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athaMay i…?

receivers of the cosmic signal call out to you as they do to i though they cannot use the words as we see them that cause us to translate into symbols the ideal forming this physical that was a potential nothing noting some of them longer moments as condensed for interest of those with as short an attention span as mined for praise in songs sung by sales enslaved selling others on cohorts of subliminal advertising to further the caustic plague adapted to some human features at least on the surface appearing somehow compassionate to the creatures that live there some words becoming inconsequential as ages pass us on along a trail of tears and fears and degradation by living fortitude of negation trying with abhorrent might to sacrifice all who are believed ready to perceive a constant in the universe whose masters seem physical in nature only temporarily, a catalyst in a series of catalytic conversations as roars silent as a rumble of waves in the cosmological mind that same conscious continuum that corrects our grammar and in confining our lives to shit work for the scum of an earth Here abominated ablyss gives us these states questioning of being tragically erased to be sucked back into another fascist regime of organized particulate matter fused with other pieces while floating on through intriguing distant waves of us with the kinds of consciousness housed within manifest manifolds of flesh and thought conjoined by that same conceptual spirit that can overwhelm our consciences with incredible visions in mental hemisphere electrically livid once the character becomes ignited channelling raw substance through the wholly unseen conversions speaking behind the scenes we play out once linked to those others forcing their way into the heart meat always without some compassion that gets lost in the darkness of ignorance as reinforcement for human stupidity, but always in the name of furthering the scientific experiment of survival games played by imaginary pantheons of personality quirk quarks and the appetites of the archetypes feeding upon the ones who try driving a stake through that muscle that beats in tune with the advancing parts of life yet ahead making us but mocking our progress in telling us to do better manic ghosts representing internal correlations between family and ancestors that conflict and reflect those statistical changes made once Mankind began to tackle responsibility for its actions in having lead culture by a leash lashed against that wall that no one else can see to make sure a few of our ways will stay tethered by this chain… that is not assured in anyway as freedom varies like art or as magick contained in the village a voyaging vessel through timESPace as the journey enfolds us all and our remains a solid state through the rocks and stone as the residue of who you were slowly washes away with the rain blossoms in the sun spill out their bright content without a cry when everything is thrust into shape, sprung into form without the need of anything more than memory as primordial as be the sea and all of its oceanic fucking bliss as home to a creeping horde of continuously vanishing ecosystems that humanity has had a hand in wiping out thanks to a monster streak in our shallow genetic pool as terrain for vicious predators trying to open hostilities besmirching all whom involve themselves in such messes of epic distortion, and it shows as lessons craving to carve up a niche market of gimmick and protocol that shoves all people into only few of those chosen by management as roles to fulfil though a great number have rebelled from these systematic expenses throwing around the weight of dead presidents reigning…

Thanks, khet.