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chisto SOS christ

laughter as a slaughterhouse is when blood and gore often have pouring a metaphor clotting the grates ungrateful as dead cold metal mined and molded by hands hardened by one at a time until the process completes progress succeeds a world away from the world we think we know as Now even as lines blur and shift the grounded ideals people walk upon believing the cracked concrete will carry them safely can be absolute even as the few cracks in one’s beliefs tends to be more shaky if not tenuous at best, creators are not known for their skills or talent as much unique qualities of producing the kind of evocation through lessons subtle and intrinsic their map of experience has garnered them a slight piece of acclaim that some might can pronounce as though it were a ‘peace’ to be sought after that proves a fact of genuine happiness to be totally the contrary of a factual experience enacting contentment appealing agendas of the common person working against the grain of a river real enough to feel the souls are winds gradually sailing us out of dark matters and sometimes even darker energies that contradict what might perhaps seem most obviously an outright truth or wrong that no one else appears to seem, or be as aware of when conundrum and confusion complicate the further protrusion of hominid intelligence through an ancient series as rites of passage spoken of or written a civilization trying to contemplate itself while wisdom as authority condemns the faithless choosing another to game of thrones played to appease phantoms of flashing screens wicked accomplices in a career of idealism and deceptions defining culture pseudoscientific vultures carrion-ing on giving mad props to fiends long since dead bones utterly picked clean as the slate beckons more scrawling exorcise the fellow demons reading out loud the voices in the head whose limited capacity for understanding prevents honesty from leaking confiscated conclusions the equivalent proof of personal opinion pining over qualities and causes that we are tricked into thinking are lost… though satisfied answers are less common than proposed by idealist wonders searching for a pattern like any other adaptable animal a few steps beyond rational when reason makes the path near dazzling glimmer of that raw quantity of curiosity luring us with greater feats driven by dynamic forces Here aging and urgently causing us to fight our preconceived notions of programming when considering it compassionately for an awkwatd creature such as ourselves, lingering on the cusp hints and clues left for us to deja vu at some point into a future unknown to us because the waste of years shadows every motion taken to exit constrictive values reversed a psychology used as fact surplus from which to draw savior as another joker from the pack of lies oddly stacked in a favor for this particular consensus reality flimsy though as any illusion maya may throw upon us like warm blankets that we throw off when the heat and pressure amounting to too much feedback from the ancestor spin cycle we are Now locked into since before birth, and utilizing all former flaws and advantages to work forward long enough to break away from the others to find your own independent streaks that defeat the foolproof follies of certainty whose sole authority derives from our belief in that and depends on the persons that lead us where we are most vital spirits in conducting relays of interdependence further fostered by our newly digital perceptions in which information act like psychopomps guiding us through thought alone when an irrational heart will not let us go subtly forever bound whether flesh withers and splinters apart or does knot…

Thanks, khet.