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the uses of ‘YOU’…

a specific ‘you’ and the general ‘you’…
Ethan Hawke is the rich man’s Stephen Dorff, a point driven home by two inane pieces of cinema today, and both of those are only worth mentioning in one long monologue. the broken days and motorways are now open to me, and disguise the limits to understand the facts at hand, in discord with the reward you seek… the pages into chapters into the biblically-proportioned stories told ages ago, and yet with ego stoked, we go on. dissembling agency of the past crept inside, to underneath the skin, and the wiring gone afraid. even a blind Washington couldn’t save that boat sinking along, lack of satisfaction with implausible apocalyptic leanings on social orders laid to waste, and they say you’re the pessimistic one… so the trip’s laid all hell to waste as the moments are slowly drawn back into the skull from which this perspective came… the visions of cevin and phil and mark in the church fade into a background wasteland, with motion pictures as filler in the mind trough as the rest of the hogs and I dive for those nourishing bits left in the muck of translating such filth into our lives… newness all around the table, smeared with creams and calluses too dark to mention Here so fully, and we crept into those theatres resisting the reasons… mechanics and their ilk to see the spilled oily hands as they set sights not immune to dollar hues, reflected stains in their eyes, and hanging so low underneath their vision… our heinous presence insults you defecating animals, shit-pointed tongues dripping diarrhoeal quotations, and the offense is all mine to take supposing my role we are all jig-sawed into… moving the references aside, the joke was far laid too late for the villagers to fully understand, and the thought shrapnel littered and glittered inside the skulls culture has laid to waste… we seize the day away, and trip over the shoelaces we tied with pride, the empty calling responding to our hate… the slow wedge being driven by all sides of the general law to live out to faded spastic glory which literally translates into nothing on higher unselfish planes resonating with chiming thoughts, golden from their points peaked atop mountains far from view… all of us, a thin tarp covering a pool whose initial function was as repository, and for this we recall a definite consciousness into being… the personality lays across this cosmic surface tension, inhabited by as it inhabits experiencing the idea of self, and that is the breakdown of the social mind in order to make all systems work amicably in harmony… a hive mind functions within the more animalistic, simply base and primordial, levels of consciousness as though personal growth were a tree of life… the social mind works solely with the interplay between reason and logic, and takes into account how emotions play distinct parts in the internal/external action at the same time, we are one and the same at differing moments throughout what we perceive as history… why look for gods when you can find them in the mirror looking back at you…

Thanks, khet.