All The Wrong Topics dot com

…an Impolite poetry…

…curds and whey, stirred this way, reading too deep into the future when it remains unknown… a siren song constantly roaring, as the sea will want this to be the way, ebb and flow of tides seas the day but i cannot swim… someone who isn’t me wants to walk-in passed impressions of a different time and place, not to remove the stains left from previous phases of life, but learning lessons of what these thoughts and memories try to teach me perhaps they can meet me halfway… people can only guide you so far before they lose sight of your needs over their own because of the authority it takes to help others exhausts the energy of those too selfish to tend to other priorities of status while there is no dire obstacle in forward motions, asserting one’s own path has to be at most a difficult cycle to know of all things as complete finding any power from within one’s self to move in the desired direction, but tending to lose momentum in doubt running counterpoint to beatific confidence gone the route of domestication in order to survive the cruelty mechanism absorbing the spawn of days past to create more viable biomass with which to continue a looping circadian rhythm that taps into nature’s resources… though what truly are the resources of consciousness that we might be more creative instead of critical to such a nullifying degree these voids look out through our eyes to see and further inform their series of processes to control the undulating massive we summon as faceless cthonic creature from the depths of some nightmare unseen until we are to become stress thresholds past across toward mutation so supreme it beleaguers the rational mind with madness, using abilities to interpret mayhem within our own heads whilst as observant creatures, people can be induced over eons of timESPace in these forms of humanity we’ve all been granted spread across the world so uniquely no failure procreating with each other on some level that even the nature from which we do arise hoping for sentience doesn’t know what the mission with us is as contaminants creating carcinogenic information to further content disseminated by our actions what an already over-saturated environment… reflecting our primal essence back at us in mock displays of relevancy that we are for the most part unable to utilize such things unless they come at the higher costs we expect out of overlapping systems at work from the knee-jerk reactions to a rabid rhetoric that will gum up the bureaucracy in-between layers of monied interests and critically-directed attempts at controlling the damage of the message or reduction thereof, seriously impairing any and all systems connected that defy our definitions once they exist almost as though a sort Schrodinger’s flux of pass or fail once they have materialized beyond the vast potential of thought and speculation as well as science and experimentation allowing further expansions into that barely solid connecting tissue vibrating within this shadow of subconscious activity mined every day actively by those who think they can wield the magic, and by those who perish from either knowing too much or too little to protect themselves who then instead become a willing sacrifice to whatever force will have them leaving the secret kept locked in mortal illness as perhaps restless spirits housed inside a human head haunting the bearer barely focusing upon what illusory visions are used Here in order to engage the psyche when attacking any person with an intent to dispatch them in many far worse ways than merely death…

thanks, khet_:/