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the Sunday before last.

Here we gift ourselves with no remorse as the deeds are truly committed to and done, as though charged off the list with pencil or pen, and we seek a new plateau of familiar rays for the dope… my love and i are slightly hedonistic, passing words both insult and romantic quip back and forth, but these are small items on the greater essence of lively endeavors to pursue a sensible happiness… it takes very little to secure a future in this world, but when one doesn’t sense the type of sacrifice it takes to bring a particular reality into quick appearance, all kinds of havoc and mayhem shine through the veneer of plastic false politeness through idle chatter… a delivery of free random verse about the various possessive ways wicked to the good character of the social beast that the human animal can be when there are few rules applied to these interactive situations requiring the being of human, civil and calm to better assess the activities derived from the ‘party down’ mentality, but few realize this is the primal tent pole sticking out of the ground… underneath the tent we are presenting a revival, or perhaps more aptly the devival of authoritative powers that be, their choice made long ago consistently upheld wrongly as a standard for no reasoning or great ideal other than controlling the populace by and large to make us a herd for consumption of whatever sort deemed worthy… the fall of vast corporate motion through the factories and commercial farming to be replaced by the digital realm as overseer, the central force purging the world of its heavy burden of blame and waste, but better organized before becoming greatly fucked up in any grandiose manner by our own unwieldy desires… the repetition of stories made up by the convincing strains of characterization projected forth like a mission, the strength of the individual tale wrapped inside its characters, and it is Here that i find myself on a solo plane in my reality bubble… the imaginary yields but singular fruit at times, and usually when no one is looking directly at the product created, the energy of the audience transferred to charge the magic needed for the person to be pulled in by the merits of the storytelling alone… but the reader is no mere hermit nor necessarily a powerful magician with the abilities to define layers of symbolic meaning, there is no lack of expression for those who commit themselves to the goal beyond the glory, we thank the gods and kiss the feet of whatever forces we wish to appease most in our lives… torturing ourselves through a mass production misery that thinks it is constantly expanding, distracted perhaps enthralled by our effects on other people, but we need to see the possibility for growth if there is ever any way to get beyond these skeletal structural remains… some would prefer to argue in other rhetorical directions as though we are merely the servants to our senses, and we remain subdued by our fetishes for control in this experimental place that has yet to really pan out any serious statements of intent, as the hive mind tries to subvert humanity through the attention given to public cultural icons as it is turned into celebrity fascination to force a pulsating conformity onto the populace… reciprocating as it cuts the cream from the crop in an attempt to coup on the general paradigm through prodding and plotting in pseudo-scientific analysis, why should their magic work better than ours when we are their upper hand, but we just need to realize what we are handing over to their arguably superior command before the power to uphold their ideas as truth becomes real yet again…

Thanks, khet.