out of Context;
‘the new ages without impossible odds stacked up against us in its own mocking trying to ground the animal in what it is and what role it plays in the rushing hoodlum onslaught of opportunistic traitors as only the villains seem able to move any of the pieces in whatever fashion they wish, and by the pushing of their ideal elite standards upon us as a whole society there have been many fatalities as the wealthy nihilism gets taken to extremes in this money-hungry culture of vapid claims and insolent charges all seeming to sell something for nothing… we keep rebuilding a world that is in a constant flux by settling massive structures in places where the people have begun to revolt as the wealthy expose their sheltering claims for the brittle lies…’
the real me is but a pigment from your fragmented imagination, constipainted…
defined by the palette and hues in your hand, the brush your guide to the inside…
the mind pouring out its’ wisdom, drained of a cacophony clamoring for retreat…
voices of spirit taking over, perhaps the ghosts of past or present regrets…
the meat of the brain might distract away, though sometimes as obvious change…
enlightenment the vital remains creeping in, to prevent the ficklest of fate…
choices seem random at first with few certainties, except for those one sees…
‘There was nothing particularly odd about him. No facial veins or clumps of bristly warts. I told him about the motel woman’s description and he seemed puzzled. “Don’t let it bother you,” I said. “Just keep in mind for the next few days that we’re in Louisville, Kentucky. Not London. Not even New York. This is a weird place. You’re lucky that mental defective at the motel didn’t jerk a pistol out of the cash register and blow a big hole through you.” I laughed, but he looked worried.
“Just pretend you’re visiting a huge outdoor loony bin,” I said…’
out of Context;
‘our ulterior motives sometimes those internal mechanisms we are not aware of clockwork twitches moving the spastic frame into places it perhaps would not have dared otherwise without consciousness in this efficient functional reality grinding along, ticking out measured moments on as man-made a face as no one adores watching the flickering hands displace slow hours into waste that chills the bones because the time slips away in the shortest increments that no one stops to appreciate except occasionally me and those handful of others lurking behind the sealed off screen door to the digital floor, and ‘ding!’ Here we are in the last place you’d expect from the shallow ways of Mankind whose kindness seems either harsh or cruel to inhibit a casual growth of rebellious youth from cropping up again and again…’
out of Context;
‘you don’t trust them with their flim-flam personal displays swaggering to take control if you don’t watch out for your whole, knots you cannot see linked though by invisible thread tied like the rest of us tied together for better or words that decide to sever their relationship forever with our essence in the which where we credit the winner with the glory of the massive a collection of souls weighing heavily upon the face of this earth as heathen as it may seem to be with regard to a killing deity dispatching without mercy, and it is we who become trapped in our own definitions needing to be broken in at least a house-broken way so that we are not responsible for cleaning the mess made after we have left…’
out of Context;
‘only fooling themselves into thinking these things certain, and yet these cracks are now showing themselves as contradictions of theory put into practice as more methods added to the madness swirling confusion into a deeper embedded tragic sum of parts but gracelessly shuffling with a tag of sadness at our heels… screaming bloody murder silently as the matter dulls the sounds of that haunted taunting from within mingling with a few ghosts of your own friends as aspects to your dream that never end even if you do, there are more than horrible things that the imagination can summon to frighten a specter out of you so that you run babbling trying to convince everyone of the end about to come as a dirge waiting to be sung in low mournful tones for regret of not knowing…’
out of Context;
‘something animated through the detritus we conceive of to produce to somehow tuck us into the place where this space/ time riddle conflicts in distracted path, and can the altered fates this animal of Man whose protrusive curious demeanor means curiosity in urge to conquer ridiculous fears and those apprehensions that try to eat the solo self taken as granted in a universe as full of fellow conquests debated and razed through the ages paid in the wages of sin and a lust for life and terror for mistakes made wading waste-deep in the excrement of the past…’
out of Context;
‘it appears that people wrote these laws and rules most of whom were men that could not do much more to advance divine intervention than to acknowledge that workers need more time relaxing to endure the monochrome colors limited in relation to the actual world we live in… and the work week carries on. no matter where you are or what it is you do, there are certain qualities about working that separates mind and body by allowing the body’s motor consciousness a control with which allows some to think about many things at once or with more focus as perception concentrates itself into a narrow beam to activate the energy for multitasking for example requiring a slightly higher perception of a person’s immediate surroundings, and diversion then becomes the bane of the activity…’
out of Context;
‘this oppressive idea of oblivion used in eliminating oblivion from thinking as the heart gets lost in its’ own twitching spells disposed to making one think endlessly of those fucked up instances where if only a bestial side of ourselves could awaken and eliminate the creeping distortions inherent in trying to live a life free of those killing obligations from which others seem to suffer, what loses me is how much i want to suffer as the martyr set upon as a person deserving of this instrument of torture for their people like sacrificial scapegoat sent into oblivion just as easily with a knife or noose yet that is how cruel we have to be in order to kind of get anything what we want done or the corpse gets left unidentifiable to authorities…’
out of Context;
‘something counter to whatever whiny muscle rock that seems to me to permeate mainstream rock radio for what there is left of that old ideal out there of jerks as profitable role models because my ear is not groomed for the radio anymore now that i have experienced a strange climate change between school-age and the person who is writing these words now, and i guess i somehow have always wanted to produce satirical outsider art in the truest sense of a satire trying to be a reflective tool expressed like maybe a ‘canary in the mine’ scenario holding relevant meaning up effectively until the canary like the run-on joke dies a horrible death…’