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Goosed by the system.

the things i know are few and far between…when you happen to get struck by the stink, sometimes it is so off-putting that there is no recovery, but just the concept of adaptation to hold onto… even with all the anxious waiting and lazing emotion invested in things, were we called into question the day where the manufacturer broke the machine on purpose, or can there never be conformed to the velocity of feeling the experience of understanding the brink… the mind jars loose these bits of echoing fascination, keeping them in tight spaces under the sink until they require coming out into a bright and fascist place, and not always certain of the narrowed beam of light on which we seem to stand… a flashing, revealing impulse that takes on new life through the translation into the solid being… as the energy sprays all over that vast and epic thing that creation has become, throwing daggers of the visible where darkness has hardened and formed to crust into a surface substance, and where the animal distrust howls in fits of stranded madness on these islands broken further askew from the sea of outrageous fortunes… where we built our dungeons christened right from the start, to fuel the fires war-torn distraught, and the mayhem that follows making the craftier cringe in place with their festering plans… our demented, jaundiced friends ripe with a foul odor guesting their blistered and pretentious faces, it pours from mouth and eyes and ears to the disgust of all aware individuals… otherwise, the beast becomes hidden in plain sight, and we become accustomed to feeding ourselves the fashionably horrid meals to make the most of nothing… the diet of empty, a staggering plunge into the culturally-intrinsic reverse psycho-logic impairment of the age, and Here we cut the stark silhouette contrasted against the bright expanse of the precipice where we meet our dreams… the rebellion makes short work of organized thought, as the barriers re-erect themselves only to be wasted again against the waves of imperiled personalities sinking their feet deep into the mud and filth as they trudge forth against the grain, and well-armed with teeth of iron filed sharp… a punk-broken facial remark…

Thanks, khet.