All The Wrong Topics dot com

faux’ mentum or foment ’em…

friend or foe through the who knows in a vast escape of information gasping for breath heaving dirt as much dust thick in clouds of smoke circulating err swirling encountering these tendrils holding us down a tainted step at a time crawling toward the exit hopefully disaffected by the dysfunctional machine in us both as an image and spirit as vibrations a catalyst to the stars to counteract the dares that bedevil a wicked one who wears the skin of Mankind to affect the kinship of humanity shaping our destiny though these densities like gravity pull and contort the bones into place, the meat will follow onto the structure as built by ancestors and previous emulsions of interaction and compassion compressed to testing the mettle of whoever appears to think or feel themselves worthy to attempt some cunning stunts to hedge those bets placed upon the feats of our gods defeated as frauds in those corrupt pantheons of a past terror morphing into realms beyond the unaware teased as a nation of followers forced to do what we are to tell them what absolutes as a particular person sees it trying to change that lazy loophole lemniscating a mobius stripper’s dance macabre shaking that asshole finger of accusation committing us to serve the hive mind, and betray ourselves seeking solace of a kind while politeness quakes under the auspices of privilege and wealth distributed to only a handful of picaresque goads acting as substitute demigod for a particular stance or cause believed in as a fact accumulating the next stack of knowledge made as heavy weight for the pugilistic of us fighting against the quo of the undertow this living sea creates for the amusement and games played to attain higher status symbols like tokens to prove one’s value… a sequence of false impressions used to guide our feelings out into the breach breaking down reason and logic of a formal nature found nasty under some lenses scoping the depths without then scraping the bottom of the barrel where the bullets reside hidden ready to fire loose where the nervous triggers choose to stay clenched rather than squeezed into acting, but what of one’s own delivery system of the necessary motivations that require us Here in order that we may fulfill our goals translated as patterns for the future within these particles of potential energy always coursing through our bodies adapted by these senses sometimes to the point of senselessness where a worst of us builds up static cringe that charges the rest of us to change whether for the better or otherwise as a choice in our hands, demand and supply of compassionate guides is lacking even though we are speculating what truth is out there when it could all lead each one to a better place maybe where devices used to force the sacrificing of ourselves to submission are not required as the conveyor belt of abuse passing around the sensitives stutters and relents at those various instances inside of our anthemic paradigm trying as we might to soar high…

Thanks, khet.