Cause morality is considered an abomination
Consider we know we have taken a hit before. See that we’ve had a struggle and had to face adversity. But what if adversity is not a part of daily life any more and we settle in awe that now that it is gone we cannot comprehend the free time.
Even if you would like to imagine that are getting different and are going to get different. The time we are in now is not different from any other. We can take up time and make time to create an opportunity that lays wholly in our reach. Yet we see that many people talk a whole lot, but do not take their action needed to show for a certain base. Politically speaking we have never been this wildly different. Parties are all over the place no one knows what to say anymore, cause it seems that we vary opinion too much every day that it is easy to settle the score with the same words used yesterday.
People follow the herd you could say, this is not necessarily true now. It seems that people have chosen the high road by taking distance from the ideology being fed for the past 40 years. We now have constant barriers and measurements to account for our loyalty to our neighbors. The only issue seems to be that we do not know what to do with our next of kin.
THE ROOT OF SUFFERING
In the inevitable battle against the lonely place. There is no room for the lonely because they are a group left on the sideline.
There is no hurt, no compassion no deliverance. The neglect of a faculty as if feelings were ever important. Fuck your morals.
Is there a place like home, are we at home do we feel any different or is the illusion real in the sense we do not know what touch means anymore. How do we define our own thoughts how is it any different from the other person? Should we cheat, should we choke. Is there another way to go, to fall to release the anger to fail in misery. There is no escaping the maze in which rats run and the mouse is a scared little pig
All animals are equal some animals are more equal than others. Due to time, waste and space, we make up matter always left on the side. Are we outside are we disfigured do we see each other can we smell the changing weather do we see the clouds. Is any boundary needed to be crossed for our own doom, our own sake? What does it mean to take, to want to break. Where to we cross the borders, where do we chalk the line, where do we walk the line. Is there any line.
Fear all that doesn’t feel close, come closer yet don’t confront. There is no space for strangers there is no room for deniers. We are the empire the imperial. The chosen faiths. We roam the winds to conquer your dooms. There is nothing left alive because you don’t shout that it is ever enough. End it all, fear the fall. The cause is there any person left to talk about what you chose to ignore, to bore. Am I a stalker to inevitable ghost in my own story. Are we short for words? Do we realize that none of it all matters unless the root is real? That the deal is sealed that we clean the tide, that we open our eyes that we sewed our mouths shut to evidence burned to dust. In the clouds, there Is no more sun. Cause tomorrow has always come and has never forgotten that sorrow is always present but not needed to make peace with the root within the soul wants to talk to heal. But we need to prevent to the wolf from howling at the coming of the full moon. Because we are meant to fear the animal in our deepest sins that create the root of suffering even if you look away to other dogs starring your ever long in the eye knowing full well you hurt, you burned and pushed it all to the ground and expect we all bury it alive. Till there is nothing left. But you are left.
Is there an ongoing battle about fortitude, is their neglect on the side of the intelligent. Or has nothing ever existed upon till the point that a strange mind discovered it? It seems that a lot of our guessing is compiled whether or not something is true to our eyes. Foucault says ”Visibility is a trap” does that mean that our eyes are there to deceive us from the real colors all around us.
Is there a Matrix a matter of just numbers and frequencies only the lucky ones can see when they wake up to the idea that all the people moving every day are just doing so to make sure they do not wake up hating the rest of the people around them. There has always been a strange tint to the word: “BOSS”. Someone who governs over you, who knows better, who is wiser. But if you look closely even these people sometimes wander around the bush, yaundering where the hell the path went. Suppose that life has meaning but we have lost sight of what the word meaning means for us now.
The last wars defined that we would be more careful than ever about speaking up. There can be conversation but you should confine and covert as much bias as you can.
It seems hard to not ask the question: Where are we at? In means of what will we do with time now that we go from crisis to crisis and from solving to changing the tide. Without really educating anybody about it.
We seem to forget that the reason the infrastructure is so strong is due to our grandparent's hard work. Not necessarily due to the idea that we have held on a tightrope for so long.
The strictness in which society is aligned has become less. Instead, there is a need to dame in our emotions and our moods. To ensure that we are as productive and trapped as we need to be to create structure.
There is nothing more valuable than a hard worker and a good thinker yet it looks like these are the least important questions in everyday life. It seems that it is much more about how to create the most out of the time that we have just sufficient enough to pull the work needed to be ahead for the next day.
Children suffer the most in this particular case, are parents realising they are creating the changers for tomorrow that the children are the future for the next generation. Is that of idiots or of strong independent thinkers, for an even more independent time.
Times have changed fast, quick from one person to another there is no comparison technology has surpassed the imagination and has made robots out of us craving touch, taste and pleasure.
A Certain Kind Off High
The mind is in the cloud, data is being transferred to the cloud. Synonyms are the things connecting the dots to the network. The interconnected society global, traveling through waves. In ways that only knows the short direction. Flavors are created by colors on the screen, swiping down, sideways up. On the plain field it all looks normal, it all seems base. The paved road has always been simple. The sidewalk has always called the outcast. Cast a conspiracy dream in the trilogy a lucid idea that has origin in the mountains we once traveled. Now we’re confined, confessed and condoned now one asked. Yet there is argument. All the places look the same, t-shirts have come to where the same shade. We need and yet we bleed not through hardship but inside craving motion. An emotion concave is a real place, in an allegory of difficulty. There is no seeing past the cave, the sunshade the painting’s have become grey and fragile.
Age has taken its time to cave out the reason. Beyond doubt we know what is left or right. As long as we can conform to a cities plague. All the violence is seeping in, the quiet makes everything all to present. Yet no presence is enough, we gaze through a hole. A hole in the wall, a hole in the earth. The whole game that comes bound to be burned. Every generation, segregation takes away the barrier. A confined room in which we can move just as much as is needed. Not enough to create an open mind, to open the mind. To cross the universe of thought. To get a release, a relief. Is there a way to break the bleak. The pale shade of grey, the pitch black that is not black. That there is a past, a way forward but not knowing the truth is the most hurtful needle in once skin.
Whether you take the red or the blue pill. Choose to move into a mood kill, a game played away to defecate. Sanity is not upon us, it’s against us. We have not been taught to realize but to idolize to scrutinize to demonize the free, the flowing of speech. A time has come to relieve the horses to go against the current. To hunt the hunters, hunters will be hunted. The trap is that school for thought has never been balanced. It’s always been about sharing the idea that you’re worth what you earn not in guts but only in glory in penetrating humiliating glory. Take, break, fake never look back stick it to someone in the back. Let the wound bleed dry, let them heal just enough to stand up but not stand by. A certain kind of high is just for paradise.
Paradise is the place where worlds collide in ways that are an approach never happening before. The peace we know is a forced peace not based on morality or solace. It is on fear, and now we wonder why we are short of hand. It is because the world of tomorrow is a daring game. Like poker a guessing obstacle that will not end and will keep on being a guess till we figure out that there is only now. There is never going to be an end unless we make our own end, cause that is where we came from.
A world that is trying to create the paradise beyond the veil. The veil is imagination and the people behind it are performing a constant play.
