Well, are we all completely useful, either? We are like the ants
beneath our feet. With bitter wavelengths and disposable bandwidths,
but that isn’t the only impression that we have to make. You see we
need a complete picture to ascend fully. We create the next life in a
uniform fashion. Asexual stripes of thought pattern with a shell of
hormonally-charged animal of either sexual preference encasing these
objective conscious things we are. I get so frustrated when I want to
fuck out loud, the sexuality tells me not to care, but heart says that
love rides more than just a casual current. Fantasy hits a wired
boundary of realistic and fatalistic alter-egos that appear like
distinct personalities. The nonsense and spittle might declare us to
be, as the clinical may use their labels, retarded both emotionally and
physically. All at once a normal creature, and then totally enveloped
by the unknown path we seem to swath through the underbrush. A reckless
pursuit of random events to deal with on our own sometimes. The
decisions that we all make at some point. Time freezes still what’s
left of me. The movement of a mass mind closed into separate selves all
striving for the best of their individual plights together. Sexual
tension and gratuitous nudity has become fashionably accessible overall,
and too many others paw at the real thing with bare, gnarled hands.
Slavery was a useful tactic for the cruel to dominate others with pain
and suffering, and pushing boundaries of human endurance somewhere
native to us as we are now. Echoes of the craze still ringing in our
ears. Primordial ooze touched and moved, and we still care about
politics, please… There are other lies to tell everyone else. Terror
moves the mountains and martyrs to their destined fates, making sure
that the working class dig deeper within themselves to get their jobs
finished faster, and pushing limits of the real undertaking inside the
societal motif. Certainly a disgraceful enacting of the remainders that
deal with the intrusion of species ill-defined until the explosion of
emotions that shines through all movements. Creating and recreating a
real world stasis in order to put individual “stamp” to the mess. An
approval saying that anyone can do this, too. All while trying to shape
the participant into a coffin-shaped niche to catch more cosmic flies
like “soul-ar” fly paper traps. More flies lay eggs in carrion, and
dead or alive, the scheme will work well to attract victims. Suffering
the burden of knowledge upon their shoulders, and living upon the fringe
edges of the extreme. The teeter-totter balancing act suspended before
the massing energies that be. Elegance is just as vital as the filth
from which it stems originally. And thoroughly as viral as well as
being the harbinger of insanity’s fierce and underhanded attack. Do we
organize to undermine ourselves and our cells? Can we even begin to
fathom an end? Things will always grow in their own time under the
right circumstances to be met with, and the entity we are will be
ultimately apparent, meeting and joining with every other shard of one
there is. We all have a part to play with a role to fill, but we do not
need to be so reluctant with our senses. They always fill the spaces
before and after us, and our awareness extends beyond anything referred
to as time or space, drifting though stabilizing the greater whole of
the essential universe. Screaming through the darkness of dust, and the
mass of portent that follows in the wake of all rotting flesh, the
death of humanity lies in the birth of its meaning.
Thanks, khet.
Thanks, khet.
