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Phallic suspect.

as males, the stereotype shifts and becomes different as the feminine and masculine controls reconfigure us in our various sexual directions, and the internal struggle gets projected through eyes that cannot see things as a whole picture… falling face first onto my faithless words… like blades of grass from the ground up… stabbed into the insecure places like knives of betrayal during the ides of march… a bright deep green that blankets the world over, there is no doubt in my mind that guys are a little more “jack”-brained than the rest of us, and by that i perhaps a masculine brain has more of a general reflex to assume information… that means knowledge is “jacked” from one source to the next, a psychic upload if you will, but this does not mean that the assumption is infallible… most of the time it is the exact opposite of the understanding that a feminine influence is capable of being… the phallic symbol acts as lightning rod within the ‘atmosphere’ of the primal female… the masculine-aligned form in physical hypocrisy, the sissy-fisted slut without a bone of motive beyond the selfish fiend, but the sweet supposed within the human being makes this feeling of personality worth it… that is the identified supremacy, which in itself is a veil, and is veiled by emotional indoctrination many are not used to adapting above… these mechanical things it seems we let ourselves do need to be surpassed in order to better understand making situations the ways we need them to be, most of us seem to come from the bottom up in a direction of ascent, but i would not think it so rosy on the other side to this madness… you could also lump the male characteristic in with those degrees by a hard sexuality at once aggressive and passive, and this is as most males are devotees to the proof of self, others devoted to the perfection of self no matter what direction that takes one… some pump for muscle, and a few get parts rearranged, the noxious presence of a pursuit for false perfection as skin gets stretched tight over bone… a mismanagement of funds as the old age sets in, handfuls of dirt later into the ground, and Here we are at the foundation to that step… the culprit conjoined with sins of the capitalist pigs as their system runs amok… the new ink sprayed every day until revolution takes a hold, that blind fury that has ended oppressed for the most part, misunderstood for the better half of two thousand years is realization and respect for anyone other than ourselves… the politico using abusive powers aligned with a dead horse, buries the body next to the cactus tree that will bear the most flowering buds, and begins to hear the soothing call of nature moving the ignorance of man into the wisdom of woman, the call of the wild as the beasts attempt to sully the reputation with procreation of the gross proto-intellectual kind… a flesh that tries to get us to sweat and bleed and ejaculate our ghost into the air, but more specifically an ability given and taken for granted, with the decision not arrived at too easily that we trust our senses too often for what they seem to show us… the masculine stance seems compelled to make fun of others, beyond hate it stands more effective when one can cause damage from the inside, but do we need to feel driven by that socially unacceptable bully?… we move into that sanctity afforded out of the way somewhere Here…

Thanks, khet.