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On and on he drones. Eyes are blanked out. Lies are no longer pointed out. No one cares. Why should they care? Lies have led the pack for its spiraling decay for decades now. Why spoil the fun? We have a terrific feast laid out for the end after the finish line. We're not going to reveal what we're going to serve. That would be cheating. It'll be revealed at the appropriate time. I'm so eager to see the drop. On the massive scaffolding the ropes are ready. All they need are the exhausted contestants to mount the polished steps.
It droops, and the ball of my head falls up in a bizarre turn of events when the laws of physics are revoked for quiet reasons of significant spiritual revolt. I'm debased to the core at such times. It defies my equilibrium. Skewed at root, it falters when applied to my bodily motions, although it's seen to be, at least, entertaining. I can vouch for this. I've spent many a happy hour watching world views crash and burn in my eyes. In lieu of anything remotely viable as a replacement, I turn to the one thing I know will work.
You find the center in the music of your heart, how fondness constrains discord in a beautiful conundrum, dispels the lies. Strings of light, mellowed by jagged harmonies unknown to the ears in public trash bins where society relegates its musical genius, wind about the minds dulled by eons of ennui. They pull. They yank. They tug with aggressive delight. In part, an excelsior of divinity plays its part, dives to the core, awakens the anger, rage, resentments, spews them to the ravenous sky. All one, and the music! Such music that might even soften the gods' fossilized hearts.
If ever the ever dons its momentum, grinds the moment to oblivion, we know how we'll go, don't we? The millwheel we fondly work, keeps the heart of the heart of soul in place, shreds time to the offal it is, renders emptiness its right to be truly empty without name, label or priestly definitions. How wonderful it will be to know nothing for the first time, to exhale soul into its domain and vanish. Is this such a fearsome thing? Are we bound into this heaven or hell to such a degree we can't see beyond? Let us see.
You can find it if you look for it. It wants you to find it. It's been following you all your life through all manner of communications enabled for ignorance, as is the common thread through all the vicissitudes of unnatural passions, come high, come low. One digs deep to find the root of desire. Around the valley of rough hewn holes, one makes assay of the ruin they've so creatively wrought as a means to fashion a place to live that doesn't bite back. We want our home like a toothless dog, a set of hungry eyes, harmless, compliant.
I was empty, looking for satiety. In the dim dark, I felt a presence. There was no form to fashion touch as a means of transcribing reality in mind to the reality I could eat. People were coming soon. I knew they were expecting a certain thing to happen, something unique by which they could summon their desires and follow through to the end of yet another need. Always this or that need. You can't get rid of them. Looking back on the emptiness I can sense its worth. It was so much simpler when there was nothing but curiosity.
My time. It's come. The intricate web of involvement precludes dissembling. I can only vent within for the voluble matters concealed in my mouth. My skin prevails as the necessary beacon. Red. Violet. Orange. A frenetic outpouring. Raw revelations. I'm at the mercy of my own inability to name the disease and have it out. Streaming the guts like lava over stuck stones on the path to the sea, I'm dissolving. Like the wicked witch from Oz, I'm descending from the place I was to the place I'm going, to the place I'll become. This will be my resting place.
Now. Now. Now. Vibrations tell all. The earth comes back to me. I'm coming back to it. We've been apart far too long. Inhabiting the world of logic is decaying. I'm relieved. So into the vortex I go. I'll keep a record. I have my camera. It is me. The eye is wide, a fish eye perspective. On the plain, the lions await. Great beasts bend to the eating phase. I stoop to welcome their appetites. Such a roundabout fury with laughter and screams of pain. Delight comes hard to those who say no and no and no too much.
Seriously, do you think they'll be an audience for this? I was half expecting the house to be empty, but if there's a call for this, let it be done. Open the doors. Let the people in. They'll have a special treat. The table is being readied. All the necessary items have been found. They're being laid out now. I can see the minions doing their work. They have a calm way about them. That vitalizes me. I'm becoming more eager as the time approaches. What a show it'll be! I'm agog. The lizards are getting dressed. Formal attire. Tuxedos.
Tick tock, the matriculers rock. I shall obey. Into the realm of the unstoppable fury I go. I'm meeting someone there. They gave me their number. I've never met them. This'll be interesting. They said a special value was being set for the event. That impressed me. I wasn't expecting that. So many angular surprises these days. I have an itch. It's deep. A river flows beside the itch. A picnic blanket has been set. I am watching through my best binoculars, making sure the scene is dressed appropriately. Only when my special contact enters, will I totally reveal myself.
It's the day. The sun calls out to me. I'm fingering its light. Such a warm, playful feel, like Playdoo fingered in the dark for the gusting of the ritual's entrails. I will lay them out accordingly. I'm good at this sort of thing. So unfashionable. So fucking non PC. Fuck those PC people. They can cry out all they want at the unjustices of everything. Fine. I don't care. I care about the feast. The room is almost ready. I've molded the light into figures decorating the entryway. Certainly, they'll surprise a few of them who aren't expecting them.
There's a fine line between this habitation of soul and the proper reality of mind. A gulf stretches the volume of this domain to a twisted envelope of in and out, being the simultaneous character of stability in a universe that hasn't decided how the means of my survival may be geared to the groundwork of life and death. I can feel the polarity; it makes me smile. I'm divided neatly. Each half, being the scope of who I am and where I'm going, back and forth. I'm here. I'm there. No eye can specify. My safety depends upon it.
It dragged me off the center of my gusting heart, a time flow with severe parameters describing the necessity of the river to a confused place of I, that if the day should melt into dreams I might grasp the significance, so I take the measure into the flow to find this one thing no one can name. I am pulled down. The river is in my eyes. I am blinded, so I can see. My body is collapsing. There is no decay but the decay of wishing. Nothing might be coveted from the place I'm going. It is mine.
Intemperate. I am found this way and that. In a miasma of creativity, he sounds the bell, and the race begins. From the very top of the hill you can see the determination of the runners. Faces are contorted with effort. On the page it seems as if no one will win; the finish line hasn't been defined. I take to the task to complete the picture, but the picture has completed me first. I'm wound around a peculiar circumstance of being here and somewhere else that defies my mind. I will not be so easily dissuaded from the challenge.
To the center I'm sold. The highest bidder was without guile. His game, unfocused in my eye, became earth. He hasn't settled yet, but the ceremony continued regardless. It all moved forward. The bid was placed; no one challenged it. I adjusted the vertical only so much as to define the endpoint of choosing. That remains to be seen. Our choosing resides in an exclusive interview that hasn't been done yet, so we wait, and we wait. I'm stressed to the point of giving in. Such a degree of separation. The center is watching. In the end, such a bore.
On the banks I watched several vessels pass. The operation was long and tedious. Along the river bank there were many curious minds. They had food that I needed. No one was sharing. I stood aloof. The river flowed. I danced my hand over wishing how it would be if I slipped into the waters unseen and disappeared. It was such a potent fantasy, I described it to the doctors. They all laughed, as I counted backward from eternity. Sleep came softly. A blade with a glinting tongue for blood laid itself on my path. I let it in. Wondrous.
Ticking like a mouse on acid, I saw it laughing from the moon, where I ushered in the view, a grand opening of a miraculous thought machine that I designed and built in my own shadow. It hummed as a giant beast in satiety, grunting for its pleasure that lives only in the past. It came. I saw it work its magic. I worked the levers confidently. A flurry of busy hands appeared on the screen as shadows of a bygone era when you could only get black and white. I wanted that. To be dissolved in I Love Lucy.
You see it, time and time again. It doesn't dissuade anyone from the task. Round about the system, the workers busy themselves with nothing. Nothing is their desire. It drives them to distractions of the time clock. Money. Rolling on the mousepad. Clicking and clattering. Each page opens with a warning. The viruses are numerous. We haven't found adequate protection, although I still keep condoms on hand, just in case. This is what I feared, but it's also what I desired. I am no man to keep a consistent melody in my head. Why should I? The band just crashed.
Grief doesn't pay through the nose by infection of the mind when all is bound to the inevitable spiral down. We are at the festival point. We can feel the beings gather. Innumerable. Quiet. Complacent. Accommodating. There isn't much left to do but wait for the final adjudicator to sober up and get his shit together. He rarely gets his shit together. By design of something old and without a name, we divine our paths by function of a deep feeling of regret that we've forgotten how to play the game. We were taught once. We didn't learn very well.
We lovingly return repeatedly to a place that holds us in its reverie, wound about the entrails of an unseen beast we've created to keep our legacy intact. Memory only goes so far. The beast holds all the cards. He is crafty, as he is stalwart in his command of the journey we've allowed, a journey in which we've surrendered the eyes of our eyes. There's no need to see. He remembers what we need to do. Surrender comes sweetly. It lives in a darkness unique and precise. It holds us in its warmth. We are sewn inside its mind.
I told you. You know I told you. The words gusting backward over the dried landscapes rearing up in head. Such a beautiful thing to see, all the dead words resurrected in due time you keep locked away by a furious need to connect. In between the hiding words gibbers the faux truth we like to name cool things like the Holy Grail. We search and search thru killing fields, abundantly certain it lives inside the bodies we haven't raped yet. I smell the tars, the acrid smoke. I cannot unsee the fires. I am drawn to them, our legacy.
Those things you plunge, gates of the mind, the time is upon you; a large table is pulled out. Members of the inner circle gather. You can feel them gathering. A largess brims the skin, you can sense the energy vectoring into secret places. Scattered in front of the gateway house the nervous minions scramble for connection. Cables spark. One must be advised the end is more like a beginning than anyone knows. Those around the table smile comfortably. They know exactly what's going on. Sky and earth meet like lovers. Plates are divvied. Hands without bodies serve the poisons.
Tempermental shifts collide, and a skew of contrary vectors arouse their volatile basis. In the core the fires rage. Only a matter of time before the gates give way. A singer sings a baneful aria. In substitution you're placed in disguise. It's necessary to fool the operator. He adjusts levers rarely moved, let alone touched. The boat glides across the glasslike lake under a summer sun. The oars are extensions of your arms. You needn't watch. The shore invites. Into the skewed basis you drift. In moments there will be no more moments. Ecstasy thrills. The aria is about done.
It's afterwards, how it moves into a strange place where time and its function become senseless. How I plunge this place derives my angst to a point that divides, as though it's given birth to itself and something else that tantalizes and frightens me. I am drawn into this strange reality. I see walls collapse. I hear a soft whisper. I'm bound into a shrinking universe where the cosmos are redacted into a dream. A white hallway with nothing on the walls extends. There is no hesitation on my part. I want what's at the far end, a good mystery.
A thrill. I see it. I know it sees me. It's when all the bustle has evaporated, and fighting has ended. Smoke clears. Sky becomes blue again. I can feel where I'm going. I know where I've been, but the memory of battle falls away quickly. I struggle to retain a clear image of this place I was just a few moments ago, but it's futile. How can I express this odd derivation of a mobius life? It's mine. I agreed to it. Now, it's there. I see it. My going forth, a new growth from the petrie of creativity.
It spits, you know. All the rough, pretty kids have the color of rainbow ecstasy. You can find it in the rhythm machine under the blood brain busting rabbits fighting fires. It's the night you see when day fucks dawn over dusk, and the elevation, ha, it's a night grabber. I can feel it. In the duration under smiling for the faux gods you can frown all you want. We chase the proper Eucharist through our wonderments. Chew it, baby! I draw you to the time for the end of its beginning. This is the end. This is the beginning.
Talk me in. Draw me through the vessels you complete when my eyes burn out. I will follow your lead. I will give you my hand and trust. What follows is my heart laid open for feed. Your wild birds circle the darkening skies. They are familiars to your wishing. That I might dissolve in the ether of your breath, while kisses melt the tissues of my elder brain, is the highest desire I possess. It lives on the wind carved peak of a mountain within, glimpsed only in flashes through deserts I fashioned as sacrifices to the Ancient Demiurge.
I assuaged you diametric to the axis of your intent, and by intent, the divide widened. You drew sustenance, as the earth stretched to fit your imagination, bled into your mind's mouth, coupled the violent beauty, while the rainbow dance monkeyed the ape of my resistance, and I succumbed to your desires, falling, falling, falling passionately into the web of the monkey heart. You could split the function, lay it out on the sweating bed, eat the heat, gather all that watches into the eye of the ape that has become you, for all its light is now your darkness.
It came near the end, and I missed it. The value subscribed me to a deletion. In the gust of operation, I found what I'd lost by losing everything, that the function of the device should be in my hand, rather out of head, but the timing was off, so I lost the key, but found the use, and discovered I had the correct operating system. The matter of gain was in direct proportion to the loss. Secrets were fortunately revealed in time, and the program ran as instructed. The endgame created no surprise, though I found it delightfully mystifying.
So so, so so, and so so, in the rut, via eye being cut, I see the distribution is scattered. Sentient capability is maximized, then comes the need to prove itself with my life on a string over the radical circus, brightly lit for the royalty in charge. We stoop to them too easily. I find it frustrating, but there's no stopping the preamble from reaching its apex. Onto the rings I fit myself. A new kind of light hit my eye. Refreshing but strange. In the past I always enjoyed something new, but now, I'm perplexed. So so, and......
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