what lies are inside our heads, I wonder aloud… as if to recall a prior
thought or confused whim, but what is this thing a being finds itself
within when it cannot be confronted so fully or openly as to speak the
words from beneath this meddlesome skin?… the robot confessed and true,
the only method to the madness a mechanical hinge on which to wobble
back and forth along the stroll of nightmares, the walk of human toll…
the blood, meat and tears fuel the ripe perspectives to rape the seed
away from the rest of the wholes, like whales in the sea… where are the
divisive tags which allow for the apparent tracking of the animal, in
this day and age i am oblivious, and lividly so-to-speak entranced to
see the rest of us flee from the spill-out… our actions betray us, the
faith we witness to others has been ripped away from our eyes, and the
deity made worthless by leaps and bounds in this material foundry of
painful ways… we are funeral furnace meat willing to die for the cause
to end lives just to wish the paths of our own fate to another day… to
die another day, so-to-speak… the microcosm pulls while the interest of
this blessed bliss weighs thin, and takes another stasis-stacking energy
thing from this tension between creatures, replacing the face modeled
to wear when confronting the practical virtues… the grinding autonomous
press printing the crest of gather living eyes to sway, and utterly
repress the instinct which before now had come so naturally to one...
