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Poison my eyes.

the wealth of information leaves me standing broke with the ‘pity-me’ face, gearing up for the further mistakes we make, but not the worst only a waste both of time and of money… sometimes even these existential realities escape from the terms of funny, or any concept of understandability at all, the bad-guy is made to withstand the fall as opposed to the disgraceful pose appalled… i was never meant to be the happy-go-lucky sack of dirt, always willing to sacrifice their shirts, but sometimes being this selfish hurts everyone without the words involved to further the distress… to combat the negative impulse, i try this disciplined fetish to shield my idea of self from the perils of life’s digestive plays, but even these attempts to recreate falsely don’t work only to shame the dark investor who accomplishes little but that urge of self-gratification… they also describe from an objective plateau where the personal subjective experience can be analyzed while still transmitting, the idea of disgust has to be lived through to be moved beyond somehow, and there are few absolutes in figuring out the individual motivations alone… we all seem to have something different to contribute in the grand scale as it expands outward into that vogue demagogue out there driving the machines subtly designed to eat our dreams, the ephemeral fuel made by the sea of fools as they sway and they follow, is there some harmless way to exit this disgraceful function?… the dragon sits in iron… welded shut by the crazy kleptomaniac fervor that went into the deep end to find the buried treasure… i cannot see so well anymore, and there are few ways to manage ignorance where insight once fit in, the narrowed presage that pulls away the pallor of the perverted passion turned inside-out to fit the whim around a single shoe to walk within for leisure and destructive surge to find this treasure… the buried equivalent through human behavior that they have discovered, that relates to nothing but making the substance in this structure want to conquer things, and speaking as a victim through the viewpoint of an ideal narrowed to make civil the ritual device to recreate culture… rewind the clock through concepts and shocks that release the mind from proper function, and remove the capacity distinct to move together except in brief situations where the forward momentum becomes too much to bear, reversal of passion through a logical lens extruded with filth the only product of distaste and abuse…

Thanks, khet.