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The plunge made shadows of the deepening caverns quake and crack, as liquid mind materials flowed like diamonds off her purple silk soul through eyes plucked of doubting, and she measured her vitality in melodious metrics, schemes folding out of dreams and spurious organs of musical glee withering, tall columns collapsing, gone flaccid, carried by the currents into the eating ocean, that which she found in the fall, she grabbed for her life, as defining lineaments changed second by second; no matter, she knew the need to deconstruct, the matrix of exchange demanded it, and the tumbling up through light.
We dance around the circuitous days loping through mazes of wishing and wanting and needing the flux guarantees that aren't forthcoming, yet the flux retains its multiplexing, the labyrinth exhibited, sheds its black light on nothing to saturate in vats of hard devices molded to the tricks and habits of those who devise schemes in the darkness to shape the profiles of day, then can we, as observers who keep time to our hearts as the precious commodity few understand, conjure the home of creativity, as the folds of its infinite mind drape the hearts delicately, where desires are guarded.
What climbs through the armored heart meets the need to bleed excess from the coffins stuffed under beds where heat is redefined by a metronome disguised as the drummer nestled inside the wrangled bodies smeared over the tracks laid around the heart of town. In this rapturous blending, we meet ourselves indelicately, poised over the chasm out of which no soul has escaped, lest the volatility of need disable the brakes, we claim to find little relief on the other end of the walk-bridge, and in that disappointment we have no alternative but to shadow our images for salvation.
The wide pool of words widens as it narrows, slips through tangled intentions, routing its calm as it deepens its volubility, the thorny and smooth regards disables the brake-water to satisfy the wild need to drown confusion where confusion makes its presence loud to distract the collective in the floods we deem most useful, then can we route the wilderness as it swarms throughout the mind's playground, grabbing and fitting its thronging heat onto the cool distancing found when reaching for something specific, the general scheme slyly shaping its reality to the reality climbing off our rattling soul's train.
Regarding flows erupting the primal flows bubbling from the fissured minds, from within the habitats of the thought of thoughts, rapturous emissions, like ribbons of pure light unravel to the rhythms met by rhythms by rhythms by rivers of flame attending courses toward the outermost barriers barring us from innermost cores where silences grapple silences in screams, be the collective marked by pleasure or pain, no matter; how we develop the regards so heavily construed vital as insignificant, the rights of being demand their quietus, demand their conundrum, demand their combinations, so by the feral alchemy, we deem ourselves complete.
Obligatory guides and entrapment by rails and steel guards for the waxy ways off renegade highs benefiting the ruling classes' keepsake brain draining its questionable light in the middle of the optimum night created for disguising need for disguise, rendering the leader's bliss as a pockmark, a pustule infected throughout our bleeding core, thereby the resilient traps become the fashion to offset the ridiculous means of taking control away from those who deny they had control, setting the tone of bonding like-minds onto like-minds, establishing the widening landscape, upon which, creatures spawned by sheer hunger devour only themselves.
Round about the belly blows under the third division of self on the cusp of quiet conundrums given over from secret ruminations grown from intense seedlings by storms of grand executions in the town squares where minds dance in perpendicular arousals, having no substance after the fact of their demise; a death that bears no resemblance to the usual decay or societal rot, the regard makes for roudy responses when all the eyes, having seen what the core reveals, once torn open in the field of battle, become glazed over, retracting in their private orbs to allow for blindness' grace.
These, we be, these, threads, silvered and shaped in the hearth where fires have a mind of their own, where tongues, lit by gases made for creations' beckoning, tongues of dancing lights for sturdy licking, made for the flesh unlike any flesh known, made in the core of self without regard for appurtenance and favor, given over for its own salvations' sake, these, we be, these, threads, ready for the weaving, ready for the hand trained for the design by transmissions in the brilliant darkness, these, we be, these...the substances of our renewal, stuff of the bath, alchemical gold.
Come lightly, the dissonant phrasing under silence where the rivers intertwine, where sorrow meets delight, where sad binds glad, when laughter blends weeping, confusing the tangled furor, as the heat dies and a cool attitude rises to place the scattered bits on the highest dais for those with bent vision, that they might have a chance at beneficial blindness, that the wild insertions of soul may derive on the deepest plains of soul where nothing abates the course of collections, where viable hearts beat simply out of rhythm, matching the grind, matching the harrow, matching matchless terror to impossible ecstasy.
It's easy to be grafted to the body bound on the plain by the grifters in charge of keeping the elements stable, the mind in its place, body in proper check of its fluids pumping wildly throughout the unseen chambers where hallowed shards of mind float, that the puddles may widen in their waste, that the mind, tied savagely to the keeping place, may stay on the level by insertions of chemicals made for clear vision on the paths leading to security and the continuation of that which never rises, never sinks, stays afloat, remaining in constant view of calm.
Fallen behind on the exterior of words unfolding their privacy in a dim blink of the eye, the pillars of perception waver by the sense of unseeing, seeing merely the idea of seeing crouched under volumes of volatile materials swirling about the bath where primal cakes cook, where the unseen arms of the ages manipulate doggeral, where hapless demi-urges watch ineffectually while the chemistry evolves by necessity, where all the means are crushed into a paste slathered by the whim of the unseen; howsoever the venture proceeds describes its own consummation when the eyes, finally unblinking awake and sing.
Viable anterior constructions, meticulously arranged by inarticulated forces pour forth the alchemical bath, substantiating the means to reinvigorate a human spirit fallen into the habit of dust and the ineffectual puddling on the edges of the stage where actors have waited patiently for ages knowing their entrance would come in its time for its time by the time the clock has run down for its ignorance and unimportance, by the matters of evolution taking its course that binds rivers unnumbered into the matrix of now, weaving all that supposes into action and the ineluctable creation of that which must be.
Aggressive as the invasive voice clambering up the well of sentience billowing the dense material withal the voluble satiation given to the body when broken of conceit and the habit of wanting for mere wanting, finding the grist demanding the ardor of need overcome the shadows melting over shadows in the belly of the mind settling down on the plain spreading wide within a region once populated by gibbering hoards of bad comics parading as the ministers of a new and brazen church preaching the gospel of nonchalance, that whosoever bleeds into the cup may have their shadows stripped down.
Tipping the cup of lust till the essence sought dribbles off the lips smattering soft bubbles into steam off red hot plates shifting beneath feet accustomed to the illusion of stability, we drive our bargains to the limits on the extreme hunch the wild insinuations of doubt may neither scale the ancient walls or penetrate the castle's chest, that all the degrees of defense calculate their qualities bereft of reason, while keeping the harrowing tumbledown of temptations in check, even as the hungers are fed continually without regard for a simple acceptance of the patterns we adopt for secret satiation.
Acid heads re-coordinating wormhole resurgences, as I am a drop from the stamp head back when I tripped over the dinosaurs real proper in a day after night when dark and light never knew each other's faces but mere attitudes of rearing back while rearing forward gearing the shimmering tone shifts that claim rights of giving over the rights of taking, and in the middle of convenience the habit of evading responsibility looms in disproportionate measures, that consequently, we may see how acid corrodes beneficially, that all the residues falling about the bodies stretched for burial might finally revive.
In time a polite disintegration offers the salvific quality sought desperately in the deep, muscular wrestle of thoughts upon contradictory thoughts, in the primal cock fight set in the back rooms of mind where gibbering demons grapple angel ideas in the hope of profitable confluences after consummation, that all the volatile collections might dissemble grief in the guise of gladness, so it goes in the intemperate holding as members of the elite, called to action, wait upon orders yet to be delivered, given hard facts driven home like bullets in the brain with alien strains of beings for gestations' benefit.
Lean body, its Slim attitude, collections Of erections Defying themselves, Cross catching The form, filling It out Dissembling The finely honed Length, a separation Of mind and heart Without thoughts Of space lost, a Central mind Expanding, Tight grabs Loosening, The sentences, Once sensible, Insensible... Falling slowly, Failing gloriously, Faint hints on reaches of Suspicion, how The whole is Made of the parts, How it can't be seen Or held or assimilated In throws of these Intemperate ideas Flung about Without care, The loss is Considerable, Gain is greater... Habits of my heart fly from fingers bidding the river's surge.
Once a dish Once a fish Once a sutured brain....stretched Over A face that won't tell, can't...must Mock the soul in the diagonal grin, Try the spirit by soiling it's Rivers winding ancient blood lines, Corrupting the source, as The temptation of mind Drives it's own through The muscular earth called Flesh cradled in the vows Taken to uphold the lies Proffered glibly, richly, Cogently in the matrix Where bugs of diffidence Await the matriarchal mother Who feeds herself Off the changeling dish that we may live, That we may think we live... Mouth stuffed of steaming fish...
Swollen edge of day, swollen Off the love blown severely by A blossom I can drink, I can see, I can hold in the book of my Digressions painted delicately, You knit, as it were, the gentlest gown I daily drape overall the flustering light Patterned in the jewels stitched By the crush of fabric, our skins, Our eyes, our spirits, our laughing silence, our grief in sidewinding shafts of light skewed by need for the soothe and saving grace bestowed ever so heavily in a light fashion for the days' delight, behooving our self esteem become its own grave.
Should the elevation meet its generating heart, the soil and substance mixed on the worked plains may seethe with potential siring a moment of creation that exists uniquely in the prodded mind, in the tilled organs of ambition, that morality may vie diametrically with hope of living...the basic paradox of keeping a holy house, that in its holy domain one claps its mouth shut when nature rears its appetites, devouring the gist of honorable conceit. In the adoration of the human animal, fet of all its ages' muscle and temper, we find contrariness behails the passage out of deceit.
We shall dialogue the dream coating of delight, the rigorous unfolding of unseen flesh, we shall dialogue its muscles, the curiously untouched and ever touched, we shall bridge the volatile serenity piecing the mighty flex penetrating the membrane between here and here, we shall dialogue the exploration, we shall feel the salutation and farewell, the saturation and resistance, we shall harbor the electricity of its chemistry and rediscover lightning firmly nestled in the pressure of our kiss, we shall wonder by the wonders of our epiphanies and gather all disguises and burn their entrails in the darknesses of our hearts.
In the rising sun the moon dips to crown the angular brilliance with shadows like diaphanous gowns, tempting earth in its feral heat to reach outside its comfort, entangling conscription of polite behaviors with tethers of snarling desires strangling that which funds its mettle with venoms, psychogenic in viral composition, threading dormant muscles with hearty electricals percolating purest fires from out of fissures sown on skins stretched for the flames billowing, expanding their potential, realizing bold actions, unheard of and alien, sacred and profane, delicious...servile to the rugged appetites aroused for dancing ecstasies, that who we are, may dissolve.
A complete over-reaching consummation desiring nothing less than utter dissolution of thought and the gearing of moral judgments grinding out what joy the feeling of letting go may foment, asks nothing less than everything of who we are and what we conceive through dreams after fears have etched their markings on the rising, thickening walls, and what stepping over the edge in blind ecstasy may evolve as falling up may weave what falling down arouses in the cycle made explicit by the action of 'letting go.' In such an alchemy we complete what must always begin again for eternity.
The tripping day of signs, conscripting the volumes we pile upon volumes of indisputable disregard of self working upon the landscape of purest soul, that howsoever we delve into heart as deeply as we hope after serving our sense of being up to the celestial winds, letting go the grasp on the muscular resistances keeping the devices of our entrapment firm, sustained by the invisible chains forged so long ago before the desire for freedom was aroused, before the idea of releasing the light from the baubles of darkness were draped on the tree, beautifully decorated, belying our prison house.
Nothing but the exceptional divide between the here of in-so-far-as-being-aware-of-here and the slipping core of here in the dense substance of self, wherein the broad expanse is panoramic and the true vitality pulsates in the infinitesimal, where how is dissolved in why and neither make sense, where going is coming, where up is down, and the mad hatter sits atop his grand asylum gloating, as the reality within fades into the reality without, that neither in or out substantiates difference or contrast, yet contrasts as nothing but that which lives only by dying.
Engineered by the clever insinuation of doubt over certainty in the dogdayed Mass conscripted ingeniously for celebrations of status doggeral by keeping with rhythms under-estimated for their powers of seduction, that the hoards might continue to embrace the corpse of clouds hung like draperies over crypts concealing the core lies decorated like Santa dolls with jingling sleigh bells clanging..."bring out your dead, bring out your dead"...then come the parades of sharp suits and sleek skirts bearing briefcases marching toward another day of dying to live for the prizes dangling like radioactive carrots over hoods of snappy BMWs.
A thirsty time awake, the nexus throb, into the void mixtures we solve ourselves as the matrix of equations formed from the ether selected by the mind of that which playfully eludes yet grabs our sensibilities to the core and circumambulation of a Self within and without; such is the mystery of being awake, aware of being aware of our blindnesses, so much so we exceed our sight being plucked, and behold the light of all lights couched in the darkness of all darknesses, that howsoever we dive to the heights, we cannot help but find that which was lost.
To the degree we seek our devilishness disguise our raptures for guilty pleasures and babbling confessionals, such as we shape fleshy vessels formed to contain our passions inscribed as plates of tin stapled to a dead tree, that the quality of release conceive the need to meet limits long ago set dependent on nothing but acceptance of impermanence on the gaming fields set afire when the lost ambition becomes nothing less than new ascendancy, we might find our true capabilities previously concealed by fears and judgments nailed to the walls of our favorite jailhouse, then may we happily die loving.
In the fission' time, the old seat of renewal breaks apart its secrets how that seat could hold a value of none presuming all that rules in the name of honor, we split the variances how the shrewish contemplation over the land might divide its realms into trinkets, mere baubles to dangle above regions declared free of autocracy, that the means derived to establish control really sorts the holding of our quivering moments into eons, taking the now, deforming it however pleases the substance of knowledge, and working it till the stodgy house of no wisdom might disintegrate into dust.
Secreted. Sold by kisses infected. Driven to an edge too far from its own keeping. By the values of stale blood hefted in the plunge for salvation's keeping in tune with immodest raptures, the writhing body sprawls its guts, having its core unbridled in the virulence of driving home fear of the blood roaring through the dry land before is birth, before its bleeding eruption, before the violent conception, before...then the wrought flesh, stretched tight over bloated organs might give way, let the tight metal pierce the onion-like skin, let the pressured pus fly. We are all hungry.
This here, this critical moment, coming on, a nostalgic, yet unimportant moment that climbs above its own head and bleats a sound ineffectually dull as loud as it might be, a thronging gesture, a round of eyes and ears attuned to its rigorous momentum, a night swarm of thinking the key of this tripping time could grant the assurance as moving toward a critical place so subtly fondling a movement assumed important, this key movement of a day like any other, stepping toward an edge between here and there, a kind of there we have held for far too long.
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