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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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