All The Wrong Topics dot com

the Look and the attempt.

like a medusa-painted face to shield from the sheer volume the wasted youth who would throw weapons at her intelligent head that will speak no matter what the given situation, the flaming array of attempted leads through the darkened tunnel created by a lack of experience, but locked into a definite pattern of the self launched out from the loins of a strange related source indeed… the appearance of success has always mattered more effectively than any particular attempt to make things into a stated order, and the inadequacies between the states of righteous and ignorance are taken too far by a privileged few in this case of the opportunistic scam run by asylum house inmates left with their brains frying for too long on the half shell, as eggs they do break when too much pressure is applied to the surface with such striking focus to damage the pristine layer of protection that we have Here… more twisting, cracking, breaking fragments of the dream away from its inherent link to death to separate us from our only connection to god as these portals are also the gateway to untold ages of darkness and treachery… only if we keep preventing our gods from becoming artists in the human realm with all the rest of the toys on display finding their roles to play so artfully rendered, but what teases us out of our cages, there are dead ends in the mind that no one cares to witness on anything other than an experimental basis with no expert doctors on the panel to preserve the results… no, my friends, it all gets thrown to furnaces again to start this whole misshapen mass ever over again to try making something different perhaps… playing out so many of the different possible aligning options as we are one by one, defined by qualities we find it a puzzle almost impossible to define with lone intriguing words that interlock as some would eventually reveal to the rest of us, but one of many possibilities all trying to enact a formula at the same time…. the derivative of the unseen wire that decapitates some blind on the speed to notice, and others noticing that it carries upon it information that guides future lives to be lived right in the now we perceive yet again… the traded volleys of observance and action like the ping-pong game that never ends even as it may wind down to other states that we are not witness, but still there is always a game under way in neverending reality we are pretending into existence with the rest of these artifacts which reveal nothing except the artifice of the soul, time-tested and people-approved methods of scientific empirical behavior for the massive hive mind at work in human nature… no mothers to get us out of the barrage of answers thrown out by the television screen without a sense of justice directed by those that make it seem so real, no lovers to make us feel alright as it is only a temporary gain in this up-down game of chance we seize to make our own controls out of, but this is not all we are given to avenge ourselves upon like a blade of dagger or sword to commit this lobotomy through suicide we might want to conceive during these deadly arts of perception we deceive others by… yet we are forced into a corner by our own hands as they gravitate and materialize into this reality before and after our death as the individual set on assignment to find another way to perceive reality some new and fascinating way before the end, but is this ever the way to become a being of light as opposed the being of dumb, the retarded gain some new insight where we the enlightened might not… in fact this statement of truth is absurd but there is a gravity Here that cannot be sustained elsewhere except for where we were never meant to be, a place where the face does not match the description, and where the heart learns truth swoons…

Thanks, khet.