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do not feed the pig Eons

we are gathering Here about to empty the resources as oceans of their keepsake notions circulating currents with a terrible efficiency as a mechanical society the machine shiny and chrome as when in chrome do as the robots do and defy limits that the psychosomatic circuit demonstrates easily once childhood is there seeming like a vague memory floating out upon the surface where fire and ice meet so readily leaving slight vapor trails in the static highway, even as though none of us has to do a damn thing Here as regarding a need to be moralistically advanced in a right superior to be had as to boast that this particular person specially chosen for gifts and skills far ahead of the usual development cycles always in development whether through the furnace of hells undreamt of putting pressure on your heels slowing your rhythm as you walk strut or swagger to find your place anywhere in the mess, and repressed by the best of a them versus us because there is no trust or lost love digging to find the hate for our enemies trained a couple transmissions over the course of our lives at the period when there are few certainties anymore except the nostalgia that hits when broken phantoms appear from dream to bust up ghosts as real life and breath exorcise to walk in where they are not wanted strictly speaking pissing rainbows onto your cornflakes so fast the break abutting madness does not allow for breakfast only cereal bars and slight subsistence as convenient culture keeps taking the path of least resistance… in a police state trying so desperately to find the over-bearings to blurt out common sense equations to that question which hasn’t been answered yet by the monkeys wearing badges or the pigs flying straight on into the Son where footprints disappear as the desert sands wash away emphasis of anything left to build better civilizations and to remove the power-mongers whose monstrous actions bear the might and heft of a system soiling itself with lies in this virtual age, a place wherein which everything carries its own piece of the truth while going through different series running parallel in the universe as with all things requiring energy as intangible traces to “higher” realms or modes modeling the clones by strands of genetic racing littered with the many who crash and burn as those trials take another spin toward tribulations without any material rewards to greet all getting this far embedded in the system, but i do more than curse these long sequences of infrequent glacial waiting as game played for queues and nameless patrons who do nothing more than wait as little increments lost when the dreamscape wakes up a bit further to catch sight of us in chains laboring group after group vying for a slice of the pie-eyed dream those opportunists have now bitten off much more than they can swallow or chew as the fat of the land keeps vanishing under the cruel auspices of awful masters whose gods as monsters are really themselves caught in echoes of life in time…

Thanks, khet.