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Where To Begin…

a slice of life that remains altered by lies snaking along through the substrata of the emotional being like a fine mist against the dark truth curtain reconnecting and recharging itself, the energy as it is being siphoned becomes callused and hard to the touch as the differences between an entity and its meal of necessary motion become as the effects waving back beyond the harsh particles that stack together to create the structure of this visual eminence which supports life hanging onto parasite urges reveled in by those seeking a visceral imminence on the edge of holy surge while sucking the life out of those who don’t care but should, but what kind of claim rings that chord most sought after to raise the conscious clarity further from a vertical dispassionate stance sustained by ivory towers upholding the flimsy empire by its propaganda… i am an ugly human who is stigmatized by my American culture for its disregard toward humane compassion in favor of profits moving back and forth like sands (hands) of time swirling inside of a glass room, the window of bondage for viewing the dead ideas trapped by their static rituals used to maintain that sluggish stasis where all movement never deviates from the patterns and loops ascribed to by the redundant pseudo-authorities willingly trying to placate the herd by giving all of us an almost unlimited supply of trivial emptiness to enjoy, but it does not mean that the only option to be supplied with or that we are forced to choose has to be something that we cannot renounce later on… using the useless taken for granted by the real rats revivifying the terror plague of ignorant aching precision for the beginning to subsume all the collective destinies of humanity into a fierce amalgam of power and resource to defile the purity of those indistinct facets as hidden natural unknown in the mysteries that still reinforce the walls of our illusion indirectly, the hands of Mankind tear and beat to break free like an animal in a cage made of memories and experiences all wired together into a pastiche of whims and worries when not accessed directly by the human receiver in mind, but is it the Self at fault because it acts sporadically in the blank reality of the human being utilizing the energy of an almost certain deductive awareness for details which few reasons could hone as tightly as a woven craft or forged sword might achieve… we may feel as though we observe time to just continuously slip away without word or warning as the consequences begin to stack up against the hard place built and forged by the natural flow as perceived through a lens of the beast attempting to maintain an almost sacred reverence, and the judgment would be seen acknowledging the disappearance of any and all opportunities rapidly in the midst of this social erosion as pieces formerly submerged within a chthonic substructure of reality carries reality on its haunches can rise to the surface of human endeavor as credibility and a tendered respect grows between the real people alive Here where some may only see things that come to die, this is only so that other aspects of the whole somehow live and flourish beyond the harsh boundaries formed through conjecture both venomous and ignorant… the vines writhe alive weaving the pattern together an unknown growing from a root of dark potential learning something for itself, a wisdom subtle and lurking like the lady of the lake to present the weapon of truth to the right person who will charge through lessons and make an example for the rest of us, but we each have some variation of agonist/ alienist heroics deep within us timed to be patient with the action though it would appear to ooze slowly as the lazy avaricious desire of the population so thoroughly comforted and sheltered with no role specific until we discover it on personal questing to reveal the self as it appears to each of us… we were conceived with an eye toward the ideal of the population becoming enraptured with its convenience culture jam as it triggers the quaking in a soul so much the common these days when certainty resembles nothing so joyous a connection to the human any more, satellites dishing signals over the humanity gone wrong throbbing with mad moronic dictation taken too seriously and thus passed as law into the books of the crude and impolite as they increasingly choose to wear masks which reveal a psychopathic urge to dominate through tactics of violence and intimidation, and obscenity used to make less than apparent the shivering and weak creature locked inside of a beast so cold and yet efficient in the suffering only humans can do so well… eventual soul disintegration, perhaps as the individual spirit develops… the shaman wiles away the hours inhabited by ghosts with differing whims driven channel their messages through a chosen warrior…

Thanks, khet.