All The Wrong Topics dot com

knocked up on wood…

the hustle is alive and well dancing in the streets while those running off-street into vast absent voids act as persistent personal social demons provoking fear before respect out of the oblivious horde whose whim means nothing one-by-one as a massive beast it outgrows its constraints rather quickly it would appear vile instincts to survive that never were acknowledged prior to this warped running of bulls and their shit stimulated for our proposed benefit inside of a sprawling machine of industry with an evil finger deep everywhere, lodged in the cesspools floating with obnoxious hooligans valuing only the juvenile mirth of the bully tormenting perceived lesser minions leading to the doomed existence for little to none of a real reason being Here trapped in the dirt inert stranded like voyaging vessel sailing unknown seas whose eddies and whirlpools attempt to suck and trap the bodies down the well where there monsters dwell mirroring our own hostile urge to usurp control without exception to the dire situation of survival, but as it is a distortion we are never able to reveal a fuller picture to ourselves because there will always be a fringe that sits just beyond even our periphery of knowledge into the dark matters of an unknown whose comforting is only found in the oblivion of dreams and pieces of a self sacrificed to stay aware of this ever-encircling reservoir of minertia (minute inertias) as are potentia amidst all these forces that be Here undefined and homogenous… the digital scope relies upon these minute inertias that can create a world in which these material concepts of real can get lost or reinterpreted out of the collective gaze of the mass whose human visage remains tainted by horrible actions and their consequences in an historical content to be read through the lens or filter of Mankind whose madness drives them to carve a bloody swath through this heathen earth possessed of the demiurge dementing us into tragedy meandering through a gauntlet of wastelands bellowing their pus and bile into the atmosphere in Here, forcing us to endure some implementation of the change as the task of the magus is undertaking amidst resistant torpor of preexistence as the curse of a magus or artist is interpreting reality openly and as it applies to a lifestyle created to one’s own personal specifications without too much outside pressure or stress put upon us anyone at a time while searching for the meaning within our lives when waves of distraction are getting larger, but witnessing these changes as they rise and fall divided between the layered hidden territories we may refer to as a soul collectively no matter whether it is some universal or individual soul makes little difference as they are all wired together in much the same way sorting out the signals to see what reality contains within itself even from the view of this human-manifesting carbon bubble billowing out edges of this darkness…

Thanks, khet.