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Whore of the Worlds’ faire…

war as the gigantic parasite whore suckling becoming mechanical like the mosquito through that one track bomb mentality blown-up whose shrapnel permeates this skin trying to reach the enemy within as that alien that judges making us feel so sick of ourselves a matter at a time wanting only to die off before the rest of those we call allies but are really just animals using justice for their insignificant lives depressed down onto one side of the argument used against them and their insolence flagrantly confused with an indignant self-righteousness that bruises our emotional body formed directly from that wanton obscured core of humanity as within us there is always going to be turmoil until we are dead, but even then no guarantees as the insect appetites scramble to get what they can take out of our carcasses collected and moving living dead datas to their next levels to be reprocessed from the cage of flesh to digital sphere that resides parallel as that existence snug like a glove soon discovered the hands moving are deceased as there is no one individual mind boldly moving those parts for us as though the tyrant knows where we call home the mask of death wears our face and the common rituals and expressions that end up disposing of us when it has come time to confront one another, passing perilous threshold into the mists of memory forsaken the ones left behind shining floating prone as those dead gods before us through the vast depth becoming dominant myths to allow the stories to proliferate through the current paradigm on into a vague future no matter how subtle the impacts upon visible human consciousness for when it is that these concepts and ideas breaking the reflective surface for many lifetimes to come of the human perception as reality where everyone will have hell to pay… a section or sect apart from the human world with minds like steel traps ready to spring to try advancing the integrity of the soldier’s might upon the unwary whether through the lonely soul of that average individual whose short lifespan savors a subjective knowledge even when most fallible under the right or wrong circumstances as each one tries to prove their own version of the facts as they take on complex meanings of their own personal relevance, shimmying steps through the land mines set in this labyrinth setting human against human as by-proxies of an enemy never faced as long as they remain locked in-step to the garbage of the vagrant elites taking up residence in foreign lands wanting to be as a king when these concepts have died far before the death of its use in common language, but potent truth still slays those on the ground unwilling to attack as the pawns in games of global chess stuck with only very few options left to move around upon the bored with the indifferent satisficed with just how these games are now being played because if no one is wanting to rock the boat then it doesn’t matter how much effort is extolled to rock the vote toward a sound current justice…

Thanks, khet.