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The Weight Of The Technologic

in visions vast oceanic bliss the tables turn the hallways twist, hallway, turn

table the bliss, ocean, vast, ocean, vision within vision, dream after dream

sleep finds me motionless, morning finds me to question more what is true

judgement wrapped in comedies cloak laughing into the mirror while tears

roll down the emotionless face weeping for the hell of it all its just a stream

calming stream flowing through and through enters into the forehead and

exits like a waterfall falls and explodes to move from right to left the words

separate insignificant correlations it is just a moment in the ever expansive

drifting sand, whirlwind, creating sigils in the desert for the spirit to circle by

walking a straight line, what it is, is it love, to be so cold, to shiver then and

break the stem, how is one to give, greater a want than to be without the heart

how is one to engulf the world in flames without setting a fire, how is one to

be reminded that we here share this earth, and shalt thou be so dully inspired

shall things get better, shall things get worse, and everyone is waiting just to

see, and how far things will go isn't up to you, nor is it up to me, and everyone

shall again return to life just a little more lucid, just a little more aware of what

the nothingness againe, the emptiness of a bitter hand written, the promise

of a greater celebration of life, wouldn't that be something, wouldn't it be

surprising in the best of ways to believe that one can exist in peace and such

happiness while a large vast of the majority of the world suffers and to what

degree are they suffering, i don't know, all i see is all i see and what it is is

something far more deep than depths perspective of the perception of the

damned and accursed brain trying to make sense of the waste and most of it

doesn't make any sense, doesn't align with what is, and what is, seems to be

something more integrated and hidden inside more parasitic than parasites

or is it just a negative introspection, i think nought, i think sometimes and i

think i dont think i just write, i write and i write, and i dont think about what

i'm saying because to think of what it is to feel, what feeling is, what is within

something far more hidden, something more deep than oceans vision, bliss

i question, hast thou existed for thousands of years at what a gift it would be

to have to find it again in another human being, in another sunset, in another

morning, it will be another day, and day after day, the weeks roll on, unto

months, and months, and months, of the years that shall infatuate the minds

of all men and women, of the children, i can already pinpoint the differences

of just a number of years that have been closer to the past than history is and

shall it ever be acknowledged, standing on the edge of the precipice of death

holding over the edge, and what it is in my hand, pink roses, to let go then and

to drop, forget the controversies, save yourself, and let somebody else worry

about the future because it is out of your hands now, it is our biggest fear that

conflicted reason, all one can do is exist, and all one can do is, all one can do is

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