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…

To fuckland be damned.

this is the new space for protein pacification, polar particles in the real time thermodynamic state of being our burdens to bear, and this is the evolutionary throwback with details like the extra long tale where it shouldn’t be… becoming roving packs of social Darwinism making wrongs instead of rights, as following Haeckel’s recapitulation theory at large in diminutive perspective as the hordes of the mainstream population, and our embryonic journey has yet to finish… as the tail might recede into the coccyx to form the modern human, the living idea moves through substance into yielding at the developed being, but the most sophisticated part in the brain develops last which leaves the question how many of us tend to be least likely to adapt appropriately?… our society founded on archaic hearth wisdom from aeons ago when Ouranos was first castrated by Cronus, rites masking as wisdom used against us by these social purists and selfish pursuits, and mocking the real people in place of a daydream that may never come true again… a remark on Lamarck before the soft inheritance of these traits comes true for you too, as you are now absorbing them through a brief scan with the help of acting as hosts to these various equivalents of cultural genetics, but your mind might as well act the unyielding membranous barrier to selectively choose the ideas most vital to adapting to a specific awareness… epsilon children in the twilight of our enlightenment period, and so now comes the need to learn and retain what experience we come away with, before the whole ‘sky-is-falling’ scenario comes horribly true for us all… come one, come all, come frequently… this is not a game show, but the real of the real where every dream must come true in order for immaterial laws to supersede the human needs, the atmosphere around us swirling like the artificial flakes in a snow globe… always wanting the ideal measure to take the place of our own impartial and impatient selfish super seeds implanted to make the most impact over all the basic generations of self, whether of our own tribe or not because our plant needs to grow further at any cost, but that price has always remained ambiguous until any factual effect has long come under display through the naked eye… the absorption through human osmosis of brain tissue, as shone through the prism of the intellect and analytical faculties, and projected from the absolute of humanity’s motion whether in the carved rocks or gilded towers of glass and steel… constantly in the sequence of pushing things past the metaphysical (astral and etheric realms) and physical layers as though the source were a heated plate, and we are the bubbles boiling below the surface of the water waiting to rise, the experience of our lives encapsulated within that bubble of time and space as we burst forth into the next state of being once the metaphor breaks loose of of its ideal constrictions…

Sunday before last.

it takes very little to secure a future in this world, but when one doesn’t sense the type of sacrifice it takes to bring a particular reality into quick appearance, all kinds of havoc and mayhem shine through the veneer of plastic false politeness through idle chatter… a delivery of free random verse about the various possessive ways wicked to the good character of the social beast that the human animal can be when there are few rules applied to these interactive situations requiring the being of human, civil and calm to better assess the activities derived from the ‘party down’ mentality, but few realize this is the primal tent pole sticking out of the ground… underneath the tent we are presenting a revival, or perhaps more aptly the devival of authoritative powers that be, their choice made long ago consistently upheld wrongly as a standard for no reasoning or great ideal other than controlling the populace by and large to make us a herd for consumption of whatever sort deemed worthy… the fall of vast corporate motion through the factories and commercial farming to be replaced by the digital realm as overseer, the central force purging the world of its heavy burden of blame and waste, but better organized before becoming greatly fucked up in any grandiose manner by our own unwieldy desires… the repetition of stories made up by the convincing strains of characterization projected forth like a mission, the strength of the individual tale wrapped inside its characters, and it is Here that i find myself on a solo plane in my reality bubble… the imaginary yields but singular fruit at times, and usually when no one is looking directly at the product created, the energy of the audience transferred to charge the magic needed for the person to be pulled in by the merits of the storytelling alone… but the reader is no mere hermit nor necessarily a powerful magician with the abilities to define layers of symbolic meaning, there is no lack of expression for those who commit themselves to the goal beyond the glory, we thank the gods and kiss the feet of whatever forces we wish to appease most in our lives… torturing ourselves through a mass production misery that thinks it is constantly expanding, distracted perhaps enthralled by our effects on other people, but we need to see the possibility for growth if there is ever any way to get beyond these skeletal structural remains… some would prefer to argue in other rhetorical directions as though we are merely the servants to our senses, and we remain subdued by our fetishes for control in this experimental place that has yet to really pan out any serious statements of intent, as the hive mind tries to subvert humanity through the attention given to public cultural icons as it is turned into celebrity fascination to force a pulsating conformity onto the populace…

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…

the Queasy accent.

this ease with which we claim to know the ways of right and wrong, as though our ancestors have known them all along, but where was that compassion or resiliency towards other characters other than their own?… a connection gauged between the harbingers of past tyrannical action, and only the mere mention of puritanical behaviors in guise of lip service to being more understanding of moral instinct weighed by a challenged few, and with intelligent way of going about the business of making us all whole with each other as a species… where we are the guilty and floundering spirit of innovation as peak oil drains from the stocks and barrels keeping this crashing lifestyle afloat, we are still always rediscovering that information that unknown sources have intentionally tried to keep away from our prying minds, and the conspiracies are not just in the throes of theory anymore as we are living in the pre-apocalypse age of conspiracy fact that we have been manipulated from the start… however, there have always been other humans and/ or otherwise watching over the currency within our social seeming in total fascination from their vantage point, and the problem only seems to expand as the voracious optical delusion faithfully eating space materializes as the dread god money… the measured, accredited unit of energy the value of which keeps dropping as the echoes of heroes reveal their merely shadow steps imprinting the madness upon other desires and ideas of wealth, and too many of us still train to see this system as the catch-all to isolate and filter for the things we need to keep this huge hulking juggernaut coasting along… the reality is not truth, and the truth is equally not entirely real yet, as much as we complain that we require it to be otherwise for anyone to survive this nasty debacle we have ourselves locked into with irony… in the wringer entwined with the casual assuage of our own meat, the wanton physical pulls orgasmically spastic in their ways out of our limp and battered forms, but yet we still feel that alien link with only two alternates of conscious reflection… that dichotomy cutting our training in twain like an etheric lobotomy, as the engine we are born with endeavors to digest its share of the material that is Here, but at no matter the cost to the struggling host outside of itself sometimes… unconscious of the ability that the mind has of getting away with itself, all tangents of thought as they open up through this organic portal, but it is the choice of the human being what stimulus it might wish to embark upon over the course of an existence on the real plane always…

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...

Dandy lyin'.

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…

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…

Authority vacant.

only to become completely unnerved at the moment’s notice, the cells are weakened as the authority is vacant, and reamed with the likes of the worse of them… some goal appears as if to automate our own need to be lead around by the leash, the other humans are too tired of becoming the bad guys over and over, and the shape of natural needs motivated underneath the seeds laid deep… the incredulous tick-tocking, non-stopping drive ill-bent without substantial relief, but to whose hands are upon the wheel moving us forward?… usurping the collective will and then taking us into the sun, a heartbeat away from our doom, but we don’t run instead we dive right into the wave as it hits us… the solar instinct burning hatred into us as we squint our eyes one by one, grabbing for a piece of that once shining now rapidly fading bit of dreaming, but sleeping too early does not come cheap for the weak or the burly… a runt-sized roulette where the russian spins in fits, someone has been shot by the gun, but the fun isn’t over yet until you get the joke… some have placed a bet, and others are riding long-shots that will never come around, until the brink of collapse has become the main overwhelming fear for many of the denizens in this pit… scaring thoughts that override the system in place to survive and react, but what some would consider the goal to protect, is actually a bid in the game we all seem to be playing in… the catch is that we never win, unless one of us can subvert though not break the system, and cannot understand the rules except for the particular few bred and named as the heads of state and all progress… no one to guide us into the positive vibration, which isn’t to say that the concept lacks credit, but few people believe the liars aware of some truth… the empty look in our eyes as we open up to reality in the context of another human being, as the abilities to damage the intense directions through lax diction to fake the first lines in another song or play at words, but wondering loudly with an instinctual character creation facet puzzling all residual abysmal feeling and thought-form… ‘away-away… you fucking, crevice-faced cretins with your device-driven hardware… negative spiritual energy suckling upon my creative teat… allowing me to crave the same on the same plane as the rest of us today, if only if, and the positive flow of gracious calm and restraint glows and within me i feel the sane… the fire inside my heart glows deep, the muse rendered through a sick infatuation, but yet the muse reappears again in disguise of mirth and a-muse-ment… the raptures of laughter in a simple place… let the sick who want to eat, chew, and let the the masques of the mighty fall by the wayside as the giants loose themselves upon this collapsing cage built through fears… the energy to suffuse the panic and public opinion of the people with a dedicated circuit that loops over and over until the switch is turned off by a licensed technician, or the use of a shamanic position to quell the fury of by gods unleashed through the manic, spastic memes viral like disease to assume there is meaning or proof… the cries of the carrots appear differently through the many millions of ears and other organs of sense’...

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…

Pausing cautiously.

he culture that cradles one when they first wake up becomes the cannibal saint training you the survival games we play, as though the purpose really is so great, but it is epic on many scales and layers as we master the personal disasters that plague one throughout adulthood… pushed on by the inflicted ideal of the state, another dog thrashing about leashed onto the sleigh, and we are all Here to move the monument which has become our crazed cultural icons… to admit my submission to a whole wide world that knows nothing of me is to prepared for the return of that energy, the hologram selves await the gathered initiative to move, and a deep-seated urge to swipe a position between the ridiculous and the absurd to gather up the nerve… that quotient of eclectic electricity without violence, but signify the act covertly in the presence of others, unhindered by curses nor criticisms thrown my way… the baiting and naive atrocious at lying to deceive, an aid in covering the evidence of hideous faces beneath the veneer, and with opinions filtered in by poll to await the occurrence of some unforeseen script error… to catch the cryptic statements in a safety network as they fall from thin silk, the trees unreal growing to root in our fetal zeal as the stumps grow out into leaves, and blown out like the knees as the aged threads become frail and slender without a mender to fix the seams… so now one must walk with a skiff, or at least some kind of structural support in place of the whim, dimwits with small minds challenge the fixed wedge as it wears thinner still… to give up too quickly is “retard”, or i’m sorry, to be retired… making us no better than any other moron among us, which we are anyway you slice it even if you defend yourself otherwise, and nearly everyone seems utterly blocked by this polarity of spirit… to move too quickly in a direction you wish uses velocity of state to make one numb enough to understand the new information, but polarizes those who have no idea of the range of experience within their vapid opinions based upon other opinion yet still, it seems as though no two ends of the same scaled and visualized spectrum would be able to be connected… however, it is this bizarre attraction between the opposites that literally reacts by pulling their frequencies together, and can be utilized in favor of true will if there is an earnest desire to learn and to know things unknown… what secrets on the issues of compromise and working collectively can be gleaned from the interaction between Here and there?… the eternal dreams can cast themselves aside for the greater good, but can we as human beings ever concede that we affiliate ourselves with more than the betterment of our works, some motion inside the circuitry created by this charge between polar forces… a reaction slowly melting down into one state of reality bent on dominating us through the back door in the dark of night, even those zombie agents of other things walk down the streets in daylight now, but do we can we even really see as we need to see?…

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…