Is there a four-twenty?

it all seems so random, but there appears as though a conspiracy of purpose lying on the horizon, when it seems certain as though things will work out but they do not… the opposite conspiracy at the same time is one of the happening trumping everyone’s various plans in the works for these seemingly random fits to counteract problems, the monster humanity treats every other respective being of the species as shit before the respect even begins, and nobody has room for anybody else anymore… it is difficult to discern the laughter from the screaming on this trip through, it really is something different for each of us on this plane, and only a slight few of us seem to fill the shoes enough for the holy guardian angel to grant we beasts an audience with cosmic forces beyond our direct comprehension… unlike the rest of your potheads, i have nothing to celebrate this particular holiday this year, but seek and you shall find whatever it is that you might need… where there is a will, there is a way, but you already knew that didn’t you?… so what is common sense for that matter, huh?… constantly accused of needing it to circumvent the stupidity i seem beholden to, confusion is the latest in a long line of trends and excuses for which there is no reason, but the human fallacy for requiring a crutch of any sort really… whether these crutches work for or against you is up to the pressing of certain limits, respect for the spirits all around you as well as within you, and you might just find what it is you are after in life… there is no reason to fear the deity, if you believe that deity is there to guide you to something better, but this belief must be resolute or there are consequences within the specific milieu one allows themselves to enter at will… this language allows for so many various descriptors, but there are few that aren’t used with at least more than two contradictory means, these dual plus definitions ruin an otherwise sober and reflective conversation… the context becomes unique when the gaps in time are long, but the emotions never get heated to the point of sacrifice, of which there are degrees with an equal and opposite resonance… all the varying reflective facets to this crystal ball, visions are mad stupid but not completely out of range for the numb, dumb or wasted… the trash park fractured features force the bubbles to boil out of the backside like the pimpled pocket of pus, outrage at the holy spurt not quite aligned right, and then regret and guilt smack of dead fish with a scent stinking of cold sweat…

Shemhamphorasch.

the communications reach fever pitch as the discrepancies lurk all over the place, but most of all those dark captive beatings that take place between the ears… we scrape valid parts of ourselves away to try being less square, always in concern of looking foolish even when that fool carries with them the next new idea, and only to leave the peg to get hammered into the hole… we cringe when our name gets called, the worst things lying in wait to fuck us over in subtle degrees, but the mad mirth takes with it the fears and negative impulse that always carry us over the edge… it gets even murkier when staring into the face of a person you distrust, having their own capacity for oblivious mistake like everyone else Here, and it breeds a complex network of slack and compensation when you have billions and billions of people encapsulated in the glassy bubble of a water bead in a hydrophobic position standing out from the cosmic span… the multitudes are disgruntled in their own special ways, retarded by the dollar bill that has usurped the role of marker into becoming symbolic as total masses of energy spent and armed by the billions of faces that make up our side of reality now, and all facets of the struggle are brilliant to behold all at once as in the execution of the fully-cut diamond… which reveals all facets of the real to naked eyes at once in one splendid display that any real person cannot fully glimpse without turning that gemstone around, to physically perceive all sides as part of the one thing, but this is not the greatest obstacle wasting our energy so profusely… this is the wound of a different sort of dismay, a binary compound that makes the machine hasty with its ulterior motivation marinading in alchemical solutions, and the workers upkeep to this radically indifferent system is beginning to waver in surety, revolt is in the air everywhere and there are few who do not taste the end of this industrial phage on the back of their tongues… as the wage to meet the slave seems less by degrees that the people have tried to subvert, but the accent of these fiends surrounding the whole parade twists minds just as surely into their greed, flapping and buzzing with satisfaction under their demonic wings… to subvert them as a whole one must begin to subvert the symbols they grant us, sigils of all manner to be displayed against their wicked wiles like stronger crosses and various veves held to keep the wolves and vampires at bay, but within a powerful personal paradigm of belief provoked into being a salve to the withering intents of those sole eaters… ever-devouring hollow beings that come to this earth without a compassionate concern… sowing the seeds of gremlin-made fates to fuck up humanity’s late great machinery, the reptilian agenda is merely one frame inside hundreds of views all witnessing the return to form, but little is known beyond the face of this corrupted norm as the aliens land from the skies as our movies foretold long ago…

Meeting cEvin Key.

don’t get me wrong, it isn’t as though i disbelieve in community, but i am highly disagreeable with mainstream thought as i feel i have been sold-out by the nationally-endorsed educational system in power since it was first established and remains the very same repetition of information until the freethinker has to drop-out sooner than later… however, this is only the lead-in segue to my tale, and this is thanks to all the people involved and credited to making my good time possible… let us begin Here, A-boy contacted my love through this internet contraption and its accompanying software with Email connection, but this leads me to enlighten you as to the start of this groovy relationship between us all as well… we had met A-boy at the Nny Ppy show in the warehouse at the height of drunken complexes unwieldy on my part, she remembers distracted anxiety alert in the ballroom there, but it was certainly more intense at a later date when we met A-boy again at the oHgr show held at the same place… this is where we all shared our interest for the industrial music scene initially, late in the night separated by time and space after everything had closed, but the waking luxury accented our real freedom even more after the bullshit… again, we see the Nny Ppy at this venue with usual souvenirs bought, but with a distinct lack of discombobulation enough to reach out and see them further out in another city… the variation of interior and atmosphere made all the difference in comparison with the previous place, and A-boy was a completely alright soul to get to know sitting to the wee hours in a drunk madness, especially in lieu of all confusion in after party shenanigans that only cEvin participated in… it is Here that we find the flag interlude where i vaguely explain my gifting process, in the course of meeting one of the two Kevins after the oHgr show was when the courage hit to give him the flag i had created with the help of my workplace, and i bought the materials and the pattern i made and handed it to Kevin at the same time my lovely handed him the beautiful Gnosis I book… flash forward to the above mentioned after party where the other one of the two Kevins was personally, but perhaps i am mildly mistaken where i gave him the other flag, and this is the ‘cool’ detail i find… Kevin (oHgr) has the sewn applique nylon 2foot by 3foot flag with the recent logo for the group, while Kevin (Key) has the solvent print 2foot by 3foot flag on flag material where the elder ‘SP’ logo stands askew from the newly revised ‘SP’ logo with the band name underneath, and he says that he has it in storage and not out “in flight” after i asked where it was “flying”… okay, so A-boy is in knee-deep in the scene, and gives my love updates on what comes our way… the last one before this one was with cEvin, spybey and western, and it was Here that we got our souvenirs autographed… hmm, and it could also be the place i gave Key his flag or not, not sure really right now… well, A-boy came into our neck of the woods and gave us a lift to the Numbers outing cEvin appeared at this time, but it seems no one got paid at all for that gig i learned later on… tough break because A-boy was tremendous with his skills between all the various personalities, but i believe it took a recognition on all of our parts for it to have worked out as such a meeting as it did, though enough of this crap spew waste from my fettered mind on to the tissue of the issue… the four of us get there after the emo band, and we stand there against the wall watching twin grand-span screen televisions that vary channels, she and i began drinking at this point… the dance was on and what began with one spinning gothic lad soon became a large mass, but i restrained myself to head-bobbing and foot-tapping until the real performance later in the night, and as the club closed up its doors… A-boy was busied with getting great footage as he was renowned for between my love and i as we get out very little, and it was because he aided the performers with finding hotel accommodations for the night that i believe we met cEvin Key in person, it still gets me really something weird inside… i was very envious of his herb stash waving right in front of me within minutes of handing him my tri-bass logo in black adhesive vinyl, and my question was answered again within minutes of a back and forth between backstage and dressing room where talk of papers were passed around by a vinyl-clad mistress who remains unrecognized to this day, he was very kind and there were dual instances where we could have hung out longer that didn’t work out… i guess we were still standing in the fan-dumbstruck dimension as we sat listening with deaf ears to the album Key put out years ago that i bought that night, smoking the last of our herb laughing about what we would be doing with cEvin right then at the hotel, and our friend A-boy and everyone else involved that was never met nor named in this conversational affair made the more magical of quaint slight connections between artist-music-audience…

Struck dumb.

by-product of the hallucinating parts of our minds, whether the induction of such states under influence of DMT or some other psyche-freeing substance, the strike of the ground to meet us is excruciating when we realize what to do next… craving models to build our ideas of living upon, a structure we just want to forget about when the amount of time passes where we have no immediate need for the knowledge gleaned, and it is on the surface of this plateau that we acquire a divorce from our idea of data absorbed by this means… organizing the thoughts in order of their priority, even as the priorities shift from one hand to the other, but what impedance from this charging tirade out of the mouth of the philosophers stoned… to extol that an inkling of the just and righteous is within me is purely false advertising on my part, but there are other parts to perhaps look toward when contemplating a phuture so phat and deep with a sleeping fortune of tortured contortions, the imagination stirs a beast that waits in the farthest shadow reaches of personal time and space… the conundrum with fated, heavy ponderous steps gauges the moves forward in checkmate, and the sobering opponent deals out the cards necessary to raise the ante in this life or death game of bored players… the chiseled hide locked inside the cage of awestruck amazement might be a retrovirus, but under what life shall it lead its next victims, do the aliens observe us merely as prey?… an alchemy to this weird trick of the mind and body, foolishly granted the abilities to change everything with the wisdom and magic that the general law will allow, and soon enough the waves will reject this constant lapping at the feet of demon-gods that chaos and ignorance has allowed this current state of leadership to be acceptable since perhaps FDR’s reign… the chaos culture technique under which we are leaving makes it quite easy to be unaware of all the basic things we need to know as a society together, thanks to the centuries of progress via the adventurous endeavors before us, but these particular successful wagers against failure seem rather singular in comparison with the overall number of attempts at the focus of understanding within all fields of interest or study the world over… the spinning of world affairs on the tip of a thumb, as the pie slides down into the palm of the sinister hand, and all essence of truth seems dim to the results of any heir apparent anywhere… the insolvency of mind as barrage of thought-forms shoot forward to remind of a certain something that is there…

Acting god.

lingering suction upon the primal drain that is the narrowing channel directing this humble flow of waste, the venting out of hasty retreading upon details and diameters suffering out the movement of diversity, but how to describe this ridiculous spindle of swindle?… the pretentious fascist facade that decrees and perceives us when we are waking and asleep, and demands the surface of devotion among the residual collective, the hive mind also matters to the structure of what is needed to hold tight in the palm under analytic eyes… deistic demon directives boosting the next step of the way of this trip, the somewhere/ anywhere that takes the place of intelligent design, and the man made dreams of grinding perfect order calls it quits… we are an act of god, but what is it that we are calling god?… are we always thinking of classical reference when we speak of that mystical mass beyond the skylight?… by classical of course i mean to imply the historic tales of the Olympians, the Egyptian and every pantheon known to the anthropomorph-romantic manner of humanity, taking the hearth wisdom of ages beyond our recollection through oral and literal traditions… harnessing our cultures into place for a rebirth into unified sanctum with each other as a whole, or is this yet another lie hiding within their arsenal?… to transmit these sacred implications gives me no right to take hostile stances towards everyone else Here, but what else have i to do when at times i have a difficult time liking myself, i want to feel humbled to your glances even as i feel no one reads this drivel… the harsh phrases have made their way into the vernacular of special significance because we layer it with so many other action/ reaction sagas… the continuous exploration of the extremes by all these different aspects of the true self, where a jesus figure might have been one more person relegated to the role of sacrificial catalyst in the greatness of expendable elements left alive in ignorant habitation just before anything like being “chosen” under ill-fated auspices in a bottleneck broken dream squeezing the ill-favored through with their cop bribes in hand to do the trick where just anyone gives in, and allowing ourselves to know too much in the questing for right and wrong amidst the denatured absence of real values or respect for other younger waves of creative energy… procreative grief over the insanity inherent in being this way, that comes off as a panicked state of drifting understanding the inspiration as much of it floats in the aftermath of atrocity, and the campaign crusades trying to force our truths under a sterile impotent careless mask of sincerity even when every appearance points otherwise in reality of nature… the demeanor can begin at formulation a disgraceful dimension to consider, or even to reconcile with good conscience, the meaning within its horrible ulterior motive as both sides in any struggle get screwed over by hypocrisy especially when this idea modifies into the ‘hypocracy’… the human being is in constant tuning of this existential instrument...

Shitty penetrations.

fodder to fill the mouth of the vengeful deity, the soldiers and righteous heroes under sway of realpolitik tyrants, stuck in the rancid randomized life… everyone has their own gimmick, whether balls to the skull, or subtle conniving strengths to overcompensate for terrible weakness… the universal basis for our system of degeneration is failure, this state is going from the bottom up truly, and there are many who wish it these sentient creatures never achieve a position above failure… we take a stab in the dark to find something more than this, and many more means to get hold of your own personal destiny than at first it would seem, we all get sidetracked by our variously designed training… the beasts are tempted by every other shit fire in the stormy weather of this pre-apocalypse… the distraction becomes too much to bare for the varying degrees of perspective in the out there… no one person can ever remedy every other ailment within this human body politic subverting essential reality… doctrines of all manner and sort passed down from authorities on high, but these proclamations are still man made, used to further tie and bind the populations that have allowed themselves be lead by impostors… from the presidents of false precious demeanor, puppets from the bankrupt well of souls, to the dictators with their military savvy to conquer with war on their wet brains… the blood drips in discriminate drops, that with thick sounds, thud upon deaf ears selectively hearing what they have been meant to hear… a dislocation from spine and forefinger as buttons are getting pushed down every day, to frown and dismay in the wake of their bombs displayed, and ringing with praise as thin membranous threshold flies away… the god awful drags the humanity phase through the mud of simple convention, a grouped demonstration of the mad limits of power for the mysterious interpretations of the intellectual side, but disguised by the blatant misdirection to create an atmosphere of panic and manipulation… the veil designed to eliminate confronting our worst sides of self, made to describe the many things with metaphor and analogy on the other side of this “god wall”, and Here we are still straining and staining the ground to hold us all together… the weight of our pressures on each other and one another crushing, squeezing the spirit from our bones as we gather the momentum necessary to break through this self-imposed ‘fuck-it-all’ attitude… this is where we happen to need to seek a difference in our natural way learned to interpret this land of escapes, the preconceived attention is there in the form insight and lesson, but is there ever really anyone there to reinforce those impressions?… i think our ideas are very limited about ourselves, but we rely on these ‘bass awkward’ ways to eat and digest what we perceive, as the individual grows and progresses from the merely animal to the heavily misunderstood actual human being…

Abusing the substance.

shuffling around only if you are so bored by the opened eyelid to see the cruelty inherent in this place, some of the beasts appear to take the human shape, but still others have to conform to other disguises… the aliens within us, and not the chest-bursting psycho freaks either, more or less that particular signal that filters through the organic matrix that houses our individuated soul… these are the cyphers to crack cosmic code, and even early humanity has had access to these forces and abilities, that psychic penetration into the flesh… for some this consciousness falls away almost immediately after birth, and this is what we forget in order to assume the next form of life, all things return to this state of living incarnation… even as sands of time shift and weave a spell over the world, in some way this linear model runs parallel to the dynamic energy that clings to all aspects of this rich plateau, neglect inevitably follows the conflict between what is said and that which is done to maintain this precarious reality…the eternal balance between earth and mind, matter and consciousness, and it is in the space between all these muscular works that the synapses fire… the sequence begins again to create new agents to view this world still further differently from what ancestors claimed would remain from the point of their age of incarnate existence, now they join with the spiritual mass on the other side of obvious perception, but their material parts divide into the rest of the living mass… ripples run into each other everywhere in this great sea where monsters manipulate the waves, it seems more and more like humans were just meant to distract themselves long enough, but to perceive what particular ends i ask?… claims riddle us with statements of serving and protecting the people, but money ends up being the great diplomat in the quest to recreate dreams and meet needs, a false god that the elite have come to worship in their shadow temples to the selfish ego of control… promised control over their own lives by giving into the greater control that external forces will push persons to submit to in order to gain anything in alignment with the hunger for more, and these selfish hungers for control represent the beast of human menace, these entities bedevil the souled human at every turn especially the ones that empty their organic portal into the depths with reluctance… tortured human robots that willingly allow their humanity to be sapped and perverted to satiate the needs of another force altogether, the united network of victims ins the new state of ‘Merica, but maybe this has really been the dominant truth all along…rules set by opinion, the rulership ideals of the wealthiest percent of the populace, and is there any wonder why we fear our police?… placated by massive amounts of “good” drugs to appeal to our commercial gods haunting us via the television lands projected into our minds, shamed into thinking we are nothing if we do not buy into the current regime which of course is part of the lie they feed us, and the guilty meat surges through our intestines forcing us to be hopeless tools in the societal discombobulation… the structure malformed by the purposes moved askew by the ones who do not hold the power, but this is the problem, we each affect the greater whole in a wide range of things we cannot see with our eyes… we haven’t done anything about our own plighted state because of the fear and panic in allowing ourselves to fall into ruin and disrepair, in looking for the next new thing we see instead of searching for answers to the lingering questions

Man, that's bogus.

people are such vapid inhuman things, the animals before conscious sense is merely a humanoid perhaps, and any claims otherwise are sorely tested by the rest of the experiment of being… the man i am is still that young boy that realized how unfair the world really is after the point where any learning or teaching would have changed the destination, people are shards of something brilliant at first, but yet still so fragile and horrible when given time to think for themselves… the standards stand there explaining things like a sphinx in heat, so willing to drool upon the meat as the human is stutters stricken with fear at getting the whole riddle wrong, but where are these overgrown selves to fight away the menace?… are we the new wave of Ebionites, Here to be extolling on the virtues in this spiritual cramp in the side of those ‘Jesus Fish’ lies, and dropping the wealth of an externalized material world to enjoy poverty with fresh eyes… a heart of good and positive things restrained by the contradictory nature of humanity, but the steady glare from the sunshine blind work whorse kind of humans forces one into an inner reflection of sorts… it is difficult to feel sane everything does damage to some extent or another, catching the awareness off-guard with a comment or an accidental miscalculation, but always moving somewhere under the surface of the skin like the disease in remission… the negative being underneath the surface hologram projections of what we call ‘human’, craving to understand what living really is through a mechanical puppet of flesh and bone, but not willing to make the sacrifice of self or ego to become one or the other… instead choosing to pursue control as trained by our intolerance and dislikes, and leading to further social pollution via disdain and indifference through the years, spawning all the deranged qualities inherent in knowing eventual peace in the sprawling emptiness left… even as the ritual summoned a smiting deity, the cosmos found itself needing a way to cleanse the corrupted demiurge from within the system, and Jesus seemed to be a perfectual fall guy… and as a christ-like emanation imbued him with understanding and wisdom, so too did the world need to change shape, and a contradictory essence both real and ethereal was categorically denied by the world at large… most people now reveal only the most positive bits of information about themselves, whether online or real and in person, and this crazily endeavored sequence promotes the random functions of chaos… the caustic sanity intense and remote as the human struggles with attainment of some probable equalization, distractions of all manners smacking one in the face without respect of forewarning, and this dream flows and foibles its way along the destination to something lifelike…

the Slow Children.

the dangers of becoming part of the robotic massive that utilizes the human form so casually, mimicry of the half-asleep sub-dermal programming in millions of random numbers, but this does not make your future any better… instead it makes your empty worthlessness exist by leaps and bounds against the grain of real time urge for necessity, and you decide firmly that there has to be a reason worth the time and the effort spent to maintain a particular lifestyle, however false this might really be in all actuality… trite self-delusion of ultra-human-type literal mind, to take heed to take warning, and come out of the whole ordeal as though the sparkling clean maestro of the eso-meta-physical… nothing cures the whirl of social anxiety like the dual effects of herb and lager… this too slows function rationale down a little for the jester to become the more efficient in being annoying and obnoxious in the extreme, as the conscious mind relaxes in its logical pursuits, and the passionate soul would rather overtake the emotions of the carnal beast… the sluggish inner dimension blown wide open for the furnace chamber it is, the heart centered at the top of the ribs, and the pulse a dead beat rising in rhyme to the reason twisting the corpse alive… the labyrinthine threads through which the needle eye accepts only a few, the straws that break the camel’s back, and your mother becomes suddenly struck awake and alive as well… up through that rotted birth canal which we all jettison through, the womb has no other choice than to obey the fist, this the where the creative purge comes in handy, so-to-speak… the Slow Children are not necessarily retarded children, but merely socially unacceptable mental cases to some degree, this is the haunting realism to the situation currently prescribed the vacant mind through a spastic reflex media… condemning the softness with a militant edge, the soldiers who know nothing and want for nothing other than the next fight, and the excerpt for straight uni-dimensional reality that has underlined “conform or die!!!” is too perfect a mantra to be real in the grand spectrum of all wavelengths together… at once reborn and born for the very first time Here on the mortal plane, at first the mindless sensate vessel oblivious to the world at large, and then in the the next phase of life as creatures learning to cope with all the various cruelties inherent in this fleshly gore… these strange commandments control and condemn the soul to harsh and unyielding rebuke, devil’s advocate i play to wield the persona with the particular graces of charisma and spectacular faith in the ways i work the judicial system, but i am not going to accept just any certain reality that makes too many things a simple rotting finale to the whole process… the family togetherness is what i am looking for when i think of my pet projects, many ends of the same concept holding the uniform appearance intimately connected, but maybe my hopes are too far set into the future…

Pissing on life's poor model.

the challenge being to maintain this awkward place of frequent imbalance, displaced by the constant shifting in the emotional sands, and left to murder our own myths as the scope requires us in hind sight… the shortcomings work the nerves with disgusting and rejected fervor, a reckless restless heartbeat of broken and tired urges, and mocking the wiles of the domesticated gist dedicated by the simplistic servile units the world wants us to become… why hyde the syde that frees your mynd, and these are the factors that tense and relax mutual respect for mind and body as the dynamic forces ebb and flow through me, we are gradually compacting into the earth as we naturally break down… digested by the world in what seems to us like lifetimes all at once through varying layers separated by a linear acceptance of what is… i have to confess up to my fair share of the mess, though, i must realize that there is no justification or good excuse in avoiding my responsible weight no matter how i try to look inside of my heart… to disguise the problem still just leaves the space for pain and guilt and epic wastes of energy… the wheels of a mystical complex given to static claims in the conundrum of real time haste… struck with trying to define for myself the definitions that are already there, which we are all grinding away one at a time in too many directions to count easily, and the seesaw sides flip left and right as the progress narrows and then widens in bursts too quick to capture the method to enslaved in anything but hindsight… when we are seeing history lie to us all outright, we figure we can disapprove of it the next half of the moment, but until then we are focused solely upon the outcome… underneath the crevice of everyday simplicity, the start of artistic resonance when it is already too difficult to gauge for an all or nothing worthwhile reaction, and to all those people never met who will be so into my vision once in stages of completion….I love you all… even if we never visit again this rich and splendid foulmouthed fountain called earth, i will champion this halfbreed attempt at humanity, but only as the ephemeral mood has hit me in the burning candle of life….the incandescence is bright and intense from inside, but once outside the center of the flame, the universe might seem expansive quite objectively to one with the eyes to see it from that distance… where the flame resembles the calescence of our cosmic solar star game, and humanity crawls upon but one planet circling graciously and pseudo-synchronously with the other hulking masses still, waiting and influencing the drama as it begins unfolding through us and the rest of the environment...

Succumb to my ghost.

tricky is the wish of the person who makes things happen, using and abusing others kind qualities to make their own plans work… the leaders do not lead a cause, they subjugate it to their will, and bring authority where there was only a natural balance previously… the disgraceful memes layered inside the head makes me feel particularly sick, but to speak as though i am chained to this environment around me is a cowardly thing to feel, because it is all in my hands to do with what i will to be… my words merely condense this struggle with imbalance as i experience every last detail… whether it appears written or sits on the surface of thought until it is done, and becomes ready to be spoken aloud by someone… getting locked into a sure and organic way of processing the information as it sweeps right through me… the sucking whole that responsibility has made me… a good person beyond the germ of judgment implanted in my chest, the metaphysical data just below the heart, and on fire with the friction of every day as the dynamo spins… propaganda urges pushing and tempting the people to terrorize themselves by their own hands, stalking a populace made for management and manual labor, and the hooves of the devilry ruling with cackling madness simulation of royalty… compulsion of derision for the under classed and downtrodden as they spray into the streets for a fix of the good life, but to each unique required step to reach the dream, there are many who would wish to see the other plummet to their death… there is never quite so complete an ending to any life, but how many of us held captive really live through this thing called ‘existence’?… i would wager only a few can be truly worthy, for whatever that might mean to you, and this is because of the influences that all seem to just randomly come together in the shallows of this wading pool… some shallow impulses and others are dragons curled up in the bellies of the populace waiting to strike out, these energies reach a meltdown level if relief is contained away from the conscious mind, and there can only be explosions if there is never a release for these energies go into reverse after awhile of being trapped by the monotone of treacherous comforts… the distorted analysis from a mind’s eye view of stagnant disease, this crawling anxiety that gets pawned off onto me through the mutual weapons of shame and guilt, but can concentrate at the neck-jerking pace of haste so common to the custom today… of man misleading humanity as a whole, the rise to the supposed top of the heap, but all there ever was is the feeling for wanting a place… whether in the dirt or the architecture of this structure we call ‘home’, we consistently seek out the wages of “sin” to give us comfort, and this all plays right into the money trap as well… have currency, will travel, but to seek fortune without financial interest is the uncommon… some fiends feed on/ gain more information from negative stimulation, and most of the opposite kind derive energy from the positive influx of situations, there are as many different ways as there are people to perceive and regain these basic needs… are we just one giant pinball surging through the machine altogether as one whether we have a vested interest in the direction or not, or does the energy used come kinetic from the interactions between the one, and that multitude so large as to be considered an emptiness?… a holy schematic of flesh overlaying the enduring adaptability of the human soul, ideally aware of both surroundings and mood at the same time as the individual opinion is defined by a conscious thoughtfulness, but carved also by forces beyond a personal capacity to arrange directly in the ebb and flow of tangible shift… as the nails go in, after the lid has been shut down tight, think of this and Here is my voice…

A desirous mutant.

the solution to mass extinction would be to prove that human beings can survive through the toxic and abusive parents, the authorities that might try to imply living a life but at what cost, and what of the general will made law?… something quaking in the parameters of worship that most people give in to, in one fashion or another, and to a variety of deities… from god money and the avatars of currency, or the contradictory and constricting modes of religion, even science pervades this alternate nexus region of the mind where fiction and literal interpretation combine to create an actuality… though all these sub-ages are merely layers further developed from the model of pure thought/ consciousness, as it crosses the gaps between dimensions, to seed the greater expanse of matter with micro particles of idea… this creates flux, and the energy implied by this kind of output is absorbed and reflected by the conscious window we all seem to be looking out through, one at a time each seeing from a vastly different scope of vision… many systems may apply to the further narrowed articulation of primordial energies, spirits of matter riding out the dynamic pulse of conscious thought, and it is perhaps that matter (earth) and the conscious (wind) comprise two basic elements on opposite ends of this spectrum, becoming a bridge or bandwidth between these to “worlds” of vague energy… through the heart of this ‘bandwidth’, pulsating between realms of mind and body, is the ‘wavelength’ of kinetic force reflecting and opposing the stasis of the material and conscious forms that is and can be interpreted a number of ways… each element has its own implied internal push or resonance that retains its place in the protean cycle of things, but the physical and the ephemeral each have their potency residing in extremes of constancy, slowly and deliberately with focused directions unwinding… while the essences of fire and water are like the eyes in the storms of either “major” element, or like the symbol of the yin/ yang cycle, with earth as the dark side of the circle and air as the bright white opposite… water resides within air as the center while the fire finds a place inside earth, the unstable and mercurial elements stabilized by the consistency of the other two elements, but it is inside this system that this tension creates motion from the cosmic pressure… varying the sight of sides on coins to be flipped between thumb and forefinger, visions of duality charging the changing of mind with will of fate, and guiding the grind to a halt with a smack of the hand… taking the pain from those fastidious minions of the meat parade, the ruler tries to break the knuckles to train the beast, and utilizes the violence to reinforce the mood of fear and panic… themes strung along on bare threads of detail… boiled to the surface by the heated debate between sources of authority, and movements made in err to be judged harshly in scapegoat willingness to become the wrong one, and swallowing those half-masticated lies force-fed our way by the brain dead despised with rhetoric lives… fighting to keep what little territories are necessarily controlled by the mad hordes of tribal families, drawing their lines in the sand, and waiting for the slur of change to occur rudely and without a shamed pace…

Fitting manic write.

i have almost seemed to abandon the odd scheme of the tentacle penetration scenarios, but with yet another new learning for the trial and tribulation of testing, this new test pattern is incorporating all my stories… utilizing two full decks of tarot cards, as complimentary tools to one another, but in the various multitudes of dualistic forms as representing the twin forces in nature… this is an exercise in characterization, one of my weakest suits in the writing game, but i can begin to make a dent in configuring my characters… this is what i plan on using the tarot decks for, in proxy for the dichotomy of the real that reveals itself slowly, but also as an item with dynamic transference from the imaginary into the revealed… a subtle but powerful re-invigoration of the literary arts, to inject my characters with pronounced traits instead of being personally blanked by the lack of unique quality to my personifications, but this is part of the new challenge to some degree… if it works out well, you could be seeing more finished stories, but i wouldn’t want to intrude on bringing your hopes up on behalf of my work, sometimes you can get lucky if you really try at something different for a change… my new system is rather simple this time, and definitely hits some of my weaknesses hard in the guts, not only utilizing the tarot cards in character development… i have a new timing belt developed for my advantage, instead of giving myself so much shit for being lazy, i have figured out a scheduling orientation that just might suffer the trick… and it is just vague enough, read adjustable, to come up with many different ways to apply the bloated corpse to my haphazard attempts at literary justice… the jurisfiction of other authors’ dreams become something more than themselves as we begin to see them all quite a bit differently now… anyway back to my new system, three “days” of the week are devoted to writing, just writing and no particular slow mulling over the manuscript that could be considered editing… if anything notes just need to be made more frequently, the process of bringing concepts together, and linking them to one another through the connective tissue there somewhere… the next three days are for editing, and can be for any number of the stories that i am working on, so watch out… i do think i will start with the “tentacle-raped” scenarios, and finish those first of the utmost need, with the fairly unpolished ‘Toys’ stories getting some practical attention… on the alternate side of my art, the musical muscle i need to flex more to get better, i am throwing this too into the same system… the first three are practice-oriented days, working more with what i know, and trying until i feel confident in the consistency of the motion and feeling translated… the next three days are constructed around songwriting and composition of mainly my own work, but also for the greater purpose of understanding the work as well, finding it necessary to track the challenges as well as the ideas in order to gradually learn what to do what feels right… the last of the seven day struggle is basically a freedom-to-relish period in the artistic vision...

Swaying foolish apes.

everybody is relatively happy on payday, until the mistakes start becoming the overwhelming theme, but how can we be so short sighted when the tendency is to manipulate each other?… thinking ten steps ahead seems to be the mission, but few people are taught with the skills to plan things appropriately… the mutilated remains of unique appeal, catapulting a way out of his swill, born with a bad karma bent over by god… everyone says that they are willing to sacrifice, but more often than not just paying lip service to avoid any real response… we are the receptacles for delight and hatred, the questions for reasons, and co-mingling with other beings in other directions… the band is vital entity as a handful of unique beings with traits influenced by every other part of the world, but quickly in the dying age as we rest on the toilet of the future, straining to push that potential energy past our cheeks… we realize our place in subtle movements, pristine moments that force us to provoke and confront our mechanical role models in place to perfect the craziness again and again…the difficulty is emotionally bound, these territorial entities within our life-borne forms, and then the delicious interlude, dudes… that feeling superseding the mood, the bliss appearing just before acknowledging the food, and this digestion of the world we see today of all days in any ways as we please to taste… even with all of the shit and the waste, to experience something with curiosity rather than nothing makes us great, but wondering more if we can outlast the long and drawn-out wait… the foolish aspect to this reality we hold so dear is necessary as unforgivable as stupidity can be, it is a needed element in the acceptance of reality for what it is, but it would only seem as if we dance to the pied piper on the surface of the thought… only confronting the rare issues head-on, but it takes a certain quality of graceful instinct for courtesy and respect to move before your assumptions, the magic comes later and of a timing specific all its own… the binary sequence radiating throughout us all and our cosmic knowledge, the elements of physics and the fantastic display of reality, but also the necessary understanding of what it is to be concrete… holiday wasted zombies fill a street, but these zombies are still part of the work week swinging thing that creates the swirling suck that amasses some many souls, the workers within the hive mind mentality to feed the false queens… leaders that fill the default needs of nations next to utterly neglected vessels once the few resources are tapped out by the vampiric commercial fangs, fingers and tentacles in everything, tricking the populace into believing the lies for just a few more goes-around-comes-around motions for the sake of profit and capitalist waste… even artists need to feed, the merely starving are desperate for the change of posthumous fame, and with that familiarity create their own vehicles into the phuture of existence… striking out on their own for the history of the rest of their familial ties, in pursuit of the sublime wretch of whatever happens to be left of celebrity jeopardy by the time they become famous for whatever it is they do, but sometimes this kind of singular fame can cater to the wrong crowds…

Every ordinary dream is fascist.

we are the collective Here, raised with rancid the distaste of previous generations, and embittered by the recount of imperfect life experiences in mortal endeavor… a frustration of impediment suckling the courage toward risk, the movement towards something better perhaps, and it is this hanging noose that drags me along in distorted thinking with second guesses flinging… a mimic, a makeshift of what a human is, but is it a being that feels more or less than the animal?… a functional humanoid exploited by a system in effect, the whispered of massive machine that seems inevitably separated by time and space, but is as yet the fine kinetic machinations inside of a bright cosmic structure of unknown origin… in “control” of this bygone thoughtless thing that moves and jerks along at a steady rhythm, but the dreaming mind snares the distracted passive might have interest to spill, thoughts floating caught on tangential motes in the air we breathe… the notes before the seed, those eloquent ways of speaking falsely that only makes sense after the fact of what you see, and the dust and decay gets swept up in the bubble we say is “ours” spreading that conscious viral need… even as that consciousness expands beyond all around us, the primal elements seem to reach up through our bodies, and resembles the ancient prototypical parts of random syzygy breaking down through the ‘as-many-organisms-at-one-time’ theory… linking back to those proposed ancestor spirits even if we really only originate from one particular quality of universal chain, the brutal step back on the tips of missiles and bombs, and unrelenting in its fascist attempt at desolate versions of the future… the retrolink jerking-off in the sinking grave god gave him, at last trying to reveal a past some sense of the spectral anchor, but fighting back the mortal yearn for connection seems antithetical to the human condition… may the false fates first move out of the skeletal antechamber that is my head, to grasp another possible belief in reality fostered by the words and truths of other people in relatively similar situations, but always under the generally upheld auspice of the human being…

Distorted gain.

we were all raised to some extent to embrace the infinite potential for growth, but many of the base ideals have been dissolved by the curse of humanity needing to grow constantly, the restless urge of conquest and reckless leadership… it would be so fitting that the cosmos has these cruel characters linked and lead each other over the edge of oblivion, but why do all of us have to follow them, why do we not just sack those fucking bastards sucking the whole of culture further down… a blank degeneration works against us as the next generations grow up without anywhere to go to, but upward into the unfathomed vertical territory that our minds try to explore in dreams and certainties… we get whatever we want because we pursue those things with such fervor and persistence, that nothing can be stable for long with the dissatisfied at the helm of cultural motion, and there can be no peace without respect being integral to any personal exchanges of energy… our circuits are thrown out of whack by this complicated system of raw nerves and insulting jerks, it is surprising this machinery hasn’t come to a stop years ago, but Here we are now with all our gadgets and mutations intact… at some level we get distracted from our own goals by the culture we support, undertaking the goals of group as a cheap substitute to personal growth, but there are times when even this mentality becomes too overwhelming to sustain… the more we apply our collective will to manufacture the poison and garbage that fills our world, the more this total gain distortion will rumble and spasm reality like an overly filled washing machine, and will spin and spin if left unattended… we have grown into our roles as purveyors of mess, and we feel as though we cannot go back on what we made, nothing is that linear or set in stone when it comes to action… it can all spiral out of control, or into the control of the few, if we let it happen at all… we have no need of the fancy auto as much as we might think we are entitled to one because of how hard we work… we build up so much from so little, but rarely if ever do we see the odd shapes defining and collecting at the corners, the general sense of we as us seem to react with the same integrity of absolutes as anyone else out there… sometimes it takes that sudden realization to move the mountains, the orgasms of junk that our culture is known for, but just a further extension of imperialistic fascism from those ancient Roman memes of superiority passed hand-to-mouth for endless centuries… we still use variants of Latin in our daily effective use of language, and somewhere through the mistaken belief that history becomes the way to order our lives upon, creating some kind of safety blanket reality for the imaginary consensus to prove themselves pleased with this ignorance confronting them now… old systems need to be razed to function in an ever-changing universe, but doesn’t mean heaven needs violence to occur, this is the flawed perspective of the “nemesis” that we have in this culture… the requested task to remove the negative to create a perfected idea of universal truth, however there is only speculation and opinion to place this single truth in absolute dominance over every other thing after it, and this is the bias on which swings most of our hope and dreams into shattered pieces that leave markings and shrapnel on the hides of the devotees… this materialism has an equal, antagonistic quality to “concrete” reality...

Pigs on the march.

they step right up, march push crawl, right up on their knees… well doesn’t it make you feel better?… jesus the warlord of space/ time Here, he siphons the soul energy of others, absorbing and suckling to reconstitute himself into incarnation… a mutant warlord to overtake our collective consciousness with old school brutal fury, relying on that primal sense of vague intent just to rule and conquer, and killing off those whom will not convert themselves to this new world order soon… the fish bears the sinister dreams, a myth predisposed of a good-natured disguise to break the bits to compartmentalize the truth into sequences of controlled mob mentality, and create a populace in fear and panic… to stuff it up inside of our pants to make us feel the electrodes used to fry our primal urge to dust, kill the rebellion, and come away richer and more developed than the rest… the elite of the consensus suck bringing the void in through the whole in the cosmic rectum, sucking the shit out to give to those who cannot commit themselves truthfully, and then the sludge finally gives way to becoming the compost to make life better… used and plagiarized as the excuse for a mechanical god to rule by systemic infection, the proletariat portion without a care to rule themselves, but giving over all goods and services to the noxious powers-that-be only to realize that the world in which they live is created by their own hands… everyone wishes to be an authority for themselves, but with certain forces limiting the extent to which the information flows to us, taking the fiery flame of hate too far indeed… trying to fake out the outsiders by making them think that they want to be like the rest of the cannibal culture eating its young, taking the learning human brains to replace them with some tainted mythological tissue-washing procedure, and robotic forms a-droneing along with the banshee’s cries in the night… i am glad the rebellion keeps surging ahead, and maybe i will be one of those to reveal the real behind the glamor, one of the astute consciousnesses that are required for the bulk to move… the better destination is there somewhere… maybe the ideal rapture is a religious state of berserker mode that possesses the zealots under the jesus lizard sway, a reptilian beast training the others how to kill in his name, and the ghouls in his command turning into drool-dropping blood drinkers with zombified creature features… taking the ritual too far for a martyred impurity that the deity claims is unfit for human development, or i should say that it is the will of the “masters” of religious exploitation, making their disciples and devotees take arms against one another with the goal of population control at the top of the listed plans… the hidden agenda allows for the shadows to grow and move beyond the massive dark force that spawns this horizontal bandwidth of evil, the deviltry emanating from the anti-bulk of the beast as it drift through human ages, and those on a vertical plane leaving trails of their dead behind to feed the furnace of human souls… recycle, reduce, reuse…

Thanks, khet.

you are The more fucked-up.

each leading to another person and yet still more as the force of positive change drives closer to an edge, where the selfish ego bastards swing their fists devoid of humane values or worth, and soon even tea parties will not save the supposed best at their game… the resolution between the creative and the ignorant will come with the elimination of conflict, maybe, but with the removal of any class struggle for sure… lacking any real thing to subdue the pain other than an advancement beyond this murky assemblage of parts we find ourselves within, an acceptance of our basest desires through acceptance of ourselves as we are is needed, and the way to utilize a dark frame of perspective for some good use as well… to quote heavily from the Wikipedia resource; “a person is always either master or slave, and there are no real humans where there are no masters and slaves… history comes to an end when the difference between master and slave ends, when the master ceases to be master because there are no more slaves, and the slave ceases to be a slave because there are no more masters… synthesis takes place between master and slave as the integral citizen of the universal and homogeneous state created by Napoleon”… why, Napoleon?… was he particularly special, or in fact at all the savior in French undergarments, perhaps the most revolutionary emperor since jelly and toast in a mad world gone horribly wrong?… where frogs can be eaten on a regular basis if that is your taste, good sir, but let bad taste guide you on your way if you reject the normal cry of life… we are built from the bondage up, and without a real sense of self to give purpose and effervescence, at least at first when there are too many things to manage all at once… the random thoughts training off as the quantitative reality brings forth the unknown from vast slates of grey, a continuum beyond the material face, and which has access through eyes into our ideas and perceived intensities…

Wicked, the world twisted.

the words are the weapons, skewing logic and reason by inventing tricks of their own to counterbalance those real righteous forces that make the world work, and we are but one part to blame needing to realize the greater responsibility we play in creating this thing we see… people treat each other like various types of meats, and don’t necessarily prefer listening to a self-perceived string of ornamental syllables which may allow nonsense to flourish, as we must be the beings of pure intellect required to change this place… or is it just shooting blanks in the dark?… a total reversal of the psychotic logic we have come to claim as our own, the political prestidigitation is merely a rabbit up the sleeve for the fellow tricksters out there, and a tip of the hat towards the propagandist’s confusions as their marketing and mass appeal have made us believe what they want us to believe… profiting from the backwater crowd that makes their living toiling under the thumbs of a joyless future altogether wrong, working the machines that the commercial interest feels is necessary to make the masses furiously move into place, and to checkmate the opponents out of the game completely… the dead rabbit is Here the magic man, skinned and nullified of brains, but this dark ghost will not die or fade so easily away… the skeletal form lurks from a creepy closet locked closed by the other minds, they don’t want to truthfully acknowledge the presence of these previous victims living revenge, and cannot see the consequences of treacherous acts they commit themselves to as causes that shepherd the whole… however, this ‘mastery’ can only come through the reliance upon the others becoming the requisite ‘slavery’, and it through this lop-sided lens that we receive our salaries and vacation days… strangers who choose to vacate their simple predisposed roles, refuse to barter for goods in exchange for their feats of labor, and the strange days that take away the pain from knowing the other side of this class struggle… where there is a death struggle in the realization of self-consciousness, this new relationship grows out of the truth of oneself as self-conscious because neither can die, or the realization never occurs honestly enough to be acknowledged properly… it becomes a false fate that we dance around carefully...

control the Impulse.

it has no bias yet, that calcified and narrowed view comes with age, but the ability to discern different stimulus is inherent to our predicament… no genius am i, but these naturally occurring strains of thought hit me with an uncanny sense of realism, while at the same time revealing the illusory presence only thoughts seem to evoke… the child within me craves to make sense of the chaos, but the adult has become placid and unconcerned with affairs of the practical, imagination becomes that double-edged s-word that strikes with bizarre contemplative certainty… the animal instinct wishes to defy the trained impulse to obey the authority overwhelming us, ‘move fast and think simple’ it says, like a voice inside of our heads… the punishment always seems self-inflicted before they become concrete realities for any of us alone, held behind bars for the obstruction of a justice too small to perceive easily, and we are left in the dark until the charges hit like a brick… the flashy badge-wearing cunts and dicks all make it absolutely known that they carry the authority on their own shoulders, they are the representatives of a compassionless and internally-corrupted institution which chooses to beat the influences down pulp-like to feed the soil, and the blood shed means nothing but criminal sport for those who can get away with it… the entity ‘control’ has two aspects when it comes to human intervention, the demonic and the discipline, and one constricts life while the other releases it respectively… with forces like these, you need a healthy respect to keep the negative effects at an arm’s length away, but courage always relies on the fear of risk to push boundaries further… the cannibal culture denies what it doesn’t like, and chooses to eat whole the concepts it can’t digest properly, the two-dimensional view of the ouroboros from above and outside… it will always look like the devouring spirit from there, but from the space outside of time, it appears as the spiral or maybe as the double helix of some genetic gradient of particles…