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feel the Pressure.

must you really dance for bass?… or can you really get away with cheap little white lies like they are murderous cringing revenge to devise a charge from the negative pull from a gravity laden with a horrible purge, the binge is the word sub-hypnotic in the Rube Goldberg slaughtering machine that trains the thoughts to self-destruct into strained beliefs, but there are no such tales of risk that have absorbed this glad-handling loose ends selling out the troubled leg of the ego madness that lives through this mask of a digital fix writing fires under the skin as the fingertips flutter and freak on the many quiet keyboard steps compressed under weight of heavy thoughts stripped of its leather… took me a long depressed sleep throughout most of the previous day after working in a daze, but when did the need for a crutch become a reliance upon deceit the laws of the general people left in the dust of the threats thrown in by the small minds, the mental desert with dry and blowing winds in a dust storm depth of oblivious respect… the empty critic tries to man-handle the flowers by the petals to force them to open abruptly, no compensation for a fatal fecal/ fetal blast to taste the harsh rasp through a bitter kiss, but a token of a familial collective appeal presented as gift by troubadours of the apocalypse… a feel of absolute to abuse human profits counting bodies as numbers to derange this atmosphere of the bizarre, the lines drawn in the sand were swirled by this offensive wind killing children by the hundreds whether by forces of darkness in an attempt at manipulating hypocrisy, and always with a robot god’s face draped in a hood winking to eclipse the harm in the demon actions that have been far removed into a visage glaring in the sun… the odd strains of the voice match the ins toward the outs as the demons come and play to watch the fear as it boils to the surface of my skin, and it drips its drops of sweat under bright lights that taunt and glare overhead like launching into a thousand karaoke songs at once it would seem, the twisted gut approval portrayed by the gnarled things that we most become in our shallow critical waves as applause sounds out in chorus around the room and back again… the tentacle raped itself from the metaphysical miasma of dread that some artists interpret as an elder god, but we are all really in truth a figure as primal as say Krishna for an example of avatars channeling higher forces through themselves, there is that elusive relative truth we can all participate in that we are fountainheads of knowledge as the forces move fluid through and around us in the hypnotic swirl of honest living reality… none of us really see it as purely as we once did long ago in the realm of youth, though it does not seem far now it will, and we have nothing but the energy to give when it comes as our opportunity to take and give as we participate in the great Overcome that futures will bring as opposed to a particular faith in a deity that tries to kill me… that succulent fruit that begs to be taken, but by what means is this taken, when one feels as rotted and decayed within as this is their distinguished language opposite wordings taken to advantage by the bloke to whom ruining things is an uncomfortable truth… the daily respite of nothing as lies filter through and around in the modern stew of thoughts and competitive hues to which one sane individual could view a possible consistent thread, my mind is the maze through which i have led you, but i am not sorry as you seem to have met your match when it comes to bullshitting too… the dance pulls with strength upon the strings you stroke, letting go as the shutter displaces your feelings over this thing before you, and your eyes deceive you as to whom you see as friend or foe… all i can do is laugh when you make a mistake for what it is worth, when there is music playing you must take advantage of the trial called game that we have devised to make sense in our blind faiths working against us… birthing the next realities to come…

Thanks, khet.