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Getting Churched the Wrong Way

to live in isolation can be gift and curse, solitude and loneliness in one cheap sweep of the arm’s length imagination, and as far too thoughtless as openly thoughtful to the insights that modern amenities apply themselves to the humane helper… when the church goes the wrong way, we do not feel accepted for who we are, but instead are ground up by the gears in this anarchy as we search the desert for some meaning which might remain unobserved in general for which we are able to scrape by with little more than contentment at our side… it has been too long since i began taking people into consideration again, i feel it is we who are lacking something to call with certainty proof of our humanity as human beings, but we do not seem to consume ourselves with too much guilt in all our raping and pillaging and plundering society because we allow the few to suffer such excruciating ends without even a simple means of beginning with some justified equilibrium… and so it has been for all those involved, a simple and casual juxtaposition of time and space barriers, but not at all without a spiritual wanderlust driving forward in peace to align within this aggressive shell of awareness wandering prolifically toward a something in the distance that which cannot write itself so easily into life beyond the description… a practical proof too pretentious to be predicted all at once yet too intentional to be resoundingly contrived or weak, this anomaly sets in our sights a new horizon which even art cannot thunder forth the latest diatribe from the shortwave radio or morse code monologue, but with digital binary dialogues delayed that sit perpendicular to the wire or edge of this reality of resources turned sour in the air of atrophied wealth and presently at a pace too apocasolipsistic (apocalyptically solipsistic) in vibration and motion as we free the bugs from our soul collectively… but the world is quite slow and unyielding as the iceberg motion that aims to cover over the solid perception of a universe constantly spinning around itself in a timing ego-mystical, pronouncing only the consciousness personal in the human arsenal of traded tricks and methods instead of fixing the bad problems they give to us, and as though the system needs the currency flowing from some debt in order to propel the gears and cogs of faceless warriors set in devotion to reign death from all sides scrambling the wonderful native cultures… we sit and we wait thinking that we know what the world and its timing can do for us and all the other little subjects stumbling around, searching for a place to plug in their version of the virus or disease, but this is where my story only begins, my old fogies… the temperament was worse than lately by many steps, and i thought that the destination was right for me to break my mortal spell of isolation as i broke the horrible spell of romantic peril as we all come to realize within bounds of a human longing that sees the other as the absolute of what and all that we are not, human being viewing itself from a distance as opposed to the human doing smashing through the mirror of mortal behavior intrusion from the occlusive side where nothing is seen and where everything lingers even lies… the dark side, some may whisper, best left unrealized… that it just can’t happen in god’s eyes as the voyeur on little human lives, petty and jealous and mischievous like the droll gremlin or elven vibrations beyond those odd chemical barriers of dreams that may seem so small in a system filled with spite, but i came to this last concert cafe before any decisions were made certain… i paid a cover to enter because the band was most splendid that night, a certain Potroast comes to mind before the liquor and beer kicked in quicker than expected, but who doesn’t meet that villain once in their life that hasn’t come to regret it?… for the new layperson, the place was a maze that i could barely pick through with certainty, but certainly no one should have to hold anyone’s hand as the attraction could be too much for any one involvement to properly last for those parties still parading around… a lame animal, this shy and evasive creature is in confrontation with anyone other than the Self it is familiar with while trying to maintain a humble demeanor with nervous distraction, but as the crowd became thicker it became apparent that the alcohol had made its way into the proper channels of intake as the looseness set in inside the muscles and the sense of self, kept asking if anyone knew who the house ov discord was at various odd intervals as remedied by the Muse for my drinking confusions with the social anxieties disordered by this insane sobriety… i came to no conclusions on church nor state…

Thanks, khet.