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try all by error…

your heroes are gods out of frustration and fascists of the highest order trying to sea in the chaos play itself out to their favor as caustic entertainment yielding lessons from careless abandon and serious catastrophe met in this tiny playground-battlefield to which all manner of possible outcome is created, filthy lucre used to secure as right to the native peoples’ world transformed into this labyrinthine palace home to the naive and wasted whose sheltered existence weighs no more on serious affairs caring for the earth in hideous reflection of one’s attempt at careful lifestyles shaped by whim, and a lust for life turned obsession some might say an addiction for crawling out of the dark intestines of the world we are trapped inside watching the sun shine us blind to trick the sickness out of us in our fears and appetites for destruction deconstructing the results we have not abandon yet… we fail and fuck up all the damn time always makes us stronger if we can keep up longer running against the devil as rehearsed reversal of the same old story grinding down upon our physical shells into the hard ground in beefing up the gravel with the sounds of our screaming trying to escape this old prison, a prism shining enlightened through to exit raw to quit existence lost in an ultraquiot conditioning process that shuts us inside of skin unbearably too tight to summon worry up from the curious epic of right and wrong fought far too long to the mechanical as motives in fury and anger bizarre as righteous forces gather to sear and burn havoc into the minds intending to last forever, and sometimes noise echoes throughout an entire generation of lives living out the nightmare strange to outside sources where the potential for emerging realities comes true if only for one lifetime briefly while the rest of us wander or carry out the mission of the few who are left with officially destined tasks to save this crude nude humanity… queued up to the lines of filthy oblivion in living its’ destiny through us like children sent chuting from a conquering womb as cages keep the youthful exuberance held in cheque by the teeth of their sages, those in whose a relative decision is made by the hammer of the gods to defraud their way out of the paper bag brains driveling insane because of their reign of terror, but the Mystery we live through is the one that can’t ever be solved as that particular brand of solution does not exist yet awaiting the by-products of the new future century…

Thanks, khet.