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What’s endless?

certainly we are all released Here though with a definite time limit on our abilities to make changes, we seem to explore the ideas of others endlessly enough, but where do they really go?… as static buoys, we are floating in the concrete where things are made real, and surprised that there are no ways around being ourselves… enthralled with the solid state intelligence and the technology logging on through the ether, grasping at the nodes inside our own minds to figure out a plan, and i can’t provoke myself except to embrace all of those things outside of my consciousness… that fitful thing convincing me to make tangible the steps towards a goal that will make purpose for my life, but what lies at the core of this heart aching, that makes these decisions into a lopsided effort that benefits no one at all… the shadowy storms of ghosts inhabiting me like a hollow man, where the insides feel like a dark cream-filled sponge cake, and the sponge is beginning to assimilate like brain matter the information rich with a sweet irresistible twist… this is where i write the wrongs in the mind as i reveal the trance we all imbibe the infectious confections (confectious) screaming ‘suck me, fuck me, eat me…’ from a billboard sub-continuum of space for sale… the mind defies the boredom by excremation (excremental cremation) of imaginary lines from either dome or lobe of the hemispherical warp projected forward for us all… the eyes they do see don’t they, drinking in the unfathomable whole in one sideways glance over the shoulder, but do we actually understand what we saw rather than pretend we knew it was there all along?… the mortal stab into flesh that wounds and betrays the human urge to die when this rotten thing plays games against righteous change, that familiar system we have grown to love to hate as the blame wears on, and the shallow things still roam the earth like twisted and disguised and disgusted creatures that try to control life even as life contradicts their ways… sometimes this all reaches far too deep to leave alone into that pit of fears called ‘gun’, where virtual motive and actual motive are conjoined as twin energies released from inside this lurching brain transistor as the signals reach the dissected pace made to move through the skin encasing so thinly this virtual plane of reality perhaps a living internet feeling of solid holographic direction made manifest, or maybe the only way to speak the spoken word is through fluid repeats of patterns in parallel to a satisfying leap of faith… we have so many contradicting thoughts because we really are legion beyond this flesh on our own, the conscious effort is this thing that always appears so unique to the outside perspectives, but what doesn’t matter in the moment are those things beyond our tactile senses possessed of questions and answers to seek the individual truth which arrives in one’s own hands without either questions or answers… the golden truth that might have started the falling metaphor-ites (meteorites of metaphorical proportions) of the particular power that calls forth mystical representation, the earth that fed you now consumes you, and the totem becomes your new objective way to look at things in the dusky shadows of morning as one stands there solid and resolute the signpost for future lessons learned… holding out the story for the witnesses to appear with thick avarice between the lips, as the mouth contorts around every single pronunciation, and quavers just slightly so as to reveal a potent ghost from out of this sack of shit that diseases the plateau of real need… we fire ourselves up just to get fired from the wounded crotch of mother’s melting love beliefs, the endless lives and the endless breathes always whether can conceive or not, but mock not scars as you left…

Thanks, khet.