary stars in our cosmos, the overmind perhaps with all its synapses firing, against the conceptual output of this shit-thinking gray matter… our roles as totemic significance awaiting some other confirmation through the ether, one of many excuses for a civil disobedience, and we feel the gaps feeling more nervous than the actual event… projecting the situation as a fearsome protocol for the lack of a humane brain locked in a circular logic as a circuit burned into the “software” of the metaphysical mind of the individual, rage nor cage defines the person, usually the situation holding human tension like the hydrophobia of a living leafy surface creates the shape of things to come… the conscious kinetic tingling with charisma through the magnetic personal energy, mutates but does not conform to every serious thinker that believes they hold weight, and melding reaction and its mentalism recreated as side effect the thoughtless tractor pull… no patience for the stayed and true, tradition breaks people overcurious for more, friction in tension with the sparking of attention altering time/ space/ and conscious matter… far outweighs the lurking quality, manifested thinking while others holler hallowed the fodder with random assuage in shallow pursuit of lingering moral excess, and writing by night light and other avenues of the weak end… docked into the new understanding while couched in understatement, a meditative station aside the infatuated and flocked occupation of luck engendered as righteous abuse, the blind hazy qualifiers of smokey truths unbeholden… the smile breaks like china on sharp edges with the immediate soft inheritance, the onlookers sway and walk away uninterested, and why should it be any different?… studious attempts at being the self, fail or fall short instead of just being, and feeling the whole world all at once… vantage point from vanity sinister and true, relief of the equivalent viral words as stained exceptions to the rule, and the passionate fight seems to eat lives first in a spiral pattern… dead beat neo-Victorian death gypsy punk, to the best of my knowledge, a polka funk tuned folk-a punk in time for the submission of unreal positions totally sublime underneath the grimy exterior… the oblivious boy craves connection and attention, though not from vapid lips conceived in the taste of refuse (refuse the garbage!), the vile creeping spill a swooping ragged swill tainting the skin… a savior slashing prices on the ornate foreclosure of the psyche, the captivated crowd arouse the suspicion of sedation as opposed to the act of sedition among the people there, with Shiva’s density coming too close to our own shitlike destiny and vice versa compelled by the emotional gravity… with humor and horror in equal parts, the silly and seriously frightening as the parody needs to shock an audience, and represent the villain in abstraction fighting the imaginary battles with the warriors of the mind through that sleeping conscious divider…

Thanks, khet.