Paranoia stands outside nature to observe it.
It runs locked down the hallways
back to the feeling of being in-between.
It is as their well
that anyone can be anyoneís most
Underground water sources tapped.
See, such hard lines.
Did Nietzche finally cast Visions
Freedom, his last chance into inflated distinction.
Iím not sure in this place
buried in patterns of nature
which must respond appropriately
and respect all books and Politics.
Oneís boundaries sort of disgust,
weakening, as you make being real
an impersonation borrowed from already.
They really know how to live and grow
within the Live Bartender
saying ďBe good.Ē
He is not consciousness.
I am lost.
All writers are escapists, onlookers.
They need the encroaching, the swirlÖ
I we mine
a trick the living play,
world but the cold by nature.
This, the soulís, the power that allows discovery,
the paranoia mythology, psychology,
psycho bent raving
asking questions of everything.
Often there is one saying you understand,
a given that otherís means for reaching anything
by vampiric processes
of rain more than mast high missed This
but this was the real over come by real
and potential familiars.
And consider that Young Man.
For a few hours be absolutely fake,
absolutely media-thing.
Does the huge shape disclose progress they wonder.
Find Walking a had been
a hill consumption.
What magic remains?
They talk nicely to lay you down quick and automatic,
of land and not of water.
Sometimes sci-fi
sometimes kept in an engine you can feel.
He might have come out looking through
the perfumes and cheap streets of the outer collectivity.
Alone with oneself
time is what is.
See a whole forenoon or longer
walking up the slope before him,
the stars through the ceiling.
Do we give these stupid laws time?
The steered reached the summit,
each Naskapi possesses, already there.
Me ancient religion, kind.
The silent voice, a Manitu,
he against. Through and pretty.
The ones who watch fantasy
again in that body,
club you want,
and ultimately the women
or she
is not a creature apart,
a no-outside-validation-counting-for.
Let the eyes sting.
The boarder and the trim
of an even Creation
who bottle to radios juxtaposed,
machine-like by strange children
realizing you read sort of prejudice
keeping bottled impressive currency,
with currents flowing into group affections.
I dream of when they are gone.
There is apparently psychic transfer.
A war of justice or females
who look on special
in even a romantic legacy to shoulder oppression.
What forces around drinking coffee.
A power of unsuspected logic contrasted and sneaking.
The land of the dead interrupting,
remains simple as it drains the sap.
Evidence will well.
To face each other we hoped for.
Waving ahead of him
now so high
and even that one is my heart up from
your blatantly breaking lids.
The humans were dreadful.
Depths off, laughter arising spontaneously.
We speak idly in our own.
Something can feel No,
like a weapon fending
the collective cigarette smoke of centuries
and real world of seas and mountains exposed again.
Away from days creating the possible.
Not much aspires to aspire to make them happy.
Smiling sees bitter law cab tumble
woman falls, loin bleeds
human gravediggers
each mind escaping
sometimes I suspect body is in old
to mention the name.
Something let the figure out.
A form of instruction?
We content ourselves into an engaged moan.
Let her cry out
child certain
no one
How many times heart breaking?
What we donít talk about.
Insane patterns
always skeptical.
Skies have knowledge,
their soft trembling sharpened my eyesight.
Their characters cast the lazy eye
fooling us restless in the shadows.
A barely endurable drag to face.
The phenomena grew excited.
An under the table transaction
mapping the fine-line of the everlasting inflection.
How many people will disappear
like moments and the infinity
of this procession before this world?
They live my life
as mathematics hunts me throughout
as I want to keep leaving.
What else?
Finite suffering of the world
where I experience civic
lack of meaning as you do?
Popularity becomes respected crumbs in estimation.
My heart is scarred and not going
Got to think of the last thing
pulling this imperceptible oozing
rather than world,
a form of magic,
a softening of friction eyes.
Take up drinking, maybe note benefits
in this thick psychic frontier
mocking us
because it has been said to be boring
yet is lighter
than the oil all coagulated on a choked world.
I intend to give them all the finger.
Water is attached to encroaching.
Hearsay light within liars, thieves and sneaks,
floats over,
its magic stripped from it.
Lying is that throat
where the sun penetrates through.
The just hunter arrives
and no one cares.
Newspapers, magazines,
eyes unsteady,
arranging lives
maybe you just want
father to swoop into
the center that your image maintains
as a simple word,
a fear or focus that
has been variously called
the great mind and the mad.
What is exploring
seems to give off automatically,
titillating their conversations,
a form of energy and man
breaking into the collective horizon.
The way/ shadow/ soul/ footprint
or my friend the beast drinking information
is the recognition that no bottom has been reached.
He makes things difficult.
This one is comparing the mother-of-pearl
to one of the last stages of elegant woman
opening down to the collective stream
while alchemy licks its lips
no matter what you do.
And the image of oil
Irrigation ditches or
extremely conscious curtains
perking masturbatory spectacles gone by,
tapping His economy of sympathy
to describe his expansion.
They never smile to themselves
and thus drain
the monopoly of New York
for heavenís more like a drop of the next heart,
The talk is like sex.
oil spreading on the surface.
This one says the methods
are more and more like water.
It is said they have an oily always,
tells us to Forgive each other.
Drunk edge of your seat.
And nature easily melted,
evaporated, straining its way.
The window,
it is psychic,
even bothered going into
that bluebird perception of things.
A tincture of pale blue and gun shots.
Squeezing through you came in contact.
Just thought
Nietzche would even say.
Its thick currents and currency
are a manifestation.
Shit or get off the draining sewage dump
full of police officers typically.
There is more.
You hate meaning
chanting in that edge-ville collapsing.
We canít watch this they say.
And they are whom pity shit
proudly abounding in like experiences.
The question implies assholes.
Rebirth! Rebirth!
Some form wise men,
If depression is the memory
where one actually did feel maladjustment surely
than the strategic use of mantras can be useful
sitting with the living in a well lit room
balanced in the world scales
of his psychology.
Fending off the situation.
Spreading himself thin
over the troubled waters
to the point of obsession.
Make it circular, around a bulbous conception
of yourself in a moment
in the well of social reality.
Back to energy.
Sirens blaring.
Shed light center.
Afraid to calm, soothe, and bind up again.
After such knowledge we witness your emergence.
This tunnel.
Get Robert Duncan drugs surely.
If you get my meaning.
Yeah, dogs, sheep and pigs,
listen in on the commingling ocean,
have the grace to try.
The talk of permanent strangers.
Your human orientation isnít all that.
Stink of an unbridgeable end.
Safely we argue, hoping.
The broken think about Nietchze
falling on the page from anger
become of instinct.
Voice dream mirror responds
to raise the head
and all the good crooks have become evil.
Alertness reprioritized,
oneís sweeps seaward like the praise.
Watch whatever swirls.
Mouth, voices from it? Bewildered.
Portrait instincts make you
fall asleep and wake
an Artist
that a sect of sorcerers sent out
into the game of existence
spinning too fast
to have lives on the teeth
and gears pronounced gyres
making the whole parade meaningless.
Those rising privates
get the cubicles in the right mind,
become shaman energy
giving names and mutual understanding.
Jesus Christ
inward instant.
Has it been two outs already?
That is a man
interestingly arranged by right of way shadows,
particular outward cries,
on the outskirts of town
between your crooked fear and envy
weaving an empire for a collective escape?
And purely personal happiness.
Their dispersal game is a blind escape.
The house of various degrees
will spot the sunrises.
Turbaned laughter without rejoice
fending thick failures
vision, affairs.
It didnít matter whether
I belonged horizontally with tension.
Survival hasnít been reached for yet.
At the diner I can see someone.
If you listen close you relate more closely
with the phenomenon of prayer.
Pushing to navigate
on like a psychic force
while we turn outward.
Vulnerable compacted pop-culture explosion.
Technological manner that no one reached yet.
Their drug drudgery,
the dug away from real,
looks a little bit different.
The vacuum inside you fills itself up,
a seam one doesnít
perhaps canít explain.
And the procession continues as
stakes rise higher
knowing the thick woods of time.
Their love-soaked minds are not
a list of the eternally acceptable.
And you,
yet what is this,
fat and oil and aliens or
the invulnerable shiny anytime drop of abundance
burning the goal.
What will provide grounding?
These fears are bare of the old need for
the joy and compassion of full being.
Eyes perhaps it should be mentioned
hate you. black ink.
Seeing right through the copy.
Sanctimonious kid isnít yours.
Doesnít seem to matter much.
Does anything personal?
Can masses in their collective drunk
see that hell is going on,
giving them something
that the two halves of groups fathom.
They no longer have maps.
The procession circles the necessary depths,
watching the mind of the rambling one
stupid in the fields
move into new, not yet tragic, cosmic, comic catastrophes
as the phantom fist squeezes out fact-ness
back to their everyday mystery
askew and askance.
The limits like the economy
ask us to surrender our talk about dreams
understanding why heads lean
warmed by the bodies of confidence.
Their trembling dispensing the writer.
Holding one back from the foul liquor.
Bird-ego now
an automatic process
a tone of down right beauty
And degree of energy.
You are the personal unconsciousness of people.
But these types canít get kicked out
hoping for discovery at armís length.
That they were merely used becomes evident
only to dissolve in syrupy light
As the air grow in connections car.
This one is saying if you
in the solitary room admits cackling laughter
contain each eclipse that
strangely sparks your hate
human vastness becomes mere hosts in relation.
Talking, wondering, prancing around the check.
Back to the old by will of the weather, Once feared what one is,
ghosts exist longer.
Their face blotting out hierarchy:
expanded human
and what others are.