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the prints of darkness

in stages, the growth of inert matter into fleshly consciousness, life takes on many faces before its utter decimation… the shades are drawn quicker as the daylight sheds its appeal to the larger audiences, and then we see the lightness of being Here… where have the pieces of me been when I came to look for them?… hidden in the kinetic unknown, restless nihilistic side effect to all the potential energy, and the likelihood that one won’t be coming back… the workings of unruly thoughts stands unreal, but there nonetheless, the ‘unholy trinity’ long gone for yet another year. staving off the demons with knives and swords abroad, and in striking contrast to how a new year should be held together when one starts down the same stroll again. there are no towers to run to in safety, and all my fears are met with puns and quips of an uncanny cryptic mysticism, there are no real fears here. where is the protocol Here? the mystics and shamanistic masters of windows into the soul. where is my bling-bling? heh. as if “bling” topped my list of lists… so i print and enjoy printing, but whatever is to come of this enthusiasm? okay, so ‘unholy trinity’ needs further explanation. as consumers we have acquired/been required to prepare for these three segways into familial oblivion, over the span of two months of the year, and spilling over into the next year. with all this attention to detail, and mismanaged neuroses filling the air, it makes one crave to be isolate. first, the turkey, the cornucopia. the feasting is abundant Here, in the beginning of this cycle, preparing to ascend “spiritually” by spending a handful of days gorging on too much. as we recover and start to enter the next phase, where we see the revelation, we also enter the haphazard new year as the judeo-christian calender implies. two months, three holidays, and one year… the negative sense of six does not bode well, dear friends. crying out to be heard, senses made by none, but the raw nerve come undone. the expressions are not justice, but a revealing congeal into some kind of precious cargo, donated to an asphalt jungle somewhere close. there was no use for the robot to tread those thin emotional strands. let loose the violence subdued in the jaw. broken by the pieces of dreams that creep into the casual conversation. the nightmare lightning strikes so suddenly, and it captures the cleft of the moon in its palm up-right. the tender solvent glue sticking the carcass to its ribs by way of pigment diminution. they shrink to the points of dots, so many differing hues to apply in a photo-realistic setting, and very much like that diamond ring that never dulls a poorer stereotype as one’s luck. sometimes there is no luck with these mechanical things, and inane as they are ludicrously implied to work in perfect conditions forever. my worst traits are always out in the open for others to take witness to, and the flakier the better to distract the thoughtful to a crisper crust level, undoing all prior notion to build something from the ground up. the imposed self-opposing course to shatter the mold infesting its brain upon thee, and back the devil decries a whippoorwill of whim.

Thanks, khet.