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War Over Mediocrity of Being, the cause…

those meaty, ochre nasty warriors taking their destructive roles oh-so very seriously without thinking about what they were ever told to be doing as the criminals and the heroes alike join and swell in the ranks of military zeal as a thoroughly marked and measured and weighted object to its exact detail, and whether death appears absolutely necessary or not is best left at a negligible angle from which to see things more than anything as the last resort in the hostile undertow of the diesel breeze flowing over the capitalist machines on the battleground into which each side of the lemmings have invested most of their worthwhile belongings to the reluctance of an idiotic causality that falsely values a stubborn rationality as opposed to an open awareness for logical conclusions to which would naturally allow the stable ideas of liberty that can bring most of us together instead of driving ourselves apart… the mechanical lust that has forced our hand to throw down the gauntlet in protection of the raping machine as the faceless progress rolling over a humane organism whose corpse need not appear dead at all Here even as the chrome and wires and circuits raise hell all over the flesh like a bad scene from Superman III perhaps, an aw-shucks-to-position oneself condemning the more protozoan of us to death everlasting in a very base assessment of pure logic and absolution by riddle, but my thoughts and words are merely conjecture until proven as otherwise or until fear has pried loose the truth from cold dead hands clutching the deprived sections of the understanding written as encrypted through symbols of both lore and myth as primordial programming system before the age of digital aid… it was somewhere along the line that the people got their grubby hands all over the sensitive gadgets meant for the profit machine maintained by the rich and famous of bionic liars leaping for one slight innovation to another as in a game of hopscotch, but when the expectation is to leave behind those unworthy in the constantly flowing stream of new technology, the sources quickly find out that they are the ones left in the dust while wondering whatever happened to the certain qualities of superiority that we hear howling like hungry and deprived animals for some emotional sustenance somewhere… to have mastery over the bubbling humanity so rife and permanent of potential in this hurricane cauldron stew storm we have unsettling us at every turn, the ‘we’ turning around to screw the human ‘I’s out of their false delusion of individual ownership by gutting the bestial urge to want more from that unseen other end of the screened-off dream behind the glass, but neglecting to resonate a positive message from that distant edge of the spectrum as though not unlike a screened-off porch barely touching the vast realm of the unknown just beyond our respective doorsteps… the steps taken to get away from the heart of the motion in order to appreciate the chaos lit-up from afar like a blazing torch into the night sky as tongues of light lick their brilliance through the air especially when no one is watching the beauty as the culture has deified the rape and pillage of the place we have Here, burning the “forest” floor as the wicked masked in the adult and child alike mixing the signals of exalted communication each for their own benefit as confused progress moves at some inevitable pitch forward with a wake of destruction yielding nothing but mud and fire into the fray, but it is the blunder of Mankind to be so monosyllabic when it comes to the image and reality living estranged yet perpendicular lives to each other in the same landscape without restraint in a land where freedom supposedly reigns supreme… where the poet becomes preacher are dark waters to tread as the poet is preferable for the lack of followers required to maintain creative integrity even though there is always interference, it sometimes fails to remain a solid structure from which to build an intrepid adventure into this encrypted trip overlaying the sensory inputs through the very same channels as the output of information our bodies pass along whether viral travel or upon the threads of decision interpreted as thoughts from an inner demon, or even perhaps a tiny alien works the mechanism through which one hopes to think it is us who is interpreter instead of some cosmic pulse that works through us that you could call god with a big ‘G’ amid the vagueness that maintains reality from the outside like a spider to its egg sac even though no one wishes to glimpse god as a spider who perhaps keeps the earth from rotting waiting to hatch…

Thanks, khet.