this tainted toss oozes lust from the crust
a dark dismay apparent with the skill of a ferret
sneaking the belittled bites into those filthy minds
what powers these mortals think they are squandering
from afar the sight seems wrecked, ramshackle, and split
the terror enters the secretions of the mob as the feelings pour
bleeding like crying for the benefit of more and taking less time spent
tinkling against the pavement becomes a game of thieves on high as fiends
totally aware that they taint and mash our dreams into the pie of belief and cream
bought, buying, sold are tastes of exquisite resonance as the thoughts dance forsaken
expanding fists into hands of needy remorse for lost wages tossed aside for the personal
war of the skill masked by faith in crime of life stealing met by chosen ones in the street level
size of force to manipulate the …
~deacon khet on the fake and weak-willed.
out of Context;
‘we seem to conform to other diatribes of opinion just to satisfy the fiction of an ideal existence… do we sanctify our own ways of being true to ourselves in that harrowing light?…’
out of Context;
‘there is no need for all the constraints in a subjective world of freedom, but controls will always try to make us believe otherwise… believe, and feel the noose get tighter as you misstep… behave, and see your innocence destroyed under the weight of responsible nuisance as the load grows heavier…’
out of Context;
‘waving black flags in the distance, signaling to the others that the fray is still yet in motion, and moving to plunder the next method within this tempest of madness…’
“No man is so foolish but he may sometimes give another good counsel, and no man so wise that he may not easily err if he takes no other counsel than his own. He that is taught only by himself has a fool for a master.”
~ Hunter S. Thompson; american author, artist and iconoclast.
out of Context;
‘the energy to restore my mode of thought has been misspent in awkward situations for long enough, but power is back in my fingertips today… time to throttle the words out of my head, and give my catharsis what it needs…’
I know not what is left of me, but obviously there is a pillaging going on somewhere that I am not involved in, where pride for oneself means nothing to the mediocre mob mentality of macabre and obscene dreams… where is this noise coming from that emits a small buzzing from the skull and forehead, this thing that traipses around my mind like a voice from some far-off place where no sway is held by a ruler or guiding system of measurement at all…
there are few things that this world fuses quite so jaggedly as the appearance of human beings in all their splendor. sorry for the strong heaps of sarcasm, but it is a sin not to affect the real irony of the situation. when we are born, we are summoned up from a nether realm of purity splicing through the marrow and meat of this existence, and bathed in the light of the real and solid. that only seems apparent once we are here, though, and we quickly fall in with others ideas of what being here means to them which were influenced by other forces as well and so on from the beginning. there are some who think that to push their will upon other beings is the way to go, but there are no such certainties in a …
out of Context;
‘the electric impulse is always there, and always has been, even as we would try our best to forget it or make believe that we can control or manipulate its validity… there is no ending if there is no stopping, and Here is where we go when it is time for the next steps to infinity, this is where we all meet the same walls and learn to dismantle them in order to renew… the forces that we have become are inescapable, but not without relent’