disgust from all places like a gust of wind, directed toward the urge
to discomfort out of retaliatory forces acting out passions on display,
hidden deep animosity leaking out of loud and belligerent orifices… the
artifice moving before the warrior, the tin-mad dog motions killing off
the respectable portions, like a jagged frequency that listens and
absorbs unconsciously… that portion of sleep wagered against unseen,
unwelcome phantoms like the shields of ritual actions… these perpetual
attractions to ways of the devourer, consummate and commiserate with the
unnatural fiends who please only to be pleased, the need for a divide
in which to conquer maybe… one’s own dualistic nature itself yet again
to be severed and separate as the ever-dividing extracellular zygote,
the schizophrenic sidekick wet from just being plucked from ones’ own
head, hydrated by the emotional weight and reigns… the tormented storms
of unlikely things gives way to the teary-eyed downpour turn into floods
born as we allow ourselves to just drift away… culture was the knife, a
crooked and misshapen blade, shaking as it renders us each in a crude
form… to grow from pets into people as we take turns soaking our bones,
washing the conformity into our minds, but without the discretion that
ages left… some people see the patterns inside the ones we are all
given, the symbols that trigger the fireworks rise, like acting the
phoenix willing to able… the palpable pulp fiction airs as the room
spins down around, slow and wobbling fan blades slice into the space,
and the curtain in film noir black and white frame dissolves into place…
i have yet to win anything that wasn’t by chance, the lucky favors
embedded in doubt so the surprise doesn’t hit as hard to the face, and a
counterclockwise gesture to the antagonist’s wager… thinking fast from
out of those slow thoughtless ways where lost things take days, and
where the intellect always tries to explain, while the responsible one
tries to get away… to step back and look at it all again from afar,
imagining some last vital vision, as if to say that this was what i
wished for… then the consumer wants more and more to satisfy an appetite
that isn’t there, another action to recycle the energy so actually
plentiful that it pains us not have discovered the way to utilize it as
yet, it is true that all the pieces are there… the paper bag wraps
around tight, swallowing the right to breathe in spite of the tears in
the eyes, and the look of surprise undisguised as the death of life
comes alive… from places constantly changing our minds…
Thanks, khet.
Thanks, khet.
