The Perpetual Smile That Controllers

Intelligence was a sad day when it was embellished. Modesty was a cruel kind when I was as good as all that never saw.... Yeah! The more I muse the sadder the wish for forgiveness is. So only truly sorry when....

J . S Wright

The city, lands tainted by human occupation more than any other place on this earth. Crossing the motorway, in to the meadows. Dawning silhouettes chasing down diamond shaped dreams of getting as far away from the world behind. Fences across the land persecute freedom, sirens of the dead and buried. Cloud wipes away the sun, the harrowing morning, yet the times oh yonder are only now beginning.
The Infinity Suicide Party

earest Generation Of Apathy

This is intended for you:

For those excited by the rain in times of darkness, those who see the future come right beside them... on the bypass, those whove lived so high at times that their only known world is the interior of a coupe car on a darkened night, those whore dissatisfied with the distance theyve travelled on this earth in the time theyve been alive, those living quietly within regimented madness that the outside world does not know of, those whose lives became amputated and incompatible to the world around them from birth, those friends seeking the same loves on different gangways, those living romantic lives in their heads that transpire into a ghoulish reality, those who wish every night was so intense, those sifting through the haze of prolatarianism to locate their weekend escape pods, one of those buzzing corpses walking around aimlessly in the nigh, those who wish to grow sure within themselves while regarding a personal identity of some kind. Do not allow others to deter you from wholesome truth. The door opened, unleashing a beam of light which followed me to the sky The benediction, delivered in the words of morality. Lets try and get out alive!

Yours flippantly

Joe Stephen Wright

I See My Exit Head (A Brief Foreword Of The Blas Irony Of Subsistence)

The revolution does not work if the surroundings are not changed accordingly. Revolution has been in search of the lesser evil for far too long, and appropriate re conditioning of the collective movement of humanity has been rejected or ill thought of. The collective mind of the protest needs to change, and aggressive rebellion in a two sided war must be avoided at all costs. If a protest is met with any kind of adversity, the endurance of that protest will fail every time until the goals of a protest has the full support of the population. Can I speak through the voice of thought which I believe is where the revolution that may ever occur will happen; sos not to harbour the voice of the next generations paranoid call for a revolution whereby relabeling of the same problem is very likely. Harmony is an individuals concept of the world they would wish for, though cooperative restraint in the direction of our planet, and the well being of all the earths residents, orchestrated by moralistic supervisors could work; at least until inherent power forces the wrong ones to the surface once again... Perhaps outlook in fear of death, and short term view of the life cycle, and high valuation of existence only when it satisfies agenda is the humans default way to subsist upon the mire, and always will be? If people live the way they are, do they misplace their inside longings to be free (Travel is evolutions spreading of the seed), in the sense of the arbitration between circumstance of environment and inner nature? Who controls the controller? Who is free when there is not one defined act of freedom? Without a care in the world I tie my shoelaces and then jump around in the middle of the street out of lust of freedom, and then roll off the nearest incline until contentment is met. Some old plutocrat, the plutocratic society we are becoming. Power and the value of money have not changed. Power has always resided as such with those who can obtain the thing that the public perceives itself to need most of all. Blank memories enter the exposure monitor reflector. Pictures of a past that otherwise does not exist. So strange by the way is all life that it is so insignificant, so relentless to torment, that life forever moves; and can never be stopped. All shall be lost, but remembered until memory is dead. Aeons- expendable, but is that the proof of our greatest plight, that all weve ever lived may be lost? Can humanity be saved? Saved from what? How can you be saved from that which you do not know what? From over-indulgent bigotry? From hell? From being bad? From being sunken when everything you want doesnt get you where you need to go? The only thing humanity needs to be saved from is itself and all that may manifest; Time is the independent variable. Time- the human, or rather the habit forming human. What is the overall civilized society we are searching? Rome was civilized thousands of years ago. The dream is to become open and unadjusted by custom of any kind, or at least not to feat that which do not have an informed decision of...

Enjoy and read the mind behind the economy of dead eyes, they are all present and correct!

Amnesiac Upon Death

Walking aimlessly, sullen faced. Face screwed up, staring at the moon. Starry sky, wondering if well be there soon. Cure the misadventure they say, its all moderation of the controller he says, warming another spoon with the intent that it will be the last for a while. Thoughts turn to love, I was once, and several other times beside. Intense emotion that I will not let go, I even dream in idealized dreams of happiness that quickly wilts into normality. Interpolated thoughts now learned as interchangeable time, seldom conscious, lost above all. I did not worry until I realized I did. Hello Valium Hello there dear sleep, how are things? All the better for the coming together of our acquaintance Do you think that taking seven doses was a tad steep? Not if youre looking for a deep sleep Well thats just what Im looking for dear Valium! Should slip down quite beautifully! Lets be grand friends for a while Mr Valium Wonderful to have met you! ......................................................................................................................................................... Serene sculptures stride across the plains of sullenness. Creeping pleasure thunderstorms light up the evening. Small dotted lights pronounce life on the marina. Cradle sleep ships visible from afar. Her smiling cheeks lead parallel with her nose. Adorable and quested to become another casual cherub upon the life. Her aura serenades me with the instrument of her heartstrings. I embark in some sort of mania, just staring for some time at pictures that entwine her love of nature, and her default protocol to smile elatedly in every single one of those photos. I wish to bring her to earth from her dewy eyed pedestal via the madness of Mars, and the serenity of the Moon until an orbit of galvanism is located that locks between two. The notches of her slender spine spell charm in Braille. Beauty is such an ugly thing, unless its got things growing out of it. The girl is damaged because she never discovered what love was as she grew up. Battered from pillar to post between the pair of her creators who valued other things above the feelings she desired to reciprocate. And then when she grew up to become so beautiful, she thought shed found the feelings shed longed for in the eyes of illusionary desire all around her. She thus came to define love as the pleasure she could easily obtain, but she was still empty, and lost as to connotation between what she did not have. She realized that love is something far more meaningful. A dream of ascent into the clouds above. For if we were blind, would our eyes still dream for the things our eyes have never seen? And in the gnarled minds of everlong who can be sure of anything that good and bad provides us? The final light fades by the sea, glistening conch shell reflection. Broth ablazen, open mouth height of dawn soon to follow. A hopeful swing of the mind turns around, and Im proud to live my own life once again. Scrubbing star residue lights up the night. Cloth of litter luminary, that streaks and glows. The diet of explosive happiness, and uncontrollable sadness I consume, and cry in my spilt sanctity of pureness over. How I can only write as a young person of artificial pain, for my mind is ever so... Increasingly paved in self destruct, though not true. The light is found through alternative ways of spending time away from civilization. Until the clouds are long, and my sentiment is short, and the ghosts of my thoughts stop then so be it and the life I lead. Ive sat in cars talking of the end, so close to it, with mysticism powders of death. To my knowledge they were beautifully disgusting nights. Nights where the value of time ceased to exist.

Hours in a secluded world with secluded creatures of an unsure destiny, trying to locate heaven like its on some sort of map in the quarter light window. I used to drive hard, braking according to the dimensions of the will to live.

So here we go! Proposition nowhere! The clichd open road! The world, so round and vast to dig! Theres an angel propellaring in the sky above the car. I scald her at satellite temperature, inquiring about the chance of some mysticism to bless me on my travels. She smiles promisingly, kisses the car, then disappears in to where religion began, in to the inebriated monasteries where imaginations of free will are prepared, ready for bastardization by the outside world of ignorance. Tumbling tides, permeating invaders, skyfall, rainfall. Alone, other than a-lone wave of magic, of anticipation. There is a grand gateway to explore. The intelligence of being humble is whats required to explore this gateway. And may whatevers up there strike me down! Ive broken many of your laws. And introspection suggests that theres nothing that the invisible adorning God can do. I am afraid of pressures sometimes, although these pressures are the result of my manifesting mind most likely. In death who will care longest to be alive? I am a reckless nirvana chaser in every sense of the word, and I wish to blister on a bed of matches if it should yield a story to tell. In fact the words youre about to read may well just be the crazed fidgets of a man possessed, but are probably much worse. The walk that seeks purpose dreams of adventure.... The darkness descends once again, and its the first night of this trip. Densely layered thoughts mean I cannot think of anything other. The place around me right now is green and alone. There is a derelict church in front of me that nature has reclaimed. Abundant flowers oozing with pollen shoot out from the church roof which has become concave from the pressures of shrubbery that rest upon it. It is an example of nature, the nature that will grow over everything. It has no expression. It is neither sad nor happy, its just nature! I can wish for a kind nature to bless my travels upon this earth, but it is the arbitrary hallelujah from which I can never see that will decide my fate. Hate in the space between the flesh and bones, lose in faint phosphorus that fertilizes new horizons of beyond. ......................................................................................................................................................... Summers growing in the form of sunlight; lavender erotica of midday. One of the tyres of the car is bald, which provides us with enough of an excuse to get out of the car among the forest were at. Wandering woodland floors amidst chemical reaction. Creatures beside, and bowl-shaped light stabbing through the trees. Stumbling with exposure that runs from my head. For what else is the information inside of me but chemicals and gummy mechanisms? Does my spirit just burst out? Whistle of the wind, and oxygenated amnesia from both of us. The one girl is a girl morphed from two girls that were stood in front of me just five minutes ago. Shes so beautiful, and fucked all over. Dressed in green and sat upon a fallen tree, she captures breath, and plays mind games with herself. She seems to win and lose those games judging by the schizoid smiling face she displays on my exposure monitor. The matted clumps of wool form craters of another world in her thick cable knit jumper. Im not sure what were doing! Just walking around a forest looking for calm upon the plains of hell I suppose. She is the first of several girls that have met my intrigue in a rather short space of time. Real earthward dynamite style, sunglasses and rainbow smog of black and white, and cigarette

smoke, musk, pale. We were walking around the world taking solace in the mutual confusion we shared, just hopeless worshippers of graveyard alley. She was dreaming of me. I could see the imaginings flowing around her forehead, which had become a telepathic screen that I could read her thoughts from, all the wild exposure. Narrow stillness, emerging lowlight that appeared to radiate from the ground rather than the sky, a chronology that did not exist. I was walking low, with hands in the pockets of my cargo shorts. Its t shirt weather, humid and damp grass. It took me 45 minutes to unlock the door of my car for a reason I could not remember upon access. After much deliberation I walked over to another car where she was, where the fox in the car park has seen a million people in the fast approaching eve. Id levelled off when we were holding hands and walking again, although I was rather disorientated, so she lead me as if she were my mother, or I was her most precious doll. At one point she was dragging me along, as my legs were just empty bags of bones attached to my irreverent torso. There was a lake with a few people beside. They were skipping stones and staring at the moss on the trees with numbing interest. Widowed aeroplanes in the shine of life. Escaping from something, or at least seeking alternative landscapes for their eyes to pre occupy. Reasons like testing the depths of humanity, inducing ego death for another body but the one where they reside. Dipping feet into the capillary spider heads of their minds. No one questions each other. And its assumed that anyone at this location in the forever of this land have a common goal to detach from whatever lies outside of those trees. Dial stopwatch penetrates the intergalactic fantasy. Ive seen all the instances of time drank away from me. The times far gone, but for transcription. Its forever dead otherwise, and the existence is futile. The exposure within me, how may it be alighted? To be real again. Contraptions of living wherever they may be hang in melodrama, contemplating the exposures of the life and what those exposures could ever mean in the context of age. Older and more languid than theyve ever been.... Out of mind...... story of living. Heaven sends its condolences to hell, then precedes to open GOD. Steam bellows out through its coveted spire, and the eyes of existence stare across the savannah for fresh life. Waking up, walking to the next offspring of living. Some will get out just fine, while the others live merely in lucid dream, whilst still hindered by their reality, until finally the contrary occurs. And thats when I congratulate myself on being the most hateful creature of all time. Then I look at all it has gotten me with a glowering smile. Interspaced praise upon the interface.... Charm machine, vendor empty. Headlights concealed by the hedgerows, but the ambling certainty of a metal corpse stalking through the rising mourn can be seen. Who is here to enter into our valley of chloroform? I cannot care and fall back to sleep snuggled against her asleep, scatterbrained...

Slink Of The Hybrid Child

Rose and Isobel are down the walk way hanging over the edge. Me and someone else at the top of the cliff thinking of ways to jump down the overhanging cascade to impress the on looking temptresses. Rose is a natural politician of people, and stokes up the most intricate conversation with every passerby. Isobel is soaking in the water, her hair is long and red and looks like soaking grazes floating on top of the waters surface, eroding the face. There is no link between us and them. The sea is storm and the sky is hungry.

She had the finest cunt that everyone wanted, and with a tedious string of the right words it was yours for as long as your dick was hard. Rose has long hair that hangs gracefully just above her waist, a melancholic face like an owl, but so beautiful; so beautiful..so.......beau......ti..........ful.......... She was lightening of my eye that night. Index finger half measure on the left hand, a stump she waved and laughed with. And a cherry heart shaped chest mark from a failed piercing. I was a distance from rational thought at the time, and already hypnotized in a tranquil spaced out zone of the occult. Fog of the fairy mist, shrinking violets dancing on tarmac, casting spells with her antlers that produced laser beam results from her eyes. Tended to the tenderness of the eruption.... encumbered by the prowess as we wandered across the shores of fantasia. I became extinct thereafter, and then joined of the existentially with the next. I could not tell you for all that I am the wonder of the next, only that I was there for a while; or about as long as the watch dial moved in between the hours. Uninhabited life as its currently known, but no fear of solitude. Just sailing in waves of existence, ahoy matey called the unidentified god from the schooner. It resembled something cosmic by nearest describable comparison. Space age, and dark, although rays of light; like being above the city in the darkness, but the steam shines through the beams into the sky. Light always signals safety and the potential of life in my eyes, although this place was my own orbit. Perhaps I became a planet or a station, and my eyeballs were moons, and the mouth was the dawn. Divided, dull between a question of how real this could be. There wasnt any dialect to deter feeling in either case. The fever of the bright stars in the trajectory were cold as I recall. The world, betwixt with my planet world . the fragile coax bled dry anyway, and the fastest way was up or....... -And then does 18 doses of prozac, and has a seizure. Whats wrong with her? I ask. Dont worry, its always like this! Shell get her shit together again in a second. Is the response, foaming at the mouth, and vomit on the chin. Transvestite kaleidoscope, insane eyes, hallucination, and intertwine the words in matrimony. The best way to explain things is unions will try to squeeze blood out of a stone, while capitalists will sell you half a stone and convince you to pay for the entire stone, while keeping the other half for themselves. Ulterior motive often means one leads to another. Youre a snake that wished they could walk, a creature with legs that wished they could fly. Self reverential kings of nobody, so distracting is the product of another misunderstood, and never could be, but none ever are. It comes down to who cares the longest to feel important, and subsist with the longest hangover of the pains of alive. Faith is as strong all you, aggrandized from everything disdainfully experienced and felt. No self is anyone. Now be wary of doleful people who claim theyve got everything in the world, just like remaining cautious when the comprehensive one suddenly acquires an interest when youve got something to lose....If anyones crazy its you. I became infected with the working class disease for a while, and found beer most satisfying to quench the unfulfilled desires of the lifetime, though I must say that my weary moments of emptiness seem an equal waste of time. The life needs constant occupation, which is why its so easy to get controlled and distracted, medicated immeasurably on the daze that some things stay the same; cannot be changed in lifetimes duration. Just helpless addicts who need to control the things in the life? Just a lone retard boy who dreams of the life manufactured by my own, though still hankered by the addiction to control the changing variables of the life. Addiction, the failed by-product of control. If a controller is given a bias piece of information, and cannot identify disparity, and allows that information to scar their outlook of life in a way whereby the entire nature of their being

is replaced; solely negative nurture of this world, then what sort of creatures are we breeding? If people will not control themselves, or are willing to wage war in search of truth (or change as its commonly known)then why are they not to preserve without eyes of greed, or curse of envy? The tolerance of another, the cooperation that does not seem to exist anywhere. And what is control over the life? It is certain that control requires time as its main source of sustenance. The wise controller does not overfeed their controlees. Feed a million doses at once, and your controlee will surely die or cease to be controlled. Though feed a million small doses, and allow for continued living and adjustment. Your controlees will condition themselves to their environment, post-dose every time. A wise controller is able to apply each new dose at exactly the correct moment, usually when the controlees are at their most vulnerable.... the same is true for control of any kind. The origin of totalitarianism for example is usually obtained by the small scale wittering of rights and liberties until the controllers have altered the minds of its controlees to such an extent that it has become unwise in the minds of the controlee to mutineer in any way.

Its all alive, though the lifetime grows weary, and my shoes are tired, and each time I think of that period I think of all the illness that will befall the finest people alive, and those who escaped painful medication, and found that thing they needed to preserve. All self mutilation techniques are disguised as cures for the anesthetized baying dreamers. If sustainment is a bore, then go right on through:

......................................................................................................................................................... I awaken in the breeze after nightmares of cancer death. Another morning, either the second or third one. She is gone from me, along with the others. I imagine her on the next leg of her journey chatting with piss smelling dementia candidates on the backseats of buses. One of those people who rides the bus with no destination in mind. She waits blindly at the last stop for a stranger, and then gone in to vapour of apathy. Memory fades away, for what was it anyway? People know, then lost, then reacquainted ,then undone, woven into crazy free floating free flow. Scent among the nature of extinction. I return to the car. The atlas is still out, and theres a message written on the back in permanent marker: DREAMS ARE COMING INBOUND

Feral
Upon the trail, readily available for fail... Pinnacle of disaster (Screams insanity) without relative need for the future. Heretical spazoids waltz around, emergent symbolism of the end of any kind of culture as it is known. Blinded by the pursuit of the elusive easy life... the melancholic moonbeam strikes the turf. Belle of moonlight on a darkened night... wilted bloom in the breeze. Maybe we die in our sleep, and then wake up in our dreams?

Riding around at midnight, no lights. Eyes blurred and searching, scanning. Lost and not found, only to get there solely by the minds automatic will; A comet until I die. Arms so tight on the handlebars that hands resemble the grip pattern. Theres a lonely wanderer concealed beneath a long coat and hood, and scarf. He or she feels the same as I, and we pass and never meet again. I was not so fortunate as to find that thing I needed to enliven the night before it should end. In fact I never find that thing upon the end of all evenings. Just embarrassed I could want something weak people require, but I want it so bad. And its such a feeling that the suppressed brain could stipulate on these evenings. Automation begins once again, and that ringing chime in my ear that always sounds far, and close when everything is silent and theres nothing else to think of. Attention returns to the waking exposure monitor. Slip some more revelation medication through synapse-neuron-transmission-of-external-nurture-of-environment, and then watch the sand grains in the hourglass. Sentimentality grows weary, and faces become simple blobs of relative consciousness in the cafe where Im sat. Much of a muchness of nothingness. Creed of need without credential recognition. In rapture and stir of the next dusk. Theres eight customers in the cafe, and theyre all occupying corner tables just blurting out non sequitters to dampen the silence. Things like thats my sonny boy, or shit happens, or well I dun-know what were gonna do (shoulder shrug); After all people like to be seen doing things. I sip from the coffee carton mouthpiece scribbling some words down on a napkin. Just some interchangeable sentences to cure the boredom.

Im worth as much and as little as I care to ride The kind of clouds where heaven appears to ascend Astral orbit of the gathering mass Walking around the car park for hours.... I lost my mind that time Transpire back to solitude. The people interchange so... lost. Sacred stepping stones above the tributaries, into the swamp, wishing they were plinths to be forever encaptured. Silk seal on the box of no return. Grows crops for the next harvest. Moon gravitation stronger in the evening. Heart heavy aurora to follow that wafts from the misty spray, roman goddess of dawn.

Excuse me, you dont happen to have the time do you? Asks a girl. Im sitting by the door, so the inquisition seems to be mainly on a convenience basis. You only need to know the time if youve got somewhere to be I reply. My response seems strange, and I probably look insane where I havent slept much over the days. She rolls her eyes, which reveals her as younger than I first impressioned. Id imagine she is within five years of my age. She seems surprised by my response, as my faith melts systematically through her eyes during the pause which followed my answer. I guess youre right, but you have to have the intention of going anywhere at all if youre aiming for somewhere to be She replies, smiling in the duel. Why do you want to know the time? I ask. Its just something to do, something to know She replies again with more wit than before. I notice how pretty she is, and how that beauty probably expels powerful migraines at temperatures above 218 degrees in right angled masses... Or maybe 219 degrees... I cant be sure. Its eleven pm by the way I answer. What you writing on your napkin? She asks with child like curiosity. Just some wordy lines from my head. Whenever I think of something I write it down. Had quite a lot going around the ole skull just recently. The girl had quickly drank the whole of my

attention, and the rest of the coffee was cold anyway. I envisaged the future from my fly on the wall exposure monitor. I revered as she sat down to sound out her next line of conversation. Ive had a real crazy time just lately. You want to write about that? She inquired. Tell me and Ill see if you qualify. Youve got to qualify I responded, still unsure of the correct way to address this creature. The cafe by the motorway zooms and rings as the empire of blood vessels in this grand human empire bustle past. The skin slumps upon the organs and bones within. A new direction seems in order, any direction at all. Well would you believe of all the things I am, that the thing Im known as best is a runaway? she replied. After the few days Ive had I wouldnt flinch if you sat there and told me youre a pigment of my imagination. Her dappled spirit lent forward, followed by her physical being some moments later: You want to know the inanes of life? Well Im Patient Zero of my own world, of this homely realm of deformed scruple, and obscurity, and undying masquerade. Wonderful! Another smart, crazy person to acquaint with I thought. I have been asked by at least one hundred people would I write about them, and Im thankful to answer that only a couple have ever appeared in my words. And only as essences of life, rather than a wholesome blend of devastating humanity. The unknown mistress of the cafe was approximate applicant one hundred and one, and she had made the cut. Id say your qualifications are in order. Now the writing process has no singular method. Just as the human never has one goal in their life... Or at least I havent found the perfect specimen yet. I finally told her. How do you know what the perfect specimen is? She responded inquisitively. The perfect specimen doesnt exist. The perfect specimen barely subsists externally, and only truly exists internally. So unless I could get at that interior of yours, theres no real way of telling. Where you going next? She asked. I wish I could say something like thats for me to know, and you to find out, but I have no clue! Ive got a car parked outside, Ill be driving around aimlessly just as Ive done for however many days Ive been in this psychosis. Follow me if you like, I can see the moon bounce in your eyes.... Thats a positive thing by the way! I see She said. She followed me out to the car. The neon lights around the cafe were glowing uranium style within the dark. Recent memory seemed like the whole and only ever life. Walking mechanisms sojourn, transfixed, star bound. Another evening to tick from the exposure monitor.

The Lifetime Vigil

Dear Darkness Im sad to remember the death within you, although heaven heals me easier. I would like to sincerely welcome everyone to the devils dance hall. Gazing into the elongated shadows. Lobotomy eyed, and vexed, and crazed, and ravenous.

Auto thought becomes painful. And everything is dense and weak, and inferior to arbitrary comparison; it does not pass. And I must ride it out like a fever. Sleeping means innocence, which I cannot grant, for my underlying sentiment is hyper vigilance. The discomfort of it all, the rotten hypnosis; Real sick. Tempestuous cluster feel that makes no sense. I have not stockpiled enough matter to drive the waking impulse away. Words I always use. Thoughts too quick and numb to concoct new ones. The same as Ive always done. This sequence does not end until I shake this obsessive craving to see all that may be seen. I cannot control, I am control, though I cannot; so insignificant and flawed, with the doom medallion... Dangling! Fist clenched tense around it; the other is an open hand flower floating in the oxygen. Its quickly becoming apparent to me that the ideal life is out of reach forever in the lifestyle of this reality. A medley of mediocrity, a tragedy seat, an embryonic plague in the life of forever, son of a brisket! See synthesized fucking shit, and the itch that preys upon me. Sleep the passing sleep. The darkness beats the light. And I am glad to stumble towards the mire. Indictment. May the scratching go away. And may my life be given purpose. And may the guilt of being superficial to this world leave me, for I know Im nothing. Im so certain when this mind wears off. Though all the possibilities of harm grow inside of me. You got anywhere to go? Anyone wholl listen? Do people really care about additional problems that are not tangible? We will solve them... And all of us... Where is the answer? I can see the answers clearly in front of me... No I cannot save. Subvert, now calm. Restless but calm somehow; See me, see you; The conduit between; Passing through, tranquil tranquil, kitty kitty, gaba gaba, glama glama. This is art my friend! You dont know art like I do, and Im telling you that is a gosh darn ART you got yourself there! Cathartic is what that motherfucking shit is! You go and take some more crazy pills boy howdy, because thats all this is; A perpetual game where you win and lose immeasurably, Take a spin and come on back to the dance! Journey to and from, and the place where I end up. Its all the same within me. Sure the exposure varies from place to place, but always will I return here, for this is the only place where youll be. So how could we have this conversation if we were somewhere else? Just dont wind up dead, broke or draining your vital organs with a drip tube. All those who dance too hard, or stay too long, there is no avoidance. The wildness cannot be beaten, though it is inevitable that youre going to lose in the end. The only way out is a tactical withdrawal where you can look and claim to have lived without the burden of death. You will realize that life bears many fruits outside of mindless engagement. Try to hold on and watch the stars replace the sparkle dust. Anyone who medicates the dreariness of their existence with short happy fixes will undoubtedly lose. The reality must be stretched and broadened (perhaps with the inducement of illicit mindscapes in controlled, reasonable measure). But the journey to any kind of enlightenment is wholly superficial seeing as the right way is unique in everyones minds. Im sure we can agree that the killing of one another should always be wrong. This is of course under the condition of whole world cooperation. Difference has challenged this species. Perhaps there is no saving us. The foundations crumble because they have always been rotten. This world would claim to be brand new compared with other worlds made obsolete by time. But how different are we, other than for our incessant environment? How much have we really learned? One day we will die and the unborn children shall rule the world. We are conscious of this fact, although oblivious to those who walk beside us now. Wholesale cooperation in the direction of humanity and nature would heal the world. The failing of this theory is humanity could never agree on a set of principles to cure the world that are not destructive.

Sunset Wither Juxtaposed (The Thrilling Encounter Of Cinderella Waltz Beam)

The self mutilation gage was low, and the quick dexterity was high to float. The moon eclipsing where I walk all the time. My own grasp upon reality seems to stop me going insane, alongside the undulating rainbow walls that meld into apple pies when the exposure monitor zooms out. All our unspent thoughts; to the abyss above. Into the enlightened divine....Exaltation overcomes all of a sudden; It seems apparent that perhaps we are not top of the food chain, for spiritual nightmare dream eaters wait upon the other side, waiting to feast as were blasted into nights everlasting race. I could be wrong though... So what is your name then mystery girl? It would be nice to address you by something other than you and her I said. How about Cinderella Waltz Beam? Cindy for short! She replied immediately. Thats a good name, I will call you that... Cindy. Unless I get mad with you, and I feel the need to address you by your full name in some authoritative way. Whats your name? She asked. Its not Rogers Tea Party Doom Land, or anything like that Im afraid! The tragic joke had degraded for so long in the pause of whats you name, that she did not smile as Id intended. She was difficult to read, and her actions seemed unsystematic to any code of typical humanity. My name is Pete I finally said. Anyway, youve been suffering my bad dialect all evening. Is that why you havent taken your lips off that Whiskey bottle? Naw, I just have a thing for Whiskey I suppose She answered swigging drunkenly from a bottle of Jim Beam Sour Mash Bourbon. The small drips seemed to hang in the air after each swig she took. There was a short, much needed silence which followed where neither of us said much, and the chain clink of the engine was all that could be heard. So when youre not Cindy or Cinderella Waltz Beam, is there a more casual name youve got? I asked. Maggie She hesitated. My name is Maggie, though it changes all the time dependent upon the situation. Please give me an example of such a situation then Maggie I inquired. Well before it was Cindy, and now its Maggie. What changed the situation then? I did she replied in the most gorgeously intellectual way. (PAUSE) It turns out that Im sharing the car with Maggie (Cinderella Waltz Beam), the prettiest failure you could ever see. Swigging whisky hillbilly moonshine swill style. Shes slurring like she barely has a tongue at all, the beautiful atrocity that she is. Though still somehow she leaks some sort of endearing magnetism from herself. I wanted to lock her into conversation for forever, or at least until I didnt feel so crazy. Each time a pause led to a silence, I was back on my own. Except her presence confused my thoughts into suspended rumination horror thoughts.

I keep thinking my penis is out! I know thats weird, and that the onrushing current of peculiar cunt pussy is strange, but what else is there? Im bemused yet optimistic that the world will be my friend. Does the concept of control make great artists, or do artists make good controllers? I cant decide, and by no means is that the end. The crazies went home and asked if we could take their places to play? The world will be seen from an innumerable measure of perspectives. The ideas of yours will cease to exist, and the singular eyes will be all that shines. The compromise of the habit forming human, betwixt its need for stuff to need. One day I was thinking of everything, and all that it could be. Words spill out.... Scatter puff.... AND........THEN......FINALLY; I AM EVENING SKY. Foul bile interrupted my degrading brain as Maggie undone her window and spewed her guts out the car as we sailed along the motorway. A strand of vomit remained on a strain of her hair as she leant back in. I removed it, and then kissed her forehead for some reason. She cried with a smile, and then passed out gracefully in the passenger seat. The saddening thought that my mind may once again switch to paroxysms of the arcane was my greatest fear, as that unconscious mouth dangled open showing the cutest amount of teeth. The energy was ebbing through my bones once again, much like death grants its victims one final flare of life before oh yonder occurs...

Electrifying Sidewalk (The Perspective Of Maggie)

Through the car windscreen, Monet painting vision over the vapour encrusted headlands as the light shines beyond. Hallucinations and fear of the dark, and those noises I used to hear. The fear of ghouls. Lowly morsels of road grains, and shiny cats eyes. Dreamful eye vision state of mind. The pure soul deserves all the world can give. And then gliding through the glistening doors of the eyelids; awakening... The car was empty as she awoke from a deep sleep. Petes passenger door was wide open, and there was an atlas on the seat propped up against the steering wheel. The car was parked in a lay-by on a country lane with high banks on either side. Her head was a prickly gossamer of words and contemplations that flowed continuously, until she almost felt the need to speak aloud from those thoughts. Like the proclamation of an ever present world beyond all that could ever be known. Maggie got out of the car, took Petes jumper from the backseat, and walked along the road. Thick glazed fog that disappeared into ghostly nobodies upon focus concealed location identification. Solace strip me naked, and windless skies take me high. Marked to the soul... The blood dripped from him, and she wanted to die. But didnt in lifes procrastinating limbo. Shivering and shy, Pete clenched all over. Maggie frowned and walked over to where Pete was. Vague as all the alone that the silence between signified; Anaesthetic angel blood may heal. Sullen and still as the breeze that blew silent and still, and undecided as to what would happen in the very next second, both stood motionless. Im not a surgeon general, but Id say youve fucked that guy up pretty well! Said crazy old Maggie. I hoped youd stay cool and reply with something like that Maggie ole darl! Pete replied. Is he dead? asked Maggie.

No, hes not dead. I just got a little crazy walking around these fields, came across this guy who got all shouty, so I leathered him a few times. Pete was shaking with excitement, and started dancing on the spot, cool and slow; letting his limbs rock with the movement of his body. So what do we do now? Hes just laying there in the mud Maggie said pointing to the middle aged man laying unconscious upon the ground. Lets leave the old fucker! He probably wont remember much, or we could eat him, or we could finish him off. Its fair to say old Mag that the world is our oyster at this stage... Actually, I think the very next thing we should do is dance together, Im fairly sure theres some cds in the car we could play Pete said. Darkness sauntered above them; The scene from afar; Sunset dust reflecting, pirouetting silhouette horizon on the night time. Fine empty, jangly music.... Words that speak to you.... Darth mysterion wanderer, play music of own transliterated thoughts, and sing deep in infidelity, sing deep. The sky surrenders another catapult... Moment rises, streets alive... Perfect specimens are so tranquil. Theyve learned to disarm care for the insignificance of it all. Relying, so sure on traceless words. Travellers of the all knowing consciousness, taking all the exposure life can give. Retreating in the arms of the skull, recycling unanswered pain into circulatory love. So cursed are the perfect specimens. I await death until the day I die.... not for as long as I live Dancing sway Daphne, air that pulsates gas stream style Plays away in some time deprived exploration mechanism. Lost and never found for as long as time goes on Time is the vintage of life

Paranoid Regarding Slime

Why would certain creatures be born with larger inclination to die if life ends at death? Like the unwelcome sight of headlamps on the night road, like cinders travelling at the speed of loneliness; Draws hazily on all ever known. Then returns to a familiar place where the energy seeps from the walls. Hang from the tree of wisdom, or something reckless.... yeah. Small droplets that make her face alive, her saliva blossoms in the dew. This is not a test this is not a test this is not a test this is not a test this is not a test. Out of the womb sustained, and into the ground maintained, out of the womb sustained, and into the ground maintained out of the womb sustained, and into the ground maintained. Keep your eyes on the road! Maggie requested. Why bother; I guess most of the time anyhow responded Pete, driving and swerving, and then driving some more. The sign is of depression, switch dialled at the epicentre of a penumbra; I turn absently, and then postpone following direction for a moment, for I am lost and steadfast. I move, then realize I do not need to. Perpendicular notion, ocean sway. Bright all above.

Falling into death or decline is much like lucid dreaming on stilts beneath a floor of lava, and a blackened sky that rains ash. Though so stunning when the overcast prevails. Hahahaha-aw Jesus! In that case I must be a really silly fucking bastard Pete laughed in response to Maggies joke that he could not remember. Meanwhile Maggie was panicking in the backseat, tucked up under a blanket whispering I DONT WANT TO BE NO SAD CASE, I DONT WANT TO BE NO SAD CASE repeatedly. Thered been a substantial period of time pass since theyd been in the field, and many invisible monologues spoken in the skulls of both individuals. Do you mind if I take the controls for a second dear narrator? Pete asked the narrator Why of course my dear boy! Thats what Ive been waiting for all along! There seems to be no direction that has not been made some time already. Just repeatedly moving.... Just moving I, the narrator said. Why thats so kind of you! Did you hear that Maggie? The narrators going to let us take the rains for a while! Thats great news Replied Maggie ..................................................................................................................................................................

Wink Fist Lashes (The Supposed Voices Of Pete And Maggie)

Maggie (Cindarella Waltz Beam): Thoughts roll, on my own, on my own... subtle quake disconnected from dialogue and all sounds. Do I think solely in the dominion of the English language? is one such thought. Like if you could now translate my thoughts would they translate into the English language by default of the only dialog I have ever known? When will it be realized that the outstanding question is; Forever? Interaction with external is perfectly well, But does not coax my internal shell, Dreams by my own experience do not require gravity or any such physics. The vividity of dreams are based on my observance of those arbitrary shapes all around. Places of all time which are dead could never be absorbed. Is it merely coincidence, is why I have trouble in believing? The characters are all the same, and presumably always have been. There are boxes to tick, and creatures which have consumed the exposure that has given them the outward to be observed upon. The external beauty will kill you if you view its outward with no regard for the power of the creature within. That creature is as casual as danger, as natural as all you view in the sky, the sky; the energy provider to rusticate this intricate machine before the eyes, pigmented light gleams that make them real thus, the touch of them so theyre there. The senses are fools that transmit to ones self, that gives you your outward bound.... THE REVOLUTION you pompous fuckers! They do not control themselves well, and why? They are intolerable of one another. There is no median point to work from in large population scale. How about law? asks the conservative comfort seeker feeding liberally, and denouncing the same greed that makes things sweet is nothing more than good business. Law is made by agenda that does not match truth or the interest of the majority of people. And often those with the loudest, or the most attractive argument makes law.

How about we start a street revolution whereby all the fat cats are put in jail for their crimes against the working class? Suggests the good old boy liberal unionist with h(er) halo dangling from the flaps of her cunt. Politicians have not become administrators on purpose. It has simply become their job on the basis of the noisiest voice they can hear; and corporations (the most organic by-product of capitalism) can afford the loudest megaphone thanks to all the money all the whiners gave them. I fail to see where this is exploitation. Of course wealth is inherent, and it is arguable these organizations have the power forcibly bestowed in order to survive, but to simply stop endorsing something is to kill it. Not a single unethical enterprise could exist if it is not given the collective support to do so. Betwixt with the informed mind there is no reason for failure. A demonstration is non progressive regardless of what anyone says. Every revolution ends badly in the end. Especially when referring back to my earlier point that the basis for civil order often boils down to restraint, and who has the loudest voice. What is the answer? both of them inquire in unison, whilst aggressively fighting over whose definition of freedom suits best. The answer lies in something thats not been widely used before; the delivery of impartial information, and the controllers properly educated interpretation of information. If war is fought, and a victor prevails, has the answer really been found if your protest has been met by creatures of dissention as far as death? The revolution should not litter the streets, for freedom is an abstract vision of an individual who has self gratification at heart. The revolution needs to be fought where it has not been fought before; the information and the interpretation of. Information is all around in all thats consumed from this world. People will act upon the information placed in front of them. This information combined with the habit forming human creates bastardized beliefs that preach hypocrisy. These beliefs are perpetuated in the same way that all life will grow when given time. People born to believe only in the way theyve been exposed to such things. If the information is impartial, and looks to preserve humanity and the planet that humanity must live and sustain itself on, then we may be hopeful that the revolution is a changed mind that strays from ego fertilizers such as material worth which has bastardized all humans. For every action there is a reaction, the system has become one way in the sight of destruction with steel girders fixed to the track preventing deviation. The cancer is not a particular political affiliation, but a representation that does not incorporate the collective standpoint of the people or the environment. Considering everything that is large, and has an air of demand will endeavour to expand at the level of requirement, much like nature grows when the sunlight is just right, and the nutrients are plentiful. The answer is control. Control will build or destroy the world. Caricatures portraying corporations as some wild beast ready to rip at the throat of the world, what are these? Theyre the reflections of the peoples collective investment. Attempt to control ones self in a tranquil kind of way that does not see more death that ultimately leads to the rebranding of the existing problem. I PREDICT PROTESTS, CONTIUITY INTO THE GROUND UNTIL THE EVIDENCE IS CLEAR.

Pete: How troubled their medication is. If signs of relapse are noticed, simply increase the dose! If there are paroxysms of discord as surely there will be from time to time, simply nullify, and embellish, and pacify. The intelligence pool is too shallow to cling on anyway. PEOPLE WILL NOT GET THIS! THEY WILL NOT GET THIS! Their intellect pincers are simply not sharp enough. They will fall off into mediocrity where information is much less taxing. An appropriate dose is one that makes effect, but does not detect harm or recognition to its host. A dose in such contexts is not limited to chemical, but any emotion you wish to hang yourself on. Moderation of dosage prevails the control, while regular overdosage challenges the capacity of the overall controller, and perhaps even

promotes tolerances against higher dosage in the future, but does however leave the controller susceptible to harm in a game reminiscent of roulette. There are over controllers (energy vampires) that cannot wait to take everything you have. They are addicts of the overdosage, and are constantly hungry for new doses. There are no two of these special kinds of vampires that are the same. Be wary as you see them, and take longer than youd expect to recognise them. The gravely mysterious questions of life, such as do dogs view the same sight of afterlife as I? How could such a degenerate child ever be born? Do clocks exist in dreams, because I saw one the other day? Remnants all around, but dies inside (soul existence?) Sounds flow in wind motion. Flag representation of all who could wish they are. Multiplying seeds of the empty search fourth behind old widow caution of the nigh. Finger point compass reels and reveals. All I want to do is survive seeking the bigger motion. I must make grave pain in myself before having pleasure with you. Natures organs stretch out across the land. Medusa scorns at me, stone is all I was and am. Gliding through the derisive twilight with no idea how to be alive. I love that thing your teeth does when the lights all night time, and the beams of light are like skewers leading off to another dimension. The money all gets spent in the end, and were all dead, alive with the constant restlessness. Watching subjectively, on the boundary, for insanity. Make mistakes, falls gracefully on the pavement, breathing chest spasm, dead cherub. If heaven is the longing place for all, then who are wrong in theirs? Through loves forgone, into hedgerow alleys lamenting, empty and spent though, now far. Another hopeless imploder to be raped and pillaged by all is how I see her. Am I another life survived, survived life cycle to tell lies of the depraved so. Rotroscoping eyes; Fantasy world all around, drawing real life pictures- shrill into the sleep deprived maniac. Ive felt this way- hallucination crescendo, tired. The moon comes out for one last description, pressed against the sky, the waves all heavy, and a billion odd faces have felt this very thing of spellbound-energy-surge, and farewell waves the tide, permeable of all spirit, and love, the bespoke feeling of everyone is not one thing, and the word is disease of envy. Is humanitys destruction of earth the new form of nature by definition? I love all regardless, and dead words, and I am alive when I am deceased, because I am somewhere else where all my particles have been scattered in all the places you can feel. All thrill seeking; damage unacknowledged.

A Hawk Eats A Snake

The Disney style face with puffy eyes thatre dilated, and bucked teeth, and the intention to only know you if theres something worth his while. Kind and well when it comes to small talk, although cracks under internal stress of his default will with snarls and deviating temperament. Id determined this conclusion within thirty eight seconds of seeing him in the rainy night. A bouncer is in my chest in the upstairs smoking section, asks if Ive got any drugs. I say no and try to walk past. He sticks his big ape arm out to block me, I ask him if he can make it quick because Ive got a really bad time to have downstairs. Girl of mysticism eyes Ive seen before reoccurrence brief and meaningless saunters on by doing that eye thing for a second, and then lost (Imploding lights each time the door opens ajar, then closed. Is all reaction and life simply chemicals?). Hes frisking me down like a cunt, pulling out my handkerchief and phone, and then pulls out my wallet. Halfway through searching the wallet he asks if it was okay in the first place. I was a little drunk and languid in my moods, and garbled something like take one of those fivers in there

for being a damn good man. His tempestuous ego wafts into the authority air as some girl stumbles past fucked-up on ketamine or something like that. His fat fingers skilfully rummage around the compartments of my wallet fruitlessly, and I walk away. Downstairs old mysticism girls still giving me empty stares, which I emulate, and then return to the laminate flooring, and then return... She moves over to the dance floor and dances in a mocking minuet style to the slow reggae music, thick knee tights that switch places so hypnotizing in the phosphorescent box room. Retina, cascade chemical reaction, optic nerve electric brain. Refract. I stand at the back looking at this girl, and between glances dancing all sad and low, like when every movement is forced and controlled. I was scanning the room looking for Maggie, who was doing the worst thing anyone can ever do in this world; asking strangers around the toilet stalls if anyone would spare her a line of something fast in exchange for high living conversation. No one wants high living conversation unless theyre looking interested with the intention of fucking you in some backstreet half an hour from now. This sentiment was lamentable as Disney guy came up to her and was speaking in her ear. Two identical looking bouncers were stood on a raised section of floor that overlapped the dance floor. Breaks in the musics rhythmic beat were spoken over by smart, affluent white guys who imitated rasta MC accents, and spoke of the revolution and poverty. Maggie took something from Disney guy, and entered the unisex cubicle. I watched on as one of the bouncers walked down the stairs towards the toilet door hallway, and out of sight. Two minutes later Maggie walked out followed by the bouncer. She was pulling a mischievously evil kind of smile that only I would interpret as such. Grabbing my arm she said lets go, Ive got some energy to go burn somewhere else. Not sure what that meant, I said yeah? and we left. The bouncers came over so I swallowed a whole bag of stuff Maggie said as we entered the night time air. She was getting jittery, which Id not seen before from her. Shed hidden her bottle of whiskey behind two loose bricks at the start of the night, which she retrieved and drank from. Id say thats probably the worst thing you could do right about now Maggie, youll be getting weird pretty soon I said. I cant think of a more apt drink to have right about now! Maggie replied. Thats what a cunt would say I roared, and then kissed her all extrovertly- explosive-style. She backed away after about five seconds, and threw up with a smile like before.... A true controller is so engrossed by locating their own control to adversely affect other controllers. The game of controllers is introverted by default of reasonable definition. In this instance, if theres a moral way to live, then is there a dignified way to die? Loudly shitting himself as his mind wanders; blank and degraded, untraceable, permanent psychosis of this place. Mouth open yawned all the time, pured vegetables dripping all over his grown up bib. Only noises are those of moaning death. Waiting all neat and tidy till the cows come home The body is dust of the ground, and will continue to provide for life, but inanimate. Where does the living of the body go? Transcendental hopes that the living creature inside that never grows old by measureable observation, though does decline and is perhaps just another functioning member of the living operation system? Just seems more real, though rused by its default function to absorb exposure. Where does the exposure go? Is it erased and degradable as all Ive seen? Or can such data be extracted, or are my only translitural strands of matter I communicate through this rather subverting language device, the only known archives of a life that was no different in the grand scheme. The infinity suicide party, get a ride hard, solemnly trudge-vanquished-yet-certain-ofan-indescribable-significance.... Somehow, maybe another trick of the default minds discretion. Days compartmentalize a cycle, though it is simply nature of the living. There is nothing here that-isntNOT-something-beyond-human-conception. Its the darkened eyes around the gargoyle crossed cherub face, with gouging expression, purple lips pouted and resembling corrupted beak. These things are the muses of nightmare. They

whisper silently you a witness boy? You someone of faith? Any denomination in that head of yours? The-worlds-going-to-shit-fast, and-down. Maggie was humming and doing star jumps, and laughing with her face like she could have a stroke at any second. Her eyes were all dilated and kept rolling into the back of her head, breathing in the final stages of aggressive, terminal cancer, lungs like walnut halves. Have those eyes got somewhere to be? I joked. Har har har har har har.......... Nopeeeeee She replied, somehow in an adorable sort of way. And then out of nowhere in his place far away, there stood Paul Saul of all people. Hes one of those creeping strangers who could always appear at any location on this earth at any time. Paul Saul is one of the craziest people Ive ever met, like he could get up and destroy you with his digger like arms, and think he was just playing around like a big clumsy old dog with a child. I have observed him start fights seemingly on the basis of an atavistic, inside itch. Him and his brother beat each other so bad that its common to see them with self inflicted puffy lips and swollen eyes where their constant impotence towards one another leads them so. Theyve spent the past four years restraining their drunken fucker dad from beating on their mum, surviving by siphoning every unguarded oil tank within a six mile radius of their small town, and consuming copious amounts of illicit medication. One time Paul Saul dropped six tabs of acid in some sleep deprived, lucid nightmare; and then tried driving somewhere with his illegitimate kid in the backseat. A bunch of people went searching for him, and found him fifteen yards from the car in a trench that measured around forty inches wide, and seven feet deep digging for the eternal treasure of the holy ghost of the minds alien invaders. Hed dug the hole with his bare hands, and all the brambles hed subconsciously walked through were wrapped around his shins up to his thighs. His brother Carman was once having a seizure after sniffing one gram of Ketamine in one hit (also known as the gram challenge. A bet is placed usually by a dealer that if the wagerer consumes one gram of powder in one go, and doesnt throw it back up, and doesnt die then he or she gets the drugs for free). Some portly old bird was with him, and was her hero in such listless culture time collapses. She thought the best thing she could do to Carman was spoon feed him mouthfuls of Methadrone as if to nullify the reaction. There are countless other stories where death seems like the only desire, alongside a juxtaposed hunger to live-forever-dead-intoxicated-madalive-crazy-sincere-smiling. For some reason Paul has always made a stern effort to shake my hand and strike conversation on every instance that I have met his acquaintance. As strange as the human relationships always are, I believe this friendship is clarified on the basis of a fight I once saw him have with a friend of my cousins. He started beating on my cousins friend for no reason. Me, him and some other guy were walking and he said something like Im going to go and beat the fuck into that boy over there, so he did. The boy ran away and returned a little while later with a steal pole and his fat Scottish girlfriend. He bashed the pole against a steel girder beside where a few of us were smoking a joint. Paul Saul somehow managed to slip away leaving me and this other boy with a fat bitch girl shouting stuff at us through a thick Scottish accent and some skinny half pint fucker wielding a steel pole. 5 minutes or so later Paul Saul burst through a bush about ten yards away with a piece of two by four. There was a long standoff that was reminiscent of many other plebeian encounters Id seen growing up in a small town. I remember the skinny boys mother showing up, and Paul Saul backed off when she threatened to phone the police on account that it was starting to get dark, and he rode around on a motorbike that didnt have headlights; ever. I know a place where we can go and get somewhere. He said through glazed expression. I do not die, because Id require death to be my enemy in order to truly embrace death....

The master plan of survival is to medicate dullness with manufactured dullness until youre shitting your pants at age 66 years; give or take five years either side. Tentative footsteps, the people there eat their own shit, and have mutated to a form where they act in direct detriment to their world. Their world is similar in most ways, other than its tendency to allow the flies to feed off of the dead skin without price tag for such added service. The disease is thick in the air, and understanding continued existence with strong rule and regard for the outward environment is contrary results. Social implication of deemed perpetual problem; a toxic minority generalizes and cross phase and then turn to the radio static which speaks to me: Taste is the flavour of a sensation that is cyclic until the same thing is continued, juxtaposing placebos. Realization halts progress of an organic kind. The square block that will not fit the round hole still does not process as reasonable practise, a mindful dilemma that is preferred not answered. If certain strings of a being are programmed to empathize certain conditioning of another being, then why are those strings not multi faceted? Instead those strings are suction cups that absorb the matter of need. Human relationships are especially complex seeing as we deem our requirements as more intricate than the needs of other animals. This being the case, a more accomplished system of sustainment and prosperity is developed. One that does not establish into habitual repetition, but is not fearful of continual existence, and promotes organic growth of the natural world alongside. When killing me answers lifes ultimate questions, then what is life? I mistimed your arrival! Whats everyones favourite illness? The reflection of night time, like lost dogs in the headlamp The unintentional plight of humanity, in association with the greater good. If the eventuality of law is peace then the death penalty must be revoked, and the ugly slaughter of mankind and other such crimes regarded as sad anomalies in a world which is so lustful of death nonetheless. If law is generally a method of restraint where the eventuality is total control of all minds, and vengeance of the minority be broadcast as compassionate greater good, then warm the chair and prepare the needles. The death penalty as a random principal in the hands of an irrational society can spurn totalitarianism in less than a generation. Anger is a mindless flesh eating disease that operates in paroxysms of distinction and burrowing growth. And then, thus, reality over controller, vividity of conception to eyes see; graveyard serum ready and waiting to view new things the same way. Ramifications of pulsing world. Addicted to the chance world, enemy of apathy all present, god once said something,; though I cant remember. Something like Im-happy-just-righton-fire. In split glitch time scopes the mind turns to two hundred recent faces that are travelling along, standing still, people wondering of those faces of all their sullen ambiguity, as in what could be more enlivening than being alive? Racing around the globe like electrons around an atom, hotrod journeys with waterfalls and shaded beaches in the dry damp heat are dreamt, and the places to escape seem so far away; and is. But the exposure monitor requires more, and the sentiment of those faces is to burrow deeper into their own transcendental land. Though once there life continues afterwards, and its discovered that longing is a never ending scream that is immortal.

If You Were A Cloud And I Met You There; codename depression is fast-slow, resentful and mellow
We were both higher than dammit, and I was telling her how my family has a history of mental illness on my mothers side while she was telling me about how I was all shed ever searched for all along, or at least in that moment. Just words getting lost across the room, by-products of the catatonic mind. Subconsciously the next part of the trip was coming on, and another venue in the same place would roll out from under the eyes. I was talking about animalistically fucking the prettiest girl Ive seen in my life. Thinking about masturbating in an endurance style, before brain reward system of orgasm that seems more wonderful in some way. In an escapable block of time where the mind wanderers little away from the dick in my hand, and the glorified sex thoughts of that artist girl I used to know, and how I figure she could fuck any way that the human body could flex. Maggie asked me if Id go and get more beer from the nearest store. I said give me a minute and then I will once Ive gotten my shit together. The time was morning, the question of hours past unanswered , undesirable faces cryptic and forgotten again for all time. I went to the store with Paul Saul who was giving me directions in the car whilst talking of a jaunt he had taken in the town where hed been living a few weeks previous: The streets seemed less elated than they did a while ago on a crazy, intoxicated evening whereby I lost and found my soul several times. Defaulting on soulless by the end. Inspired by a lust for living higher than ever, as I often feel an obligation to do. The inevitable madness of carefree kicks and gloomy blues. Leave a beautiful corpse that can only be obtained in youth. Satellite years that pass by, evoking nearby moments that have passed by within instantaneous time; by and by the years, swapped for memories, and spiritual togetherness, that perhaps never existed in the grand scheme of things. I am sometimes not content with my mind, so I move the furniture around with madness and insanity. There I stare in to eternity. The memories hide like mischievous kids, obsolete and soon to age and shrivel. It began as a night of typical promise. A certain type of night which has become routine for some months now. Hours spent in congregation with likeminded beings getting high. I wonder whether each bumpkin reserve is cursed with the same groups of souls, polluting their bodies, chatting shit for hours, and wasting time in every way possible. Like times expenditure in some way more productive would generate far greater, more fulfilling living somehow. Tonight I spend it in a location which has encapsulated more of my time than I dare to count or think of. Fortunately many such hours have been waking twilight hours, where fellow citizens of these naive parishes sleep unaware of the madness they are ill informed of. Ulurus Annex is the ideal province for unlawful activity. A place where madness is encouraged and competitively matched, and an amnesty on animalistic lunacy is enforced. A two room detachment from the home of his family, Uluru has transformed the barn conversion given to him by his parents to promote independent living, into a place of serene recklessness. A waft of damp smelling cannabis vapour fills the nostrils upon entry. The furniture of the two rooms has been randomly moved several times to suit a particular brainchild of a particular time, which is then forgotten, ready for fresh movement at another indiscriminate time. Random souvenirs fill the current main room, from stolen road signs, skate boards, hanging baskets, trophies, ornaments, pictures and other outlandish objects full of personal anecdote and innuendo. All with far higher meaning and recollection than conventional heirlooms of widespread insignificance and norm.

Im greeted at the door by Uluru who proposes we get fucked up tonight. He takes me in to the main room and waves bottles of Vodka and Whiskey around. You up for getting pissed tonight man? My birthday fucked up hard, so we were going to get pissed to compensate. Ive got a bit of K left; we can sniff that later as well. I agreed almost immediately, and offered to drive to the next town to buy Cider, Uluru came with me. When we got in the car, he told me about his birthday. He spoke the entire journey. Im always enthralled by interesting adventures, in the same way I am prone to tails of this rumen old world I find myself caught in. Its all rather crazy, and it is with pure constitution of the way I absorb this world, and my belief of its significance in the human time clock which I transcribe my exposure. Endeavouring to capture the spirit of these special people, and mine, lunacy, demented, paranoid of the uninviting world we wrongly find ourselves isolated from. Separate of nature, but sure that the alternative chosen may lead to something monumental. There is nothing immortal in this world. Not even the legacy I try to make tangible from my mind, fuelled by a hungry soul for one day to be proven right, or at least enthused in the face of truth. It all went fucked up to be honest with yah. It started off alright. We went to this park and got beauted. Theres this park in the centre of Cambridge where all kinds of people are around at all hours of the night. I gave this black guy a line of K and a noss balloon, I mean proper black! Like if you were picking out a black guy; Hed be the one youd pick maaaan. He was pretty buzzed up already, he told me how this noss balloon was the best thing hed ever experienced in his life. Then Uluru started imitating a universal foreign accent of how the guy spoke: This is the best thing I have ever done my friend, but I will not do another as it will never be the same my friend. Speaking normally he continued with the story: He was proper jumpy and gave me a whole wrap of K. Cue the accent once again: I will regret this in the morning, but tonight I am happy. Take care of yourself my friend. We will meet again mister. Back to Uluru: From then on it went bad! We were all pretty spangled. There was Me, Lee, Madeline, Rose and Kelly. Rose drove us around for a while, and then we decided to find somewhere to rack up. As I said we were all fucked, and as luck would have it wed pulled up right beside a police station! CCTV cameras watching us sniff shit! So just as we finished sniffing the line, four police cars surrounded the car, and we were all searched. Because of Mine and Kellys records, the police were allowed to strip search us both. I managed to drop the K in time. They found a bag of my weed in the car, but Madeleine was safe as fuck about it, and owned up on my behalf. Lee got a caution as well for that shit granulated weed he took. After that we all just decided to come home, because we were all peaking out about the police following us around and shit. By the time Uluru had stopped speaking, wed arrived at the Spar. I only had five pounds in my pocket, and decided to stretch it on as many units of alcohol as possible. Of course taste would be secondary, and I got a three litre bottle of own brand Cider for 3.50. Uluru threw a bag of Doritos on to the counter as I went to pay, and smiled. When we got back, it was realized that only three of us were up for drinking, and that was Uluru, Myself and Madeline.

There were other characters in the room of plentiful significance, although in this story they are simply smokers of weed, who grew hazier the more carbonated spit vomit I consumed, bolstered with generous measures of the spirits Uluru was pouring out for Himself and Madeleine. Ulurus younger brother Meek was with us, and occasionally pinched sips of my cider. He is the same age as my younger brother, and it always surprises me that he is subject to the cultured sights of the world his brother lives in. This seems strange compared with my own brother who spends most of his evenings playing video games. I have thought several times about which exposures I would prefer at his age, and I have still not reached a verdict. As splifs got burned and the clock hit about eleven thirty, most people had left, leaving Me, Madeline, Uluru, Meek and Lee. After recently tearing himself apart for about three months in some carefree demonstration of the lifes will, whereby he lost his job, savings and home for a while, owing to an unsustainable Methadrone bender, Lee now works in a call centre, and decided it was time for him to leave as well to get rest for the mornings labour. The rest of us, apart from Meek were confidently pissed and rearing for a night of lunacy by this time. We saw Lees exit as a chance to stagger around the streets in anything but a sole clich drunk style. To offset the clich, Uluru crushed up the Ketamine hed mentioned earlier, and racked up three lines for Me, Madeline and Himself. I was going crazy offering to drive all sorts of places, while Lee started complaining that we were taking too long, and started to walk out the door. We quickly sniffed our lines, and then followed him. I sympathized with Lee, as in my gloomy spats of employment, there is nothing sadder than leaving early when stuff is clearly about to go down. We walked to the park, which is also a shortcut to Lees house. As the K began to topple the alcohol, Uluru began throwing up violently, coughing up all kinds of bile in the most nauseating way. I laughed uncontrollably at the madness of it all. Beautiful, self inflicted, spleen discard! Lee grew tired of our futile attempts to keep up with him. Madeline and Uluru were either throwing up, or walking in unconscious diagonal lines, walking with crossed legs and falling over. I had levelled off a little, but the whole motion of the night had lost interest to my thoughts. I covered distances of as much as twenty yards without recollection in some strange mind spasm lock. The whole scene was so sad, but hilarious to the flailing corpse, zombies we had become. I always wonder what Meek thinks in these situations. Uluru has always been insistent that Meek never takes any illicit drug, apart from Weed which he regularly justifies with renditions of Bob Marley quotes. He just walked beside us all with his hands in his pockets, soaking in the wild sight. And smiling every time one of us tried to speak, which were usually prudent one word comments to avoid retarded slurs. Im walking home, see you later. Lee shouted from several hundred yards away. Naaaaaaaww wait maaan! Well walk back to yours. Uluru called back. Im going..... BYE! Lee yelled back, his voice gradually fading as he became further away. Fuck you then! Look Lees fucked off! What a fucking wetty! BYE Uluru replied. Where are we going now then? asked Meek. Still we continued walking ahead in the same sad scene, waiting for someone to answer Meeks question with a destination. In the meantime I admired Uluru and Madelines coughs. They both have the most unwholesome gag reflexes from years of fucking themselves up. Full blown discharge sequences where each instance involves several minutes of retching, and enthusiastic head tilting, holding their knees and gasping for air. Sometimes its like they could cough out several organs in one attack! Lets break in to the Old Peoples Home! I suggested. For months I have suggested that we break in to this large, abandoned Retirement Complex.

A housing estate was recently completed in the village, and beside two of the furthest bungalows is an entrance to a large horseshoe shaped structure. The buildings are complete with windows, doors, and outside lights all around the face. Its rumoured that the company who built the place ran out of money, and were unable to finish. The building has since fallen in to decay, with weeds squeezing up through cement between the pavings, and KEEP OUT signs scribbled with graffiti all over a large chain link fence, which is placed around the entire perimeter of the development. In more compromising mind frames, the idea has quickly been rubbished as a pointless exercise not worth the time or effort. Tonight yields universal agreement from everyone however. In sobriety, the idea wouldve been foolish. The housing estate is heavily lit with streets lights every ten yards. So much so that I noticed how awful we all looked, by the wrinkled, unhealthy, helplessness plastered across each of our faces from the induce, which would get far worse as the night rolled on. The entrance to the Retirement Home is directly next to where my Auntie and Uncle live. My Uncle is prone to smoking cigarettes at any time of the day or night, thanks to an uncontrollable nicotine addiction, yet he would probably avoid contact with me if he learned of my intoxicating tendencies. I prayed that a sudden night time craving would not strike for the duration of our visit to his neighbourhood. The fence was quite high, so to aid our climbing efforts Madeline grabbed a nearby Wheely Bin; which turned out to belong to my auntie and uncle. Each of us stood on top of the bin, which presented us with the perfect height to leapfrog the fence. Wed all sobered up dramatically in the excitement, leaving only misjudgement and complacency, which made us all crazy. All the beauty within my life I simply cannot convey in any sense. Lost to the eternal of the mind. Living traffic thoughts, lost to the ground below, where I am absorbed. The smiles. The weeds brushed against our midsection in places, which seemed to justify our actions all the more. We all started grabbing at nearby door handles, and attempted to unhinge windows which could be loose, all to no avail. Fuck it, I think were going to have to break a door down Uluru concluded. At which point we quickly walked to one of the three front doors that opened out onto the horse shoe. It was also where the lights of the building were most radiant. Any onlooker wouldve had the strangest sight! Meek and Uluru pushed down on the handle with such force that the door flew straight open! The excitement when the door floundered open was thrilling. Ive been painted black by the remnants of hopeful endeavour for too long to care I thought as the four of us ventured inside. We were like young children barging through the doors, hopeful that a huge treasure chest, or more may greet us on the other side of each door. We all giggled, and ran around. Each room was empty and square, but that didnt stop the pleasure of continuing through the dimly lit corridors, and into new rooms. It was all cyclone fire! I wandered off on my own for a brief period to get deep for a while, in the random moods of my leaking sentiment, which I could not pin down. Does my contentment on this earth matter at all? As it is not traceable Angelic like the dead. The mood where if the ground were to open up and swallow a being of any kind of feeling to me, I would not save. Why do I not have the control to remain constant? The shell Im born is simply my looking glass.

Its almost like when we die, well mean something. Can any human relationship never expire? I was scared before, so theres nothing to lose. Zombie apocalypse, insomnia, deep depressions.

I cry to myself in the disconnected darkness, and examine the lunar moon sky through the windows of another empty room I find myself in. Spiders initially spooked by my presence among them retake their residencies upon the window frames, among the dirt. I can hear the recklessness through the walls as Uluru, Madeline and Meek continue their exploration through the halls beyond my location. I found them all running around the reception room, hopping over the reception desk, then repeating the process. The novelty of what we were doing wore off after a while. I have noticed how intense joy can often end instantaneously. There was an adjoining derelict house in the far corner of the site as we left the cursed horseshoe building, which was probably built for a porter to the retirement home. Me and Uluru excitedly ran over to it. Right man, I reckon were going to have to break the fucking door down. After three were both going to run in to the fucking thing! Madaline and Meek looked on as a countdown from three began. The two of them joined in with the countdown. 3...................2....................1 At the count of one we both unfurled from our momentum building crouch........ and proceeded to head butt one another before making contact with the door! Both of us shunted back holding our heads, and then began laughing uncontrollably, as did Meek and Madeline behind us. Fuck that maaaan! Lets just go home. Ive got a doob left we can smoke. Part of the fence was slanted inwards, which meant we could climb the vertical incline to get back over. Uluru and Meek climbed over first, then Madeline, and then I followed just behind. I became dazed once again as the stimulation of activity had temporarily lulled. Conversation had ended for a while, and I zoned out. As I reached the peak of the fence I saw Uluru, closely followed by Meek sprinting down the road ahead of me, their busy silhouettes getting further and further away in the bright street lamps from my click motion vision. Uluru shouted Run like fuck! Whatever thats like. Id assume it was around the speed I was running when I turned around to see some sad, brawny character briskly walking towards us smoking a cigarette. It couldve easily been my uncle, although my eyes were blurred, and my mind wandered in far too many directions to adorn this possibility. You may as well wait around for the police! I called them and theyre on their way! The guy whined as we disappeared around the corner. We opted not to take his advice and kept running until we got to the big dark field of the park, where the four of us caught up with one another. Fuuuuck, did you see that cunt? Uluru asked. Did anyone hear what he said? Madeline asked. Im sure he said that hed called the police I replied. We best get back added Meek.

When we got back to Ulurus, he ordered Meek to go inside the main house. Get inside man. If anything goes down I dont want you to be a part of it. Me, Madeline and Uluru returned to Ulurus annex. Uluru rolled a joint. I drank several glasses of water, and tried to make myself sick to get rid of the remaining chemicals in my system. I then pissed on the floor of the bathroom, completely missing the toilet bowl. The three of us stood outside to smoke, as Uluru has had a police raid recently, and currently prohibits smoking in his annex for that reason. The night had slowed dramatically. The excitement appeared to have died as routine sitting around smoking resumed. I reckon I know what needs to happen I said.

A few months ago I came into possession of some Acid Tabs. I was at a party when Sensai, a friend of mine said he knew a guy selling Acid, and that hed take me over to meet him. He led me to three lanky individuals. Two of them were losing their minds on a fine blend of Ketamine and Acid, blurting out random things and moving their limbs in all sorts of obscure ways. Sensai began speaking to the third guy who was probably high on something, but making far more sense than his friends. The third guy suggested that we smoke a joint hed rolled over at my car while his friends who were selling the acid got their shit back together. An expression I have heard used to describe a similar situation at least five times. It turned out to be a bad call, because the two guys on acid were insane. One of them sat in the front seats with m, cavorting in and out of sense, in the most frustrating way. So much so that I ended up asking him to sell me a tab so he could get out of my car before his brain swelled and exploded all over the interior. He didnt take kindly to my insistence, and proceeded to get out the car and FIGHT THE FREEDOM, which he did by swinging his arms around in a windmill fashion without regard for any of his surroundings. Before the third guy could get out of the backseat to tackle his friend to the floor, the guy had smashed my passenger wing mirror clean off! In the frenzy which followed, I grabbed a baggy from him which turned out to be full of Acid. I have never stolen much in my life, but felt an entitlement to the damage of my wing mirror. The Acid still sits in a draw beside my bed. My idea was to get the remaining four tabs I had, and for the three of us to get crazy once again. Madeline and Uluru were both apprehensive, but agreed after I became quite insistent. I drove back to my house. It was about one oclock, although my parents have learned to live with my comings and goings at all shades of the day and night, and no longer question why I would come home, then leave instantly at such a strange hour. The induce had crept up on me once again in this time of concentration, though I managed to swing in to my drive, run along the shingle to the front door, tackle the stairs in pitch black darkness, pick up the baggy with the Acid inside, then get back in the car, then back to Ulurus. The three of us stood in the centre of the room, and placed the tabs on our tongues. I had two, while Madeline and Uluru both had one each. I looked in the mirror at myself and the smiley blotters Id placed on my tongue. There was another wave of energy, as anticipation oh yonder filled all of our minds with a fine mix of things we could not know, and perhaps never would know. Once again we sat back down, and waited.

It usually takes about an hour doesnt it? Madeline asked. Yeah, probably something like that I reckon I replied. I cannot recall much from the following forty minutes. We sat dormant of enlightenment, I remember that much. We need something to trigger it I reckon Uluru affirmed, then pulled a bag from a drawer beside his bed. The bag was labelled EXODUS in squiggly writing. I figured the definition probably matched, plus I was afraid the Acid would not work, so Me and Madeline both agreed to smoke some with him. Uluru rolled the brownish leaves in to a joint with a layer of Tobacco. This stuff isnt even that good really. Just makes you feel stoned. Uluru assured us. Again the three of us returned to the outside porch of the annex to smoke. There was little conversation, although the silence was not awkward, in fact it had become a kind of hybrid silence with the contrasting sights wed all seen of each other just a short while ago. We passed the EXODUS joint around until it was a small offering beside the roach. Madeline passed it to me and then began madly laughing, almost falling over. I took the last few drags on the joint, and then everything began to spin violently. Whoa fucking hell! I can fucking feel something off this shit I screeched. Uluru gave me the same mischievous smile as when hed placed those Doritos on the shop counter all those hours ago. A smile that suggested hed lied about the potency of the drug wed just inhaled. I once again entered the bathroom, and pissed freer than Ive ever pissed before! I was aware that the toilet bowl was somewhere in close proximity, though this did not matter! I pissed, and made letter piss shapes with my piss. I was ashamed in many ways, although refused to let this override the fact I had entered a spectacular period of psychosis. I did not even slightly care! The three of us returned to the room, although it wasnt THE room anymore, it was the funny house where everything was funny, and the thought of something hilarious was even more funny, funnier than the thing I thought of a second ago which was funny, perhaps even more so. In fact the rest of the evening I was cast adrift from any kind of reality. I was aware of Madeline and Ulurus presence among all of me, but that was about as far as our acquaintance went. The last moments I recalled from the world which was not of my own specific creation was a dialogue exchange with Madeline, where everything that was said made us weep with laughter. A joyous connection I have never experienced before. We were both practically crying, and our bodies were numb, and we were off balance and all over the place. My last words before a conversation freeze frame ascended upon me, and I was lost entirely within my own head were; Next time I try this shit it better be illegal Whatever that means. Every time I looked at Madelines face from then on her eyes were stormy.... With rainclouds either side. I looked over at my arm, and noticed one of my bracelets was missing. After deep discussion with myself, It didnt become fully apparent. Then I realized Id traded it for a Ferris Wheel, that went round.... until I caused an explosion. Maybe my negative exposures are the result of time warping aliens whove scuppered every opportunity for serenity Ive had within my life? Ulurus dog crawled outwards, on the basis of nineteen knives, that spied immeasurably in the madness dream.

I was a mess! It quickly became apparent that I would need to leave a bible ajar encase god came through the window after me and all my sins. Rather than wait around for his cruel devices, I decided to try and turn my mind back to what was happening with Uluru and Madeline, to no avail. Meanwhile, the Stevens twins. Two characters I had manufactured in my mind were saying neigh behind the cabaret, as if their answers were important in the conquest of the evenings more important proceedings. Like why would the cabaret not play? What was taking them so long? People began to tire, and began demanding a performance, venting their anger towards me. Their voices were so loud, and their heads oscillated above me, beside the Ferris Wheel I had obtained for trade with my bracelet. I had become the finest Carney the world had ever seen! The experience did not let up, and even the reality which gradually returned around me pulsated for a while. Inverted destination thats our own. I came to prove nothing, and Ive failed. We lived something fierce that night! Though it did leave me empty as I feared it might, just hopeful of the next one. I took one final look at Madeline and Uluru, who were asleep when I awoke to leave. I wondered how their relationships would serve me in transmission of this earth, and how years will pass where our paths will not meet, perhaps decades or centuries, yet this evening would always recall in the memory for as long as I have one. I concluded from the evening that were all absorbed and recycled by the ground beneath us, the ground which supports our feet. I am sure of that much.

Body Inanimate Anymore

The life lived, mine to give to you, to see what I cannot lie of... I was recovering from a mild depression at the time whereby I fell around the gap of senile hopeless direction and growing saintly beyond my wildest dreams. Inward journey inverted further. They always attract the attention of insecure pretty girls who wear too much make up, and speaks as if they are about to die from their own false, ugly laughter. The kind that goes out with only construction workers that are mean and fall of anguish . The crazy generation dream of everyones insane. Sally had shaved her pussy, and was looking for someone to try it out; The sex failed, just both kissing in the room full of faces, flinching away. Glimpses of the solo atop the sierra, absent minded, musings from when I was all bilocated between libidinous old Sally in her laced lingerie and the carpenter of reality... that there is none! There is real life which is lived through a window that neither dithers nor asks to keep moving around, like the current of the sea, or the winds breeze: We were just there smoking weed, playing chess, and knocking down shots of imported Spanish brandy. The unfitting schooner catching the lament; joy was a rich and degradable essence, such is life. Some people live by the thrill of the chase. From my experience these people will lose in a similar way to a mouse who constantly feeds from the cheese in the trap, although if they can keep getting that cheese BOY OH BOY are they in for a treat until they die. (INSANE VOICE)Fish drying out while everyone decides whether it should be allowed upon retirement in the bulimia hotrod cruiser. Climbing the ending tree, spying sight of homesick avenue, unsure where that place could even be. If your life is whack then call my friend for an extension. Estranged Pegasus, such a pretty old horse. Recalling shady limericks in the windows of the brain until the crazy went away, or became normal again. Devolved evolutionary gets aboard the misery vortex, and

begins stalking its nearest good time girl. Living ball of something with eyes that shine. 3rd class ride better than a first class walk, unless youre drifting unhurried and nameless of a direction. Aching in the wind, puncture... phew! Calls of where to go, never known... slow. Drinks away sprinkle star light style as she walks Floating around like dust in the ultraviolet, her eyes are spiders (they are blind). Serpentine movers and elastic shakers on some rare old medication Why kill in reason of change? The clock is eternal, and lasting difference occurs through perpetual education The first justification someone will use for hurting you for the second time is its your fault somehow Dont mistake experienced people as nihilists whove lived a monotonous life of repetition and pessimism Thoughts to think to multiply my ego. All the things to be is my constant waking thought. Interview rooms thinking this is the life for me! Whereby Im asked of my ideas and thoughts, and people will listen because someone else is. And that will be my meagre living arrangement. The one that will sustain. A life of thought can only be sustained by sharing those thoughts at a predetermined cost equivocal to dignity, and slightly below the price of self respect seems to be the general equation. What is the polarity of life and death? Constantly awake, subtle within the context of all time, singular shrine of never ending, where to die to if not somewhere there? Opening eyes not distinguishable whether live or dead, nevermind determined. A cycle of the life, just as yours as I believe. Some will die sooner than others, and the significance of that life will be embellished by all who knew thee. Life transmuted into death. Slick old death dodger, where is the overall? I used to wonder of all the busyness of each life. Though now disconnected, the interest is absolutely unimportant. All are credulous until death. I like to eradicate the possibility of reality sometimes. To erase thought that my cares could only reside in the waking home. The place that glues my attention for only a short while of this supposed lifetime. The lifetime seems terminal, as if it could end. If the lifetime relied upon longevity, I see a lot of dead faces. The astral skies of the other side. It is there when you are not. All the individuals lives journey around. I must repeat and express this fascination of mine. Spiralling tangent. I wish to control or seek refuge in the collectiveness. It never seems to bounce that way however. Just there and then gone. The memories lest to recall than they were before. Degrading brain with age I shouldnt wonder? Perhaps the age of the brain affects recall and makes time go faster?

The Impotence Of A Bucking Horse

If I told you of some of the things my eyes have seen, youd need to put your mind in a wheelchair har har har har har har har har har!