Orwell still weeps!!

The cost of the bells and whistles all most certainly diminish the undertone of the innate mockery. The litmus tests always confuse and distribute the truth in a very wide spectrum, each weighted almost the same. My reality and your reality is absolutely truth for you and me, but not to each other. The diversity in the distribution, the duality of the situation, the veil; all this makes this shit seem so surreal; almost useless. The targets are then splendiferous and it forces and navigates the poor psyche into this gaudy pit of slime made out of gold and BMWs and apples.
We go  back and forth about the importance of destroying the current spread of resources and using a butter knife to re-allocate. Maybe a Titan Powerliner 850 Airless. That would be ideal, a completely uniform coating.
The

The ecstacy of colors

It was considered to be ambrosia by Moors, so did their comrades from the south. They believed in the supernatural powers, the felt the magic of the sprout. The spiral stairs crawled, not sure if it was going up or down; or was I upsidedown.

Civilization: A Eulogy

The prescribed path to death is through bondage, irrespective of the school of thought. Chains of thoughts, beliefs, principles; all cloud the vision. Despite of the desperate attempts to be categorized, we always fall short of expectations; be it theirs or ours. From the first puff we are all high on life; embryonic fluid still dripping. The indoctrination is omnipresent, the holy information. The information super highway is flooded with dogmas; it is confusing to be an addict. Lucky are those who already are, for the exit strategy is very clear. The logic; maybe not. The truth or the partial truth, in all it poetic beauty, can only spoil the view.

The spreadsheet cry  out to be filled, the statuses demand constant up-gradation. The push-pull war of the The reality is polarized between the ones who can't see and the ones who can't see. The society consists of a group of idiots and supreme idiots. There is always a constant struggle between the ones' with the propeller cars and the ones' with out. The ones with the blue jeans and the ones with the yellow ones. The ones who care and the ones who care not to care. The polarization also causes momentary blindness. Maybe it is not the rest of the apple, but the last bite. The rampant lucid dream running; wild and wet. Its a flurry of lost breath, a flurry of missed heart beats, a flurry of momentary deaths, a flurry of orgasms. 

Blind Me!

help me close my eyes to not open them again.
the density of the reality, the gravity; the strength, the power, and the depravity of information.
the third eyes is scarred, the focus is off. 
i need belays and anchors to make it across the ravine.
the full circle is the end of the new, and then starts the cycle of the known.
consistency is contrary to nature, huxley said.

the padded walls makes it look like a palace(it could be the paint),
versace make the straight jacket unbelievably comfortable.
this is one hell of a ride, my propeller car, my baby, care for a fuck!
the gasoline makes it unbelievably subliminal
creativity has killed the creature; the new life is plastic. child, you are a poetry in plastic.
the vision is never clouded, paint thinner helps clear it.

The Son of Argon

His father wanted him to be a Nobel laureate in Physics. Nobody knows what he really wanted to do with his list; like most of us. Thank goodness there is a flow to which we can swim. Lately the reflexes and the reaction seem to go from bad to worse; with an underlying tone of sadness. We don't know if it is the fuckin' 5-0 kicking on the nuts like a mule or the sense of loss growing like a shadow; dark and creeping. He struggles too hard, he make it way too hard on himself. All it takes is a few hours, well more like 72. Maybe he can find that lost kid, his last hope and that kid might be ready to set the pyre up.

Time

It is always about the time; it is then multiplied buy how much or how many of what and where. We, within ourselves, and plot us against the world, with time being the only constant axis. In the end I get the summary of it all, how much and how well I fucked up, with beautiful charts and stuff...

Hilarious, like we are running to catch the sun. Everybody seems like they are looking for everything and nobody can't find anything. Capitalism, communism, consumerism; call it what you want. All leads to the same god, the God of Things, things I own and I owe. My cure and my curse, my plastic ego with the chip inside it. The bastard children of hipocracy and bureaucracy, they chase me with the un-lubricated dick of time. Me and the other me are always racing against each other, like one is going to win. Funny how this stuff works!!

11.03.09
This is room 22 and on the other side of this door lies an adventure that is fascinating as it is inexplicible. It is a story that comes to us from Mr. Bennett Surf, who describes it as an age old horror tale whose origin is unknown. We have dressed it up with some hospital wrappings and the performance from Barbara Nichols. Next on The Twilight Zone 22, be prepared to be spooked, its that kind of story......
11.04.09

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11.19.09
I thought I will add the last thing I come across before I go to bed; picture, song, movie, paragraph, dialogue. Ha Ha Ha...Like its ever gonna happen.