the breakdown was mutual… the manacles set upon the wrists… the diseased
mind permeates the foul and sanctified heat of resistance… the stink of
awareness from the outside world revealing the madness within this
maelstrom… the dripping and gooey internal structure fairly teeters with
the substance falling from the ceiling… you raise your eyes to notice
that stalagmites extend downward toward you, and this pit seems far too
small… to express your way out of a paper bag is nothing so intense as
performing your way out of a jagged hole inside your heart… this is
where things have been taking place of late… the mind becomes far too
tight and constraining upon itself to be of any real use… the music is
alive, though, and there are few who would wish to see it… this other
necessary entity that we hear, but still don’t seem to perceive like
every thing else… the chaos burns a soul into the meat, and tricks the
brain into thinking for the rest of the animal self… the true self is
what really hears the music, not merely the perceptual organs of sound…
