All The Wrong Topics dot com

hope as a four-letter word…

like snow white to the apple or an old horse led by a carrot on a string, we are given these qualities used to define us and our cultural impact because we cannot see the entirety of the universe without blinking in a brief lapse of moments gone it has all imperceptibly altered without our knowledge as a personal psyche might remain unaware because of many in number the confounding tricks and triggers to behold in its confusing waylay of time and space each in their own perpendicular harmonies along the scales as of justice as much a rhythm and melody conjoined like twin realities sharing the same cosmic womb that seems so vast and empty of obstruction, but our planet drifts in this outer space it would seem to us in an orbit as fired up by the star of our sun as feeling so small and random enveloped by this great consciousness sized to fit a manic blur indescribable from outside as one must move inside of the storm in order for a truer extent of understanding this thingdom to be realized from within as the sacred chaos it is roiling and boiling out a stew of energies and the battles for integration both materialized and metaphysical… the dope of this matter is simple as the words that fall from our lips with hip reappropriation of statements made cliche by our modern standards as the bar and boundary for a mortal moral significance sedating authorities with dosages of a humane helplessness and humility to tranquilize this active massive hive brain that swallows its insane as a whole within the rest of the fold of dysfunctional citizenry standing by watching this soft parade pass by imagining the alternate way it could always be Here, perhaps unaffected by dread and a vicarious pull instantaneously summoned to the hallucination we share as it varies within each of us to create new worlds where the tolerance tempered can be different from our own sacrificial edge sharpened on the ends of the others’ shattered certainties that pretend they are complete yet compete for dominant authority in the oblivious task to play keep up with the rest of those packed-in ready to assimilate naives weakened by simple scheming taking its toll on the dreaming sleepers as like lambs to the slaughter, and it really is a jungle in there with machinery and the grimy organism mortal aborting from their terminals to monitor the action as to be bet upon once the smoke clears again to resume the act of war on those whom will not admit to charges that they must move into an oblivion of grinding gears and cogs thinking of their prison which they have built to this degree of defense becoming insensitive to other feelings burning stagnant as a villainous tumor hot with a human face wins again these complicated games that free no one from lonely quests to retain some semblance of dignity among the robots and trohls spiking the punch with bits of the unintelligible predating humanity as organized organic things attempting to make better that which isn’t when the top levels of humanity takes every opportunity to prey upon those praying to make do…

Thanks, khet.