out of Context;
‘a dangling whip-like appendage, the Clitic, stands distinctive in this corrupted linguistic trick of the mind… the process of control seems like a theory of control, different for each unique character scripted in this act, and appearing as continuous variables uninterrupted by time… even as our vertical awareness stirs our soul, the opinion mentioned earlier is responsible for sending out batch quantities of life for specific end results, to control a discrete robotic assembly working to manifest its will… a theory on process theology could be described as not everything is god’s will, but god has a will in everything as all experience contributes to the process of reality, you could further break that down into god as persuasion…’
out of Context;
‘how does one think about anything without a trail of vomit to follow from the lips?… the evil animate tricks that wish and guilt trip the rest of the social structure into collapse, but bring your own umbrella as the glass shards rain down into this soft parade charade, the mighty swinging thing that creeps and calls our names from the distance… the restricted wits of the Prometheus bound, a crass metaphor for what could work for intelligence in a world quite this fiendish, as it postures and pounds so hellishly upset of true impotence…’
out of Context;
‘devotees… this materialism has an equal, antagonistic quality to “concrete” reality, but is one tangent to qualify the real question of what other pieces fit in to form a synthesis of truths Here?… complying with the “hard-to-be-precise” crosshatching of the various gamuts and steps leading us to believe what we do…’
the world warps around the continuous consciousness that grows…
emitting a signal that replenishes the dynamic of energy that gets drained
as the cosmic joke funnels our souls into this chaotic state of matter…
we wash ourselves with the pity and sorrow and laughter
inherent in the suffering of succotash…
the diabolic parabola, the learning curve where the junk collects,
whether at the bottom or in the middle of the air…
the objective? the collective? a struggle…
we were meant to juggle our reality by the thread of a yo-yo,
and by then the merry jester tugs back upon our dreams…
like a simple-minded fisherman reeling in the catch…
the imagination gets a fierce degree of gravity from the inner child,
bearing the bubble back to the ground, but quickly caught off-guard
by the up-thrust of windy retreats…
where is the imagination left now?…
gliding off into gilded realms unknown…
the karmic …
out of Context;
‘some complexity protrudes from the organ which i call a brain, this projected something is where i am left standing with imagination to my right and the hastily quicksilver critical faculty to my left, and the internal conflict wells up like a fount to express in random symbols hurled to face those demons full-front…’
out of Context;
‘this linear adjunct gives me the bends, a series of twisting and turning inclinations, and yet pulls you back into place for the next round of shit… not too much to sift through with these haggard ideas of the ways things should try to be…’
out of Context;
‘the pneumatic person steps away from the matter-bound being most would assume was a corpse, like the ghost moving beyond the demon or some other various angle of self, or like the spiritual human becoming effective in the wake of the doomed lineage… the material is not the only thing there has to be…’
out of Context;
‘we have the cultural blinding agent in our eyes as a collective, we cannot get over the fact that we are more splendid all together than as the various separately achieving ulterior motivators, and trying to pep talk the new world army into submission… representing the American scream in the age of inevitable oppression…’
out of Context;
‘with all domestication through television, is it not fitting that a violent social underclass would eventually overthrow the idea of peace, and especially in a system where we allow ancient white man to fuck with our minds on a daily basis…’
out of Context;
‘space/ time magic is Here in the various scenes of ‘LOST’, or ‘TOST’ (pronounced: “tossed”) as i fondly refer to it as in humor, encapsulated inside the leaps of suspended disbelief… from the premise of the wrecked plane survivors to the suspiciously dated pseudo-science…’