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Another rarifaction of the enterprise so often mentioned in stodgy addresses to the assembly caught off guard or just caught in time with the present as it forgets itself so conveniently when it's time to vote. Then we see quite clearly how infected with malicious viruses we continue to gloss over in comprehensive reviews made to order by the powers meant not to be but are regardless of intent to serve the bigger picture or just the guy next door. It's a shame the vitality of beingness doesn't extend past the Hostess HoHo Twinkie racks in pinched convenient stores worldwide.
One more tiny thrust toward the center around the violation of the sacrosanct graces held highly by the underground priesthood best summed by the thoughts of eradication made popular in the age of discontent...just about any age if you think about it. The best hearts of the times sat not back, held themselves erect in the cause of addressing the management's supreme arrogance and pursued the quality inherent of the best of the best...which doesn't really say much besides what's regarded secretly in the back halls where the true adepts seek the source of their ambitions of gold.
In the divided realm between what's seen and not, in the hold of soul for the hunger of flesh, as they say, a turn of satisfaction conveys evil into the world mind, soul mind, and devolves the seeker, makes for the empire of dust, destroys the place held most high for heaven's alleged gaze...on the edge of the cliff, we stand and watch paradise fall away like a million birthday candles melting into the cake...so what can be done that hasn't been done to deconstruct this phantasm regarded for truth, this diabolical mindset erecting lies as gods?
How slaves are created from the moldy plastic at the bottom of the human beaker, precipitates following the onslaught no one can name or shape by reason of discernible logic...no source pit exists, nor the places of forgery. Monsters of mind with not a touch to be granted or sight to be revealed, squirm ever so lightly within, waiting for the cue, the moment of their earthly erection, watching minions work their nests unknowing, eager to please, eager to be seen, acknowledged, accepted by something even if that something lives unconsciously exerting the tiniest nudge, goading the slave forward.
OK, babe, the key's turning, and you better have the thing ready. There ain't no other route but the route that's been laid out clear like a mudcaked bell, like a bad relationship. It stinks, but that's the way it's supposed to be. Get used to it. Make it your friend, your best friend, your lover, your banker, your loan counselor, your divorce lawyer, your favorite rock star, your favorite bread, your best idea made while stoned, your neatest term paper written without cribs, your nicest pair of pants, your best shit, your favorite book, best traffic jam, best death.
Savage is as savage does in the continuum of desires by the value of belonging that distributes the confusions fair more readily in view of the ongoing contest to see who can reach the bottom of the top first, and last, being the ones deciding who understand why it's all folding inward to the necessary implosion and the grand insinuation of indecipherable clues, if actually decoded and assimilated, they might actually see the inevitability...but that's, let's say, a tad optimistic. Savage is as savage does...just be warned if ever the topic resumes in the halls of quiet anticipations.
This came as a tracking site of seeing toward the new beginning again after the imminent ends we called to our own, to belong to something greater after all the effort; for the effort is the growing beyond ourselves to a place and beingness that can't be codified or predicted. It is, we are, and we become the thing that defined us in the making of the thing before the thing itself was made. Cyclical devices without a means to say how are the tools were used to greet ourselves in a way that defies an ability to realize it.
Now comes that curling moment around itself to confuse those who depend on continuity in everything aside everything. There we sit on the piles of faces strewn helterskelter for a quantity of those determined to judge as they are wont for a need to stamp the arbiter of inconsistencies out like a match on the oven set so high we could hear it squeal its breath under the muscles of quaint determinism defined in the musty halls way back when the people so inflicted had no clue they were about to be counted as the walking dead for bad jokes.
Now, it's on a roll. The whole matter is scrolling out like a brilliant dream that reveals its secrets delicately and persistently. One needs only to pay attention, and the energy moves from one writer to the other, from one reader to the next, from one player to the other. It's a source pit of invention that defies its limits by its own intent to serve the creativity of all involved. It is a mounting storm, a growing entity, a rising star, a feverish alchemy from the crucible of light. This is what I've sought. This is what I've found.
How to assuage the dark parade of giddy laughers from within, the proud dissemblers of what was assumed true for you in the face of uplifting disasters defining how you posed yourself in the mirrored day of shifting psycho-platters bedecked with the acorns of Oaks gnawrled about a heart of fantastic dreams. Where can one place themselves truly and be seen as they are without the masks piling over intent, disguising the imagery you know to be the fluid of soul that flows tributary by tributary in a maze that defies not only you but the comic-book of God?
Delicious developments overnight in the cage of intent devolves and conspires with utter disbelief in nothing but what is occurring on the bright cusp of now and NOW, and I accede greedily, as an appetite, growing exponentially and dividing as a life form in spiritous vitro under the non-metallic examinations devoid of human hands, tendered by the delicate, minute attending by what others call pure imagination, billows, shudders, quakes, sighs and bellows for the passions awaiting ignition on the walkaday musings of the man possessing what he cannot assess or understand. This is the legacy he brings to light.
It's the beginning again. I know you've heard me say it a million times, but it is, it's true, the beginning. Again. Now, the veritable excuse given why nothing happens is but a ruse. Something does happen. It happens while you are expecting something to happen. That's always the case when you consider things like this. Expectation drives the anticipation at the appointed, alleged time, to a degree of frenzy disallowing clear vision, and the consequence, always seeming a surprise to those most affected, slips into obscurity immediately. The impassioned investigation slips onto milk cartons or the controversial TV pilot.
The vitals are on parade, and we got the plenty to round the bottom of the bucket out...simply put, we're on our way to valhalla of the golden sort; them who place no value on having what you already have, denying everything, then looking in all the wrong places are the very targets of my subtle intent to govern the appetites and make it clear to the hungry they never need to be hungry again, but let's face it, that's a hard order to fill, especially since most of them are in the markets cramming carts with plastic wishes.
Indeed, what will or other being of beingness compounds the raptures to a contracted fit to a blast beneath the structure of space itself, then disperses the fleeting lights as flotsum to the stars and jetsum to the eyes for those who see, for those who know, for those who hunger and are satiated by that which seeks digestion in a heart fluttering without cause or intent beyond its mere solidity on a landscape devoid of giving, bound to taking, starving by design the minions of its factories, leading the known into the pit of unknowing decorated as the grail?
From a quiet, frenzied distance came the chill, a vibrant outcry of nothingness well applied via indistinct shuddering shadows flitting to and for for the watchers' amusement and distractions. What harrowed sorrow and portent could only vy indelicately with the oppressive enemy situated cleverly in plain sight as the best of friends, most enthusiastic supporter, most reliable ally...none could see the violence approaching, masked so well by the benevolent persona adopted. Then came the next tier of involvement obviating default ethics, seen suddenly as insufficient to the task and quite idiotic; so came the storm by the guided hand.
Mere allusion is the sledge of my word, by the depth of momentum on the tip of harrow one can feel the impact prior to delivery; when it's best suited to the scene, be it by horrors inflicted in passionate disguise or willing conveyances by edicts passed down from those who only care to see death in its many colorful masks manifest on lakeside parties where the elder forms of peace have crumbled, a deadly nuance is slipped beneath the waters on a smooth move by the operative assigned to this particular grouping of escapees looking for a new world.
It's a rampant thing in the racing heart and mind of one who wonders at the sudden disappearance of a kindred soul. It is presumed some alien factor has invaded, intruded where I thought secure, a place sacrosanct and unique. Corruption occurs in a blink, hardly visible, especially to the one affected. All others close may see something shift, a subtle, tiny shift, yet distinct and profoundly deep, beyond their ken working its way to the center of sensibility and calm, straight to the cable box itself where transmissions begin and end; a box to be tooled by a grace.
Vibrancies on flows of hungry flesh bereft of the ability to ask, having no wherewithal on a platitude of decay, alters itself in the state of flow to accept what it cannot understand or assimilate by thoughtful process, yet assuming the position to open its avenue of possibilities exceeds the obstacles inherent to resistances laid on too long ago to recall, being shed by the flow, eradicating nothing but what is necessary to maintain good table manners when the relatives come to visit. Not too long on the rationale, one sees a new thing, a fresh growth of light.
A gray day begets a bright renewal offsetting the incessant parade of doubt and the dark shadows of anxiety accompanying news of nothing's grace after efforts exceeding all expectations, tunneling the excellence of firm judgments anchored in the brain's bay as buoys nodding their bright warnings to all impulses within range...beware, the malignant threat of the iconoclast, the rabid heart of the adventurer on the ascent toward the alleged knowledge, he or she is the danger and must be stamped out like a over-chewed cigar. This is the dome of my challenge, to be that thing of danger.
Now it begins, a new upsurge, demanding its voice be heard lest the dawn of new awareness be quashed by vain fears and denials of self in the face of oppressions aplenty vying for acceptance over truth offered by the force of experience aptly placed on a base of language befitting the gown to be worn by those who stay over cause devouring reason's bane by sacrosanct concealment, cleverly doled by the doctor mind wrapped about the scripts he knows all too well. The time is now. No time must be tripped off the scale for weighing in for truth.
It's about to begin. The call's been made. Action, foaming from the center of intent, bubbles the warming stems and celebrates in a primitive form of smile, or pattern of passion implicit on physical realities bypassed by those who believe such things are matters of fiction in a bygone era where the earth ruled absolutely; they will have their moments of clarity, slim, sudden moments that will pass in a gust of death come lightly as a summer breeze off a smooth lake...all shall be as it is, in the fashion of devices by evolution's precise tinkering of soil.
Such a delight to share the time with a new found friend that I may never see again, one whose presence made a smile find its source for joy on the tripping track past the claim to know it as singular, momentary and unique. This was my day, a simple day really; lots of talking and sharing experiences sad, glad, funny, frightening, shocking, illuminating filled the hours that spun away to airy flotsum like dried leaves in a cleansing fire. I sit now in my rooms ruminating lightly, calmly, happily. It's rare for me to find this, but I did.
Hitting the buttons...beleagured soul on ice of heat so intangible with unsuitable boundaries conveys the torment to the wind and whips eyes of prescience indecently while the road is paved with good intentions dissing off the road workers who know the means to the end is not a means to getting but a means to a new beginning, which is a puzzling sort of phenomenon in any circumstance...yet, how I feel is how I do...how I do is how I learn to feel my doing, to know the doing will never be done until I am done.
The children of tar have begun to march their intrepid trudges into the whorls of that which has no name but a billion and the fervid natures of its myriad faces bestowing tonalities across the spectrum of light and dark; whereby all who see appropriately and adroitly so to assimilate however, wherever, whomever becomes the grist of their mills, pavements of their highways, oils of their paints on the canvases of creation, heat and cold in the pools of their emotions, simples of their salt and tempos of their dances, they are the ones, the only ones and rightly so.
The compulsion sits in the comfortable pit of its design unbeknownst to my engineers. By its whimsy it has its way with me as a pawn being a dim mountain in a dense fog thinking quite the opposite. No harmonious line has the tiniest affect on the main melody but construes the conflicts ensuing as the driving becomes difficult and the navigation impossible; so one gives over to the inner pilot believing it's the correct and proper thing to do...that it has your best interest in its practiced hand. The wheel, handled deftly, secretly, turns by the driver's will.
The taste is right, and it gets better the deeper you go; when the fond arrivals have faded and the glow of newness has dissipated, there is still the depth of the blood's flow though grown off the shadow of animation divided from sun and synergistic embrace, made to look sallow by the dropped cleaver on the block, and semblances via lineaments describing its life outside preparations lovingly conducted for the feast to come, it draws fervent attention to its red, thick and tawny core....the lips by anticipations stretch in silent delight for the tastes in slippery, savage store.
Something provocative this way comes to knock reprisals of a charm, to wag the sway off swaggering eyes replete of arms and bodies decked from dying for the satisfactions ordered by the host
to serve the guests as if they came directly from a dream of how the heck can wind become a friendly foe with only screens of whirling colors vying for attentions on abandoned streets of city lights gone drab...the holy days are holy nights before a witness sells the deal to close what never could be closed and is...the system of its circus sends its love.
Trust? Placed on a platter for all to see, the grand scheme of things makes its play for the juicy parts, the meaty, succulent parts that bleed when you call, come when you bleed; they have a time of it, greeting all who pass with portents delicious, predictions portentous, crystal balling you to the hilt and saying nothing, doing nothing, feeling nothing when you bend to satisfy and get it up the trust canals...trust? Who can say? What to trust? Trust yourself for one. Go the other routes befitting the routes befitting you, then you'll see, see what's what.
A tumbledown marriage off the cliff of chance breeds its own style of mania, as is the custom when confronted with a diabolical scheme associating greed with avarice and the assemblage of temptations ascribed to the grouping gathering in the valley where the raging waters of conjurations flow supremely deep with an assortment of life forms not usually found in places such as these by the usual explorer; there comes a time when the typical and expected fail to provide necessary zeal and the power required to shut the voices down who seek to shout the growers down to die.
It gets away from us, flees our deeper intent to serve its appetite that never ends, defies satiety, keeps a sure fix on the places of being where nourishment is readily available, easily within reach, allowing pleasure to reign while tears of endearment score the temperatures filling the core with doubt and fears of rejections, blocking what could've been an basic reach, creating the maze we all know too well to admit we know it as a necessity on the credo..."Always recreate an easy thing as difficult thing and force one to get a degree to understand it."
Now it's upon me to find that diamond in the rough. There's no more diversions, no more excuses, no more justifications for failure. The time is now. In my middle thronged shoes of years that tell the tale well off a tip of the blazing eyes winking in sardonic pleasure at the rustic journey from here to here, ever and always a fierce and satisfying ride, as we're all masochists at heart, I find the ease I fought to secure while feeding the greedy monkeys in disguise the table I now prepare for dining with friends of a kindred heart.
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