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will the Overcome.

what is this idea of a humane thing before us?… the stares are mighty climbing to have to utilize in the rising up against in what are eventually oppressive matters that deaden these human eyes with distractions constantly buzzing about like rectal flies awaiting the intoxicating scent of a meal, the only sure thing in the chaotic wake of the oblivious people taking all their shit along with them as too much baggage is that fecal bath that serves as the cesspool from which our collective ingenuity stems… a brain clot on the run from a lawless past with too much to hide, and not enough places to stay when trying to think of the future ends in futile games of dominance and submission while the radio lays dead in the hallway broken and smashed apart, awareness as wasted in which the ways are whirled worlds away from us so that we must figure out the quest to participate within as though like a game with absolute rules could be applied Here… it cannot for the sake of argument be a simple tactic of learning what to do and doing that, this ideally dynamic world always has room for changes made or always in the making threatens the ideal of a stable static paradigm of the real, but few if any ever get the chance to glimpse for themselves those plateaus and substances that the life abundant tries to imply in ritual trappings and collectivist mindsets… an attempt at understanding the blisteringly quick mystery which impairs any thoroughly rational mentality sustained for too long, periods where life can grow to be too overwhelming for the level of development attained, and a moving fog is created through most shared perceptions acted upon by a submission to belief that these people justified enough to uproot any proof of the sustainable average for living decently… a decent life that can keep the living things within from rotting competence of the short-term traditions that retain this horribly redundant cycle of mistakes, the rulers know even less than they used to because of the defensive productivity of the militaristic mind at work trying to hold all information in a protected slot where only specifically neutral visitors may see the relics from a political future untold, and in this dystopia we are a limited people indeed with merely the illusion of freedom to make us happy with what we have got even though it isn’t much at all… the cloak-and-dagger governments want to close the box on this section of humanity where the gutter ends, having spent their entire lives under obvious guise of a human appearance sheltered from understanding the inhumane imbalance that proceeds unaltered in the cruel and social aspects of the real world, and short-changed by a reality left of liberated desires for the common people that live and work in the fields in opposition to the ivory tower dwellers… the futile horseshit antics of the lunatic mind gone awry in the vapid age out of a lack of instinct or intuition otherwise as the vicarious calamity begins to spread out our way, the directions of a lost and faceless race of clones and drones embedding their seeds for a new world dream shared beyond the ether of internet dragging along the shore that lies there for us in the murky depths of the psyche to a locked door of perception where the use of projected myths and legends can be grafted onto the willed self image as a guide through the sea of caustic feats as the human chooses to retreat from reality, but something wicked this way comes on our open faces… you can see the grimace through the veil of fingers as you might observe voyeuristically from a certain length of distance for fear of awareness from the others, maybe you could be afraid of their being observant of the foibles of the natural human endeavor we all undertake with lack of grace at stake staged in the vast and epic displaced heartland created out of hope and prosperity when the time came and went like a wave splashing against the rocky cliffs idling stony and rigid to the liquid consciousness in flexibility, but to what stage can we allow our humble selves to flower?…

Thanks, khet.