the Shittiest gang in the west.

it is funny how it can all make sense one second, in a heartbeat really, and then suddenly seem to be a hallucinatory state of heightened awareness the next moment… the title very fitting as i wrote a good little bit Here, but lack of awareness on my part made me lose the ‘great’ material i had already pieced together, a good chunk of my personal struggle it would seem… you have no idea, those of you out there curious and wanting, how long it would be to recover myself like that… the same flow and feeling are lost to me, and now i dine on the after thought, a thread thick enough left for another to pick up again… i remember mentioning my awkward attempts at mapping a consciousness like mine with minimal success on the overarching scale, but that pieces were coming together as raw loose ends to be connected as the over-layered object, the light shines through it like a prism… this vessel could easily represent ourselves on the most fundamental of planes, a jigsaw puzzle built from stained glass parts from everyone else, and their natural sights or inclinations at the work as it stands alone… apart, and yet a part, from all of the scenery… the fundamental dissent always distracted from learning, and yet at the same time fully immersed in that one most powerful ritual, divided between sleeping and waking realities… again, i mention the ‘great’ sweeping epiphanies that had only occurred just moments ago, and then crept away for the next free thinker to grasp… the thoughts acting as particular intrusions of insight, but glimpses come as unyielding and raw barrages of information, fast and optical and blinking slightly and wanting to be heard as well… a beckoning siren too close to relent from its pitch, the angles calling from their skylight window, and screaming purest inflections that one can only filter as crass interpretation of symbolic meanings behind the eyes… that icy glare that represents a dynamic constantly fluctuating by time’s incredulous disguised laughter, a slaughtering of the average castrations constraining of that rusted reliance on that menacing industrial waste, but is that really surprising with a taste as culturally empty as ours?… sometimes i cannot disagree, but it still functions as a draft of some resounding force that guides and abides us from the creative recklessness that captures the heart, the netting like a strong-armed law or tactic set to give the most from what it takes… i hate it when these things lose themselves, and all effort appears without a simple answer, to be lost and tossed aside thinking it saved somewhere inside… simple and subtle, the day moves muscles, ripples through the motionless life…

Thanks, khet.