All The Wrong Topics dot com

Lion of the dandies.

casually but forcefully maneuvering carefully through this bothersome terrain, terrestrial slowness because gravity nails me into place, the weird and the bizarre are constraints we give into through a fashion-able display… masculine brought to bear the weight without a care while the thoughtful feminine interest provokes the inspiration from the wounded exterior, we all assume that we would want someone to feel for us in a way that reciprocates in positive flavor of the energy expended, and benefit only seems natural with positive feeling as opposed to the negative insults and stabs… trying to break through barriers that build the stereotypes that plague the intense interactions between people, formed at first as a means of defense, and then turned into masks to seal others away at arm’s length… scurrying past the gated fates, an exit to one aspect of life to enter another state planed and scraped away, tipping the scales in favor of return to the state of intuitive strength… the matted mane of hair in the eyes, the stage opened up wide as you try and fail to hyde the syde that styles your pryde, but why even seek the need to obfuscate the mind’s eye?… with all the weight we each carry, it is an impossible act to accept and admit when one is corrupted through being another chemical missionary, and the company pharmacopoeia tries to sap the brain and energy necessary to break the cycles of pain… to generate a thought from the organic transmitter lodged with electrical impulses to run the circuits, chemical mechanisms moving without word, but merely the right frame of insight to guide an escape through the days… from either end of the gamut there is an unresolved tension that creates the dynamic between the matter-bound beings on one hand, the immaterial souls on the other residing in the ephemeral deep, and the matter-dwelling spirits in the middle of this cosmos in constant flux… even as the trick of the pilcrow is remembered by some to be utilized to start a new train of thought, but Here it all comes together as one thing, the literal substance of the real… the senses reveal the jumble that surges through our minds, like wild dogs trying to tear a peace for ourselves, with stars in our eyes we walk a thin line… unable to see, feeling out blindness, but what drives us but the madness to strive to do better things… feeling dead inside the zombified stride of hollowed out wallowing in pity and frustrations, using up the vital energies of others too close with concern for ignorant pleas, but feeling either the stunned or stoned modes of the human disease in functional persuasions lacking straight-forward communications… the reckless abandon into the feckless microcosm, the soul or spirit is random as we are filled with some idea of the essence, and sometimes i cannot believe it has come to this point… why the human animal reeks of the immature opinion, the assumption beyond question, and why life has to seem neat or clean or simple?… we are all at fault, working with what we are trained with, and letting others know the superior standard common sense has arrived… the awful ways that work into fits the weaknesses we work our lives to fix, those subtle silent floating patterns baring dread fruit to despair their minds again, but no art works as hardly ever as the art of art itself… not scared of the bug guts as i clean up the mess i made, but where is this problem i can’t penetrate?… the seeking within cryptic turns of phrase moved in many see-through ways, unaware people found to sell themselves short to learn very little, and it is this atrophied civility that i can be scared of without pause… an endless pursuit of those human things, the products of our convoluted tricks, and wondering how i allow myself to be wedged in such extraordinarily tight spaces… i feel like the bearer of ill will personified read with their hive eyes…

Thanks, khet.