Contrived sentinels of knowledge, wisdom and experience expressing their jaded opinions of televisioners eating up the pictorial action pixels leaping into their eyes-minds and tearing the nobility from their hearts.
The violent expose of sex, drugs, alcohol and so-many-people-love-this shit, sells, sells, sells. It works period. ‘So what?’ Hear them scream at the top of their day. We have plenty of answers filled with squillions of exaggerated analogies. Be my baby and send me sideways, always with happiness in your tongue-in-cheek suck-up.
Universally expressed by every sleeping head on bed chewing up the seeds of truth. So many of the media-love-child-bastards make themselves appealing through their pseudo-innocence and barbarous sloganeering boredom slop. They hate, we hate, I hate till there’s no more left. Eating our secret feelings, through tracings of breath, seeping in, then out, of our lungs o’ love.
Betting on the likelihood of longevity in a solemn world-life, networked into the next school year, overseen by time’s report authors and edit head censor journalists. Coverage of time’s distant college professor, stepping through the dualism procession, benched in judges’ minds and international laws cascading down to the street. The black street, white street, yellow street, red street, any street, to meet, to greet, to be courageous enough to discuss and open up, up, up, out of the ground circuit and onward to the unborn brain.
Going back, to find the heart, in the end the script becoming blurred into loss of distinction and sustained assimilation. So polite, to be reactive to the inner life of segregated world daily-basis over-assumed reaction time. Hear the voices of people-history. Feel the movements with heavy feet and light-headedness. Sense the scene through mindeyes of refracted light. Listen closely to the pulpit exclaiming, as its devil’s raging in rapture of division and hate’s excuse. Wipe out, wipe out, smash, grab, and go -devotional resources of grey relations read backwards for regression’s sake.
A desperate cry for happiness, a freedom of love between all human beings, giving, bonding, providing the helping-hand pick-up from embedded cycles of pain and displeasure. The pressure bearing down, down, down upon the life love, extinguishing the flame fury-ordered chaos for life’s own pain production. The race-hate life drain. Trust-in-lust evolutionary entropic slide down. It’s a life of love of babies until the days they die. A childhood’s recognition of cognitive cognac for formulating facilities and faculties of every child mind innately mentally measured.
Shambled sensations abolishing intelligence from psychology’s pseudo label factory.
Breakneck speeders, racing in the fast time speak shock fun fury. Happening hipster hikers on round about world trip tropicannas. Love-lifers snowbored by heat’s skin impression. Happy snag snatchers, with children ice-creams, drowning the world in teardom for wanting. Pleads of pain, drifting from drifting mouths, filled with story minds, thousands of miles wide. In the mess of it, stretching left now right now through the waffling head-case junkies, secret-police-badged body-guards, lifting their patrons pleas to the street side head-bash. Push, push, the way makes room, for the Godlings are going to town tonight.
