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Time with no reason.

where do we belong without the need for comfort, without the need for substance, but what remains without this material world?… wasted prude, that’s all they seek, food… the dinosaurs were cast out for becoming too large to handle, the physical representatives of a system of experimental tempers, and this excretion from the terrestrial combination between form and mind allowed for them to take advantage of the ways things worked then… as gifts of gods that were long before us, and granted a way to retreat into the minds of humanity’s collective struggle of progress, as a vital piece of the human consciousness relies upon the reptilian brain to this day… maybe outer gods like cthulhu belong to these misbegotten creatures that an asteroid was used to wipe away, there was time necessary for change much like the odd tensions now and again in the middle of the human plight, but as terrible mentalists we have built for ourselves weaponry that can decimate everything we have ever thought real… trying to bring an apocalypse to reset the roles of humanity and the next future from this one we have now, the plank is strong as we pummel our foreheads black and blue to forget our collective responsibility, and it seems as though that even this is mere device to train the potential applicants… you must treat others as the insane and simple chattel they are, or the lesson never pulls through the meat and gristle that is the symbol of truth, answers of metaphysical reasoning that possess a person to find their own way through the grimy strength under the fingernails as they cling to the surface of this hollow metal world spinning hot and magnetic throughout the cosmic span… we are each our own law made manifest by the dual natures of certainty and its shadow opposition, in the dark matter which inhabits space the essence of mind creates/ fills that imaginary frame of time, and it hangs over our heads as the truth fascinates and infatuates the whores and the fiends who traipse in and out of influence over the aspects to our own world… we are mated with brilliant sparks called life that requires us to think inside as much as beyond ourselves, destined to make the maps necessary for the function of style in which we become accustomed and all-too righteous in defense of, but we make ourselves stare at the sun for reasons we could never possibly fathom if only to just imagine… the dim crawl through the overpopulated dissection of the civil lies in a salvation that manifests outside of this foundation that defines and rejects as it once desired the humanity, the alien access to the humane and retractable statements and claims to faith that has no basis in the phantasmal of truth, but it does inspire like the muse or sage with the anecdote of living that is ultimately idealized as this thing we are living through… as though all traumas were conceived of in the mind, trained without the respect to acknowledge what is real for the others that live with you there, and relief is not an easy forthcoming when the world rallies against your whims of dissimilitude and fetishes for the unique individual… within the context of the box, you are never right but never wrong either, and this is the gray area in which we are suspended for most if not all of our lives… we sometimes do not revel that part of ourselves that would make life easier to live, but instead decide to savor this solitary item in our psychological repertoire as the defensible core of our soul, this is the wrong “truth” to hold onto so passionately… this is the part that we must be able to give of ourselves freely so that others may learn from the actions that we involve with, the selective memory allows for only a limited replay, and we need to remember more than this…

Thanks, khet.