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what is the deal?

the urge to write the wrongs lodged inside my head requires that i peel back that comfortable layer of warm skin coating my simple monster, the bony mechanism moving my actions into the material physicality overwhelming this sensate reality that takes us from cradle to grave in the span of a life, and the organic outposts housed within the body as vital organs organizing the deeper meanings and push to stay uniform amid the chaos lurking just beyond the realms of order and reason which our nervous system responds to because it works on a conscious electricity connecting the material to the intellectual through the spiritual content leading us to try to develop ourselves while helping others succeed where the concrete easily confronts us all like a brick wall… stopping the weakest of our kind dead in their tracks left only imagination to continue down that unrealized trek guided toward the unknown by mere intuition, where our pithy grey matter directs us as a general rule however to be practical and empirical, literal and analytical functions all the while centered in a dreamy potential mystery surrounding us away from unseen tempting adventures deliberately obscene to those attempting to be so far removed from this world staged humanity of passionate display… it strikes a certain disgusted mood of displeasure among those who feel so absorbed in their own attitudes towards the abrasive and abusive moralist viewpoint targeting others at random for their lack of support no matter how greedy or vile the intentions happen to be, but the strange compassion within us resigns itself to the personal corollaries which can be easily perceived and communicated among the others perhaps of a simpler development not yet open to understanding greater pieces of the whole culture, we are simply not receptive to those “higher” attitudes capable of defining the stellar substance as it ever expands like catching a moving train as it speeds faster than the hand can seek to be able to grasp firmly… some trains of thought are too overwhelming for a great number of passengers to participate in at any one time, sectors sectioned off until the right timing is met by the cosmic clockwork we have come to participate in though our perception of the real through eyes that fade and decay can be misled by our affection for pain and sorrow, but it is that darker chthonic self that inhabits this realm that aims to keep us all so demonically informed that move in only those directions that have been given us from student to worker applying the lessons we have learned to this real thing we consume and construct from… are not so aware of this gigantic heathen disease that feeds from us as we writhe symbiotic in its web of energy bleeding what humanity remains inside the carcass of cells enwombed in the sacs of skin crawling like bugs attached to the surface of the planet, maniacal as any other trapped beast but curious as to what substance we serve as humans that tries to reach beyond the constraints of time and space to attempt forcing us into places we might rather had not been as homunculus of the encapsulate desire of a greater expansion of self that speaks through us, but we come to have so many varying archetypes of what the ideal being is that it will always remain in flux never the image we expect to perceive… one static perception worshiped by the least of the most developed in the herd of humanity that learns to spin the base information that this universe is made from to transmute it into a golden rule that can ensnare energies that serve no other purpose at the time than to control the hapless minds that perceive its damned signals, we are shards of the true humanity all creeping towards a centered state of being as whole and uncomplicated as could be dreamt of somewhere in our collective waking steps toward the nightmare treat that saturates the inside of our dry meat calling out dark secrets from the oblivion deeper than some seeping rotted thing merely sitting on the surface waiting to die, but are we more than moving and breathing corpses catching signals at rare intervals that enlighten the whole of our personal being as transmission received when we decide to disassociate what is truly human in motion as opposed to the state of mind assertive of the particular action each in their own brand of heat and friction as the conversation becomes interesting between the internal cells in a realm all of its own inside the human being beyond purely will alone… inside is the organic heaving thing that desires independent sustenance on a level requiring only truthful human interaction intimate and justified by a twin inspiration of good-natured rhythm and harmony as practiced by more than the human animal and its mate in the wilds of the civilized jungle where the cruel and inhumane are considered champions as much as the real heroes who sacrifice for others for genuine progress, in an emotional atmosphere of listless and wasted youth as angst and trauma build the home of the old century to come as thoughts of struggle arrange to show at the forefront in an era when human lore is indeed a very dramatic and violent fable from which to read aloud as the human book wanders open and singing a story of all things at once intertwined in resistance as in a connectedness which at times transcends all mortal bounds, and the puzzle always shifting states brings awareness to its master if one can ever settle on mere mastery over objects and antiques of mind…