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Cream of the Slop.

this is where i can decide to be myself or perhaps someone like me, but who is the one that sits in the out there glimpsing those same rare visions that i can see as well because i am curious to know if they are merely ideas of people awaiting a manifestation of their physical Selves, conceptually this would be just as good as fiction if i wasn’t somehow blessed/ cursed with this impractical ability to write the shameless minions into view as a magic of the word gifted by the revelations of the generations becoming real through me as though i were a prism into the physical… literally we physically are such procreative beings coum fiends of the repressed mechanism to sew the seeds in the flesh to birth a random thing inside this reckless system of habitation, from womb to womb and back again as the human growth begins again to rise from ashes and humanure of sustainable continuation as opposed to this travesty devised by a retarded mock humanity to sap the life tree of all resources there could ever be for nothing but purely gain and retain, and to implant and grow into existence other ideas of reality sour and used and dying without an outside infusion of energy as this is what the corporeal beast feeds from as the wasted animal intents prevail and further confuse a consciousness trying to develop beyond the womb planet… we are beaten into submission by this or that aspect we allow a foothold into our heads which translates into viewpoints to take and manipulate and allow those using us to tally for their imagined score, their quick fix for the highest of possible outcomes to problems benefiting themselves in this real, but we are the ones told ‘no’ right from the start of crawling as evolution in motion from the crib to the tomb learning nothing but the proper grazing techniques for being another sheep on this animal farm cooperatively… and all we say is, ‘yes, please, may i have another…’ just as the sick gets thrown up into our faces yet again to sense the smell of disgust before it hits us, and still we clean this poison from our clothes to keep the sickness unspoken for and subtle until the next go-around when the need requires a solemn act of serious adult-like behavior from the actual child in distress we happen to avoid becoming as the plague bears us for another insufferable wave of tormented abandon in this abstraction of a logical stream of consciousness, no gods to protect us but our own whom we hold dear enough to our hearts to act as defensive form without physically conscious understanding only aid which cultivates a weakness within the human crop harvested by madmen and genius miscreants from other dimensions… allowing sociopathic death dealers to lead and abuse us by leaps and bounds of imagination and ignorance that allows us to die for such futile but fertile ends that discard the details so precious to the many who do not embody the few in the reality we all witness Here as instruments to the past and future, but do we realize the power before it slips from our grip and we cannot exist anymore no longer repeating that momentous chance of possibility that comes with fleshly fruition into this real world place at large with no other responsibility than the ability to respond to the fluctuating stimulus inside and out of this earth at the same time, many choose to deny this esteem that reality reveals to us over the tick-tock minutes from seconds that remains as the clock decays as age that some take to mean as their opportunity at a cloak-and-dagger game taking the fury out of the excitement like a jewel of virtue wrenched from the treasured chest of the dying whore we may call Muse… fuel of the imagination as used by the worst of us to control the masses circulating along the edges of this proposed holy see of which some are blinded from and drowning in with no lifeguards on duty even among the saved, with cold compassion cutting away the slack and disbelievers from their imminent immaculate vicinity like an obsessive zeal that naturally appeals to few but the corrupted and devious of lurkers who place their truths above all other compromise or collaborative efforts to keep the universal ideal of a specific sanity intact, and we fail if we believe that we can utilize the same atrocious machinery to make a new world when we just need to ride the surge out…

Thanks, khet.