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succumbing to Ghosts.

we see everyday how our lives can be enriched with the rites of existing, but very few times do we look at those things with satisfaction… a psycho-sexual suffering cementing our place as the martyred race of people, the mythic legendary creature the hype does not live up to, the manipulated and miserable creature we really are inside… earnestly in pursuit of attaining some credential that means nothing to anyone but ourselves, tricky is the wish of the person who makes things happen, using and abusing others kind qualities to make their own plans work… the leaders do not lead a cause, they subjugate it to their will, and bring authority where there was only a natural balance previously… the disgraceful memes layered inside the head makes me feel particularly sick, but to speak as though i am chained to this environment around me is a cowardly thing to feel, because it is all in my hands to do with what i will to be… my words merely condense this struggle with imbalance as i experience every last detail… whether it appears written or sits on the surface of thought until it is done, and becomes ready to be spoken aloud by someone… getting locked into a sure and organic way of processing the information as it sweeps right through me… the sucking whole that responsibility has made me… a good person beyond the germ of judgment implanted in my chest, the metaphysical data just below the heart, and on fire with the friction of every day as the dynamo spins… propaganda urges pushing and tempting the people to terrorize themselves by their own hands, stalking a populace made for management and manual labor, and the hooves of the devilry ruling with cackling madness simulation of royalty… compulsion of derision for the under classed and downtrodden as they spray into the streets for a fix of the good life, but to each unique required step to reach the dream, there are many who would wish to see the other plummet to their death… there is never quite so complete an ending to any life, but how many of us held captive really live through this thing called ‘existence’?… i would wager only a few can be truly worthy, for whatever that might mean to you, and this is because of the influences that all seem to just randomly come together in the shallows of this wading pool… some shallow impulses and others are dragons curled up in the bellies of the populace waiting to strike out, these energies reach a meltdown level if relief is contained away from the conscious mind, and there can only be explosions if there is never a release for these energies go into reverse after awhile of being trapped by the monotone of treacherous comforts… the distorted analysis from a mind’s eye view of stagnant disease, this crawling anxiety that gets pawned off onto me through the mutual weapons of shame and guilt, but can concentrate at the neck-jerking pace of haste so common to the custom today… of man misleading humanity as a whole, the rise to the supposed top of the heap, but all there ever was is the feeling for wanting a place… whether in the dirt or the architecture of this structure we call ‘home’, we consistently seek out the wages of “sin” to give us comfort, and this all plays right into the money trap as well… have currency, will travel, but to seek fortune without financial interest is the uncommon… some fiends feed on/ gain more information from negative stimulation, and most of the opposite kind derive energy from the positive influx of situations, there are as many different ways as there are people to perceive and regain these basic needs… are we just one giant pinball surging through the machine altogether as one whether we have a vested interest in the direction or not, or does the energy used come kinetic from the interactions between the one, and that multitude so large as to be considered an emptiness?… a holy schematic of flesh overlaying the enduring adaptability of the human soul, ideally aware of both surroundings and mood at the same time as the individual opinion is defined by a conscious thoughtfulness, but carved also by forces beyond a personal capacity to arrange directly in the ebb and flow of tangible shift… as the nails go in, after the lid has been shut down tight, think of this and Here is my voice… the same shape-shifting sleeper such as yourself, and this my sounding board for all of that mighty swooning pressure adapted to faithless motive, written in a need to valve that pressure to see clearly sometimes in the head… to seek out the perfect timing can betray you, however, this is in light of how much stress is inflicted by taking too many things far too seriously all at one time…

Thanks, khet.