‘…as not all daze can be woven the same, the only stipulation is the madness that holds us back while alternately launching “the joke” in shrapnel materialized over our heads, and sharply into the skins of those soldiers blindly thrown forward to foregone conclusions a sacrifice chosen as collateral by the situation in which the novel trivial absurdities seem closest in popping any balloons we determine and terminally set ourselves within, either as casualty to “the joke” or the caustic punchline now floating about unseen until ˜it strikes out loud and we all fall down into the ashen once again. Whether we are left hardened items of statuesque tragedy terrorized by the very real repercussions generally considered as death becomes us, unable to be truly in control of our own meaningless endings…’ ~Out of Context
“Courage is the most important of all the virtues because, without courage, you can’t practice any other virtue consistently.”
– Maya Angelou; american poet, singer, memoirist and civil rights activist.
CultraQuiot; after a loud quiet will dawn the ‘Renaissistance’… a noise of art insists revolution.
“I must learn to love the fool in me–the one who feels too much, talks too much, takes too many chances, wins sometimes and loses often, lacks self-control, loves and hates, hurts and gets hurt, promises and breaks promises, laughs and cries. It alone protects me against that utterly self-controlled, masterful tyrant whom I also harbor and who would rob me of my human aliveness, humility, and dignity but for my Fool.”
– Theodore Isaac Rubin; american psychiatrist and author.
are there thoroughfares where our pro-ducted trivial fashioning becomes its own a life and thus turns a concept into reality? a place lodged in imagination somewhere between the oh-so classically-defined shadow where the subconscious dark matter of all perception uses jagged little barbs as set of cilia particular peculiarity parallel to what may be a wise experiential decision that as humans digesting the real further can confine in our passions onto the “knowns-and-unknowns” found in playgrounds and battlefields that soon consist of those marked parameters which contain us within oblong finality that either burns or breaks down in this decidedly unappealing journey of once we get to a certain narrowed idea of a ‘what it is we think life is truly to us’ as then the individuals who perceive any duality at all, that as rite of productive constructive …
‘the bowels of language’ {TO THE VOWELS}
A “how” is the Action, the mention being much less than these feats that upon impact,
that can force us to achieve as much as fail…failure doesn’t mean ‘DEATH’
as much as we perceive it to be, lessons in building pressure and tension.
E “what” is the Energy, which can evade human engineering to create new and better patterns
to eventually lead to better situations, and it flows through everything
as they exist as artifacts in this dimension of analysis.
I “who” is the Individual, both the mastery and perceived subjugation of others
underneath no matter what the conceptual dividing line managed by these charged compromises
and collaborations intentionally pushing others into roles which constantly question the integrity of any given set of conditions.
O “where” is the Occupation, which could be either a career or something driven that occupies
the mind …
divinity made us digest the manifestations of a source whose silver cord from the motherboard is as vital an accessory as any hairs teased or plucked out of the visions beheld by few but those bodies eclectic enough to run through their river of life thoughtful of the safety switches that dismantle a system like this so thoroughly-upheld because otherwise total chaos is not reliable or so can be said by creators of a differing strain at odds because of the pain of elements like queer variables stacking up odds cracking the compulsion of worry and dread that possesses our souls for a collected sort of flawed creatures crawling as much as trolling the passersby whom trash each other by the age old rarified stench for which we find ourselves used to much like the climate and its ever-changing …
Walter couldn’t speak lately, dumbstruck most of the time he was set about to interact with anyone else other than his mother, but she died recently without a single word that anything was troubling her. They had lived or existed together with such casually-intimate time around each that the other lost all pose of decency, and mother had always kept a very sanitized and prescriptive life of rules and regular tongue-lashings to her overweight son to accuse or subtly exaggerate neutrality into moments of that intolerable clarity only women seemed to share in Walter’s mind, to which she would be of no or only cold sternness instead any outward place of loving demeanor for her now adult child if to direct him to feel as inferior as possible especially compared to her presence. So Walter, living as …
The rider was there before, at once a memory and life in motion, but here riding through the desert American-styled in the morning hours prior to sunlight, the rider knew things about this one destination to Biblical, Arizona to a seminal ghost town never to be known. Angela was furious to the point of nearly tears before working at the hospital thirty to forty-five minutes into Scottsdale where her nursing skills led to more hassles anyway, so why and what was the point of getting so frustrated with to accuse Richard of getting high, but when to the extant the world is far larger than at once perceived that questions if it really matters where a junkie finds a dealer in a damn desert if it wasn’t Vegas or Reno….somehow within range of a Blackjack table? While …
The mystery started with a bloodletting that was not too much planned for even though these kinds of strange events were routine in this side of the nightmare, the dream was now a solid reality by this time in the story, but the phantoms had lingered far before this chapter as if the story unfolds only when i say it will. The person in which whose blood was then being let out into the brass goblet custom-made by them, and for this exact purpose and in this exact velvet-lined of antechambers deep inside the labyrinth of halls and corridors, subtly separating the practical world from a dozen or so doors opening out to this series of rooms each more narrow than the last, and an utterly realized blueprint for a ritual bloodletting such as this. Only raw …