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Return to the Psychedelic…

72 points equal the angry inch slowly worming its way into your vacuous head to replace all those dear things you were distracted by before now, in a digital field of view are there many ways to see the viral disarmament that comes with attempting understanding and rejecting the subtle mind controls the culture tries to inflict upon everybody in attendance to this side of the harsh universe, but we are not merely cloned drones letting relevant ideas and vital things fly over our heads like idiots settling for this moronic dictatorship urging to readily accept the conditioning we have learned to perceive through the haze of the generations… the education has been denied to us by the system’s overzealous attempt to shelter every being from a proposed self-fulfilling destiny relative to the individual trying to survive through all the manifested density distracting the vegetable masses awaiting the grazing procedure to commence, our spirits locked into narrow paths of predestination that have been approved by the system for our own good even as that system tries to secure a stranglehold of control no matter what the wealth of consequences that can unfairly fall apart if there is nothing but struggle as a certainty Here, but where is that light at the end of the tunnel as it rages out from the night sky of darkness and ignorance… we all feel the cosmic pulse shoot/ tingle through us, as the gods have anointed us the next in the lineage for divine information keepers and psychic dwellers interbred with repugnant sleepers and hostile forces that plunder in some resonating likeness recognized in the Now as “unforgivable sin” by those straining to assert their authority with particularly frustrated minimalist ways of parasitic whim and fancy, and all while para-elites sit paralyzed by the hypocritical hypnotic trance of the fundamentalist bullshit oblivious because the wool is so pulled over the eyes it becomes a mental wedgie in the psyche’s holes… the pores trying to be open to real guidance as opposed to the shallow dance that some believe fits into an ideal shamanic stereotype, the wellspring of ideas exploited for the trivial amusement of the masses in their unaware crassness malformed by the diversity within a culture of insulting behaviors, and penetrated while sedated by that programmed glow as it projects desires and propaganda into the collective subconscious stream of mood and thought in a world where we need to realize that in civilization we are all artists in interpreting… the mind is a transmitter capable of a passive/ active input/ output at all times even as it includes sensory data that resides in the ether between what might appear on the surface as solid or immovable, but are in actuality not so easy to decipher particles and waves of raw information presented as tiny milieu as dust motes carrying the benefits and the flaws of every species known and unknown to this day, the only way off of this planet scabbing over is a return to true shamantic practice and wellness and healing our spiritual as well as psychic form from all the trash we have had to absorb and abort from our functional soul so technical and flushed full of neurotoxins… the abrasively generic strikes us all into states of grim melancholy too dire to share even though it isn’t we who are the source necessarily for the bad vibes we feel, the organic transmitters for these varying frequencies of mirth and mayhem that seem to fall into our laps, but there is nothing new under the Son when a culture can so sap the imagination from its people in order to pare down the content… and this includes the killing of almost all the dreams except for the one which naturally everyone should be able to agree with leads to progress of the culture collectively as a group, even if no one is allowed to feel content with who they really are inside beyond the meat and the tissues that make a physical self, but what regard to give to the metaphysical Self that feels and senses on a much deeper tangent than we could explain with any of the simple words we hold onto as we multitask the shit out of every detail until it is dust to be recycled through this thing we have become again… from out of the magic of nothing comes the new, something fomented from out this medicinal bath of filth and potential reality, and sometimes we need the appropriate eyes in which to see beyond that joy and pain that living this way has to offer as small condolences to soothe our pressures… such is life for us as beings…

Thanks, khet.