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apophatic tumors of the Wanton terror-eyed.

we shudder in rhythm to the rest of this cataclysmic foundation, the avalanche of feelings might seem precarious to indulge, but Here we are in this skin of time and space together… we are submerged with this consequence of forgetful retelling, as the stories warp and change around the storyteller, and the belief that one must understand both sides of the struggle to overcome the aspect that stands out as the obstacle… when embracing that which you oppose draws you closer toward a synthesis of approach, it takes all of your force of will to keep the beasts behind the gate to fence in the behaviors that will adversely impact the continuity we have inflicted upon ourselves, as we get further wired into the productive face that the world seeks to falsely preserve… in this jar of souls, we wander and constantly try for the key that will push that lid’s thin edge open, and it is more than this air that we desire not to need to re-breathe another day… roaming the surface of the earthen altar we have come to call a home, the respective parts have leaked out of a covert majority of us to subvert and test our own individual resolves, but we are never forced to give in to the vicious lies… it is always in the crafted surplus of a manufactured resistance to oppose the rationing of the human mind… the footpaths of the tormented summon courage in those that least desire a shallow cover to blanket over statements of a passionate truth, the real truths as we are told should be self-evident to even the outright idiots in power, but this common sense does not wash over everyone as anyone can see in our absurd day-to-day lives of robotic motions observed through clinical objective lenses… only gods cull their flock to take some and leave the rest to learn greater lessons, those left are treasured by pillaging machine that society becomes in a blank and static age, but the rape of the earth and its resources leaves many of us the villainous culprits by default… so take out all the loans you can, and smoke them while you have got them, maybe at least then those left can finally reset this terrible situation… gloat the bloated corpse with its painted disgraceful ways, sitting in that funeral home basement waiting to be shown like a dead debutante in the grim glory of them who have something left to live for, and as a reminder of what we have yet to escape from now… the lesson of mortality that some of us take so hard into our disquieted breast, the personal loss becomes the amplified mess that subdues the average lifestyles of neither rich nor poor, but as one together we feel the remnants of pain without remedy as the scars always seem to stay… embedded in the gloss and glamor of previous superstitions before the human animal was even ready to learn anything, a cloak to make us appear as if we care about the outcome of this society at all, but masked amidst the random elements of a persona lies the intent glaring outward at everyone else there… this teasing awareness of a soul is confusing to say the least, and sheer torture at the worst, as the elders drag us to the open grave with them or try to… however, we will not submit as one being until reaching that singularity further away than today, and cannot merely hope for there to be a bountiful return on our investments as that “money” has already been stolen from us… the gift of youth grants us as newly born to witness all truths at one time, but we get swept up quickly in the body politic this realm subscribes to, a scowl to the serious faces out there that could betray their own kind like beasts and monsters on a twisted mission… where do we go from Here?…

Thanks, khet.