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pieces of dream.

the wall was built to protect the advantages that others kept to themselves…the rot was more of a side effect than anything else…the excitation was diverting distraction’s edge…blunting the blade, as it were…laughter fills the air with the knife in one hand, and a reasonable doubt within another grip…the alibi fell short, and my friends feel the pressure…the intestinal fortitude scared my sensibilities…the stylized rhythm filtered through the air, the particles and the space betwixt those, but came to settle further into the ear of the madman…the altars are a swollen place…the fusions losing all form…the suckers have rowed ashore for ages since…the functions lost tales long ago…forgotten…turned into those short phrase situations…the ones where a dull silence pervades the sickness, greasy and matted over the conversations they speak of in the dimly-lit rooms…hair flattened and dense in the smoky drift of the fans overhead…while thick-sounding music flutters through the wind on a melody alone…avoiding the code word allowed for there to be a strict reign on the circumstances dragging on through the night…ancestry and cultured-breeding aside, the atmosphere was relentless somewhere deep beyond the layers so readily apparent…in the silent outdoor settings, life screams a ragged degree of peace in a cruel world…the man and his kind are propelled into a wilderness of spirit, and meant for vague possibilities for all those others to come…to represent the pain of generations is false peace absurd, the heights of moving past limitation is an unparalleled feeling in any species of any awareness…multitudes of sensory input from every angle…the pitch and bend of the laws of reality…peace at the fingertips for those who would wield them…strife lies on the other side of realization…whether the puzzle is entirely complete or thoroughly distorted…the pieces always remain to either tease or propel the human essence forward, scattered to create a purpose out of nothing, but still there can be no doubts of this path laid out…the incredible wasteland to either side of the marked road toward destiny…once you open the door, you might never be able to stop until you are gone, and then it will take time out of a busy schedule to make well-organized plans…map to a revolution, and we all are the topographers of human experience, the information shoots through our eyes to project into powerful patterns of light and dark…in dreams, the rule to move by is to sense the environment, and to activate realities for some spirits…dimensions mean nothing to those who understand that there are zero planes, and we often escape back into our old mindset before too much damage is done…the shell is a warm place to survive the bombs reality puts at our feet…open the gateway, and the implements are always there sitting on the stand and utterly sparkling…
the sea of insight into this situation is almost too deep to reach any kind of bottom, and it occurs to me that there is no bottom…not a pit, per say, but the foundation just might be the ever-sleeping unborn…the things that we never see with our own eyes…maybe we just aren’t made to witness more than our own destruction…sad but life is cruel, and the others move on to the next phase of living, with the ghosts of those before our own hands there to touch…