trying to break through barriers that build the stereotypes that plague
the intense interactions between people, formed at first as a means of
defense, and then turned into masks to seal others away at arm’s length…
scurrying past the gated fates, an exit to one aspect of life to enter
another state planed and scraped away, tipping the scales in favor of
return to the state of intuitive strength… the matted mane of hair in
the eyes, the stage opened up wide as you try and fail to hyde the syde
that styles your pryde, but why even seek the need to obfuscate the
mind’s eye?… with all the weight we each carry, it is an impossible act
to accept and admit when one is corrupted through being another chemical
missionary, and the company pharmacopoeia tries to sap the brain and
energy necessary to break the cycles of pain… to generate a thought from
the organic transmitter lodged with electrical impulses to run the
circuits, chemical mechanisms moving without word, but merely the right
frame of insight to guide an escape through the days… from either end of
the gamut there is an unresolved tension that creates the dynamic
between the matter-bound beings on one hand, the immaterial souls on the
other residing in the ephemeral deep, and the matter-dwelling spirits
in the middle of this cosmos in constant flux… even as the trick of the
pilcrow is remembered by some to be utilized to start a new train of
thought, but Here it all comes together as one thing, the literal
substance of the real… the senses reveal the jumble that surges through
our minds, like wild dogs trying to tear a peace for ourselves, with
stars in our eyes we walk a thin line… unable to see, feeling out
blindness, but what drives us but the madness to strive to do better
things… feeling dead inside the zombified stride of hollowed out
wallowing in pity and frustrations, using up the vital energies of
others too close with concern for ignorant pleas, but feeling either the
stunned or stoned modes of the human disease in functional persuasions
lacking straight-forward communications… the reckless abandon into the
feckless microcosm, the soul or spirit is random as we are filled with
some idea of the essence, and sometimes i cannot believe it has come to
this point… why the human animal reeks of the immature opinion, the
assumption beyond question, and why life has to seem neat or clean or
simple?… we are all at fault, working with what we are trained with, and
letting others know the superior standard common sense has arrived… the
awful ways that work into fits the weaknesses we work our lives to fix,
those subtle silent floating patterns baring dread fruit to despair
their minds again, but no art works as hardly ever as the art of art
itself…
