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Rape this plague.

subtle sin drones permeate the waves as they ripple across the cosmic material wilderness… this disgrace of an active interest in anything real, with instinct driving us too close to supernatural answers as they swerve into our heads, and blatantly blind us from the real agenda we require to succeed… a trap among the others locked Here as well, where there seems as though to be no escape unless the choice is death, and some gladly take that option to the extremes that they feel needs to be applied… humanity is doomed, i suppose, with death being that gateway drug to lead you down the path to a more modified ‘you’… the general ‘you’ and not the implied you exactly, we each strive whether it is through some side facet of our psyche, and then in that case we just opt for the direction that happens to get accepted with a better regard than those parts of ourselves that only have internal representation… the concepts plunge and thrive while at the same time feeling deprived of the keys to understanding the future, a divination into the forces of the essential, and utilizing the symbols we have at hand to eclipse the shadow of the impossible with a light abstract and pure… the cryptic weave of my words act as a micro-fiber-absorber of your worst fears made manifest, and thus i am able to prevent that mental wetness from spilling over into finer decimated amounts through the barrier, this intangible tension that just is somehow aware that we are aware… through this veil, i believe, is where an afterlife might sit if for all intents and purposes my creative mind is not leading me astray Here… this living pulse itself could be where a human hive mind takes place, or perhaps better termed as a ‘miasma’, so as not to confuse it as an alternate dimension or something like that… on the mobius strip Here, we function rather differently than those many other incarnations we might see around us, but we are all ever questing after whether the next beast has the very same awareness as we do… at various times and places i would happen to reckon that we meet ourselves in the bizarre nexus of fluxing and flowing cosmic compulsions, riding out the ripples of the universe’s own manic and depressive states, but what many elite fools would assume is the cesspool of poor and humbled folk, is quite in reality the guesspool from which the ultimate potential is born… never through the shell of something man-made, with the expectation of any particular product or its growth, but into the form of the beast of innovation and truth bearing light… the social beast is naturally attracted to what it cannot have in the world where it might seem there is no more utility for the predatory, and so it turns into a game between humanity and nature until the latter begins reconnecting with the former, a matter of likenesses bargaining with the spirit that can create the countenance you see before you today… the sometimes witty but always distrusting of every other person’s agenda as they all weave together somehow, and this evocation of mystery confounds a section of all of us that few rarely seek to figure out, with those few that do begin piecing it all together run screaming from this place without regard for a foreign concept as safety… the vital trampoline of facial contortions which allow another person to read between the lines, and bounce back a subtle flow of feedback toward you, the writing has deformed us all as the madness spills forth right between the eyes…

Thanks, khet.