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Submit to transition.

threat of discombobulation as the pressure works the demons out of a system of repression, one at a time through a physical hologram interpretation of movement beyond the ethers, as they tug like anchors upon the soul energy for decision of dissection upon an open table field of vision for all to see the extracurricular lessons that are shed in our daily lives like pages in some textbook that perceives our notions before they even manifest in this plane, but what do we have in store for the rest of the universe Here?… older than dirt this recycled mass of parts remains inert until a cataclysmal time period where nothing seems right to the offended eyes that cannot see, the wheel of time whips and whirls shredding the stable atoms like a vicious grinding devil’s mouth with the hell leaking out of their eyes, and the face a shielded surprise to deflect the subtle masked lies projected from the other minds Here where the world ends… however, is this the end of the trip that started even before our life and death in physicality, and where do we go from this place that we have convinced ourselves never ends?… we are sick to the cells with what we allow, and yet we allow more to satisfy that god spell woven over the rise of the masses to cover them, to heal with our poisonous medicine fresh from the process that makes sense out of the scientific mess in our midst… signals paint our faces in the darkened corner we place our rears to shut away the outside swirl as things might go hectic at a moments’ notice from where we casually steer, slightly off-kilter when thinking about the years behind me, and weighted by limp and heavy fears that were never my own to begin with… to shed the skins as lives we have lived again, to remain a snake and not a lizard, and the reptile smile playing on games of pretend between friends and enemies… the polite sizzle as tensions surface and transfer the mystical adaptation between isolated incidents, whereas emotions travel a different course to make it to the shadowing compulsion following humans around as clouds overhead, but all are aspects in motion between manifestation and imagination throughout the hive and social and mystical minds deceived into shallow pursuits to further define what means to ‘lose the argument’… absorbed into petty reason without accessible logic to guide the atrocious hands of the puppeteer in charge as we claim to know what is best for all involved, the screened project out onto everything in this seeming besides ourselves because we are always within the motioning maelstrom advancing beyond our years in this material visage put together too close for words to be a god, but certainly something learned from a divine nature while retaining some of the more cruel aspects of the human animal to protect that glorious seed potential being a further context for any of this gibberish that never holds up against the brisk confrontation with the gist of any given situation anyway… you can count on your others for some feasible exit outward into the real, but is it all that you would perceive and wish it to be, or is it all merely fantasy or a phantasm with tricks up its sleeves?… tucked into a fantastic private reality under the top hat with the dead rabbit, the magician long dead yet the magic still lives, and we are both audience and participant in the Mysteries as they play across our mind’s eyes shining like jewels in that dark sludge inside of our skulls… the ropes and veins of blood reach out to solidify the imagined shit that only the brain seems capable of perceiving at first when looked at in retrospect, the memories flood the gates of conscious barrier that everyone erects to block out pain and anguish in relief for the perception of a better life, but still so many obstacles to harrow oneself against in order to allow sense to come in common with the other facts as they reveal themselves each in their time…

Thanks, khet.