Fade Out

The clock played with the heavy stroke of the hour, while the sensory organs played with fire, extinguishers were required, yet the curtains deny me any line. The wings were denied any sort of freedom, yet the backyard was a playground for the workings of an idle villain. Pictures of the good and bad flash with an atrociusity and agression that slaps across my face like a storm, and the buoyant forces takes on the forces of gravity in a dual to death.

The clouds pass me by, yet the clouds make for a moist blanket of a nymph taking it’s pleasure to hidden grounds; a treasure trove it seems I be. This tale reminds me of the christian assholes that go to church on a Sunday and think they have it made just cause’ they dropped an extra cent in the offereing tray; Asshole Hypocrites! However, all said and done that’s me here, another pawn in the ploy of me, another liquid detention, another session of attaining goodness in my heart, another session of coming out of it all drenched in the heat of the goodness that once stained my reality. Open society, organized religion and slaughtered sacrifices all make up for the combat field that has been laid tonight.

Tailing missiles, tornadoes of bomb shells, splinters, tubes, transparency and a philosophy that drivels all of energy taken deep into the grounds of madness. The infinitesimal specs of translucent craziness was irredundant behind the car, so I took my other and hid there, hid as crouched as I could, the clock played along the sirens popped like love avenue to nerves. The crooked bed, the image stained walls, the wooden dungeons and the warmth of the magic carpet all played spoilsport much to my delight… The heavy stroke of the hour was my escapade.

Round and round it goes, escapades seem the only way out, yet an escapade runs into extinction. The walls to the right and the ones to the left cramps for oxygen, making a picture for a lily in the snow and a bunch of idiots sipping cold beer and sitting bare-arsed on the white canvas below. Prints of anal retention, a lot were inspired by the line “another level of the fourth dimension”, yet they never did come out in any dimension. So what if they were master-pieces?

A master-piece was never a mastered one if the master was at his mastered best, he found insomnia somewhere on the way, and he found a candle lit palace. The Earth’s cadence grew cold and ugly, the ice played tic-tac-toe and all in a static space delightful deceit it all went up in flames. Fire on ice? No! It was more an image of impossible dreams become more impossible, and an escapade growing extinct as the world went round and round…
circles if you may… What was the axis?

The Axis was weird, it danced with a sort of tainted grace, a juxtaposition of a beauty and a bunch of lies and the morality that laid back in deception’s embrace were all exploited while they wore a friendship band that denied to be broken. Somebody maneuvered the damn thing, the angle was too little a thing to play around with, so every one just stood back, stumbled forward, while they looked back, moved sideways in dis-concern and all this with a dropped jaw – it was the perfect concept of going round and round in circles.

Scattered, frightened and twisted; yet a zero tolerance zone. My reflection came in to being, and them wings were set ablaze with a certain sense of fear and that echoed in the burden of a mass of lonliness. Madness; I’m attracted to, oh! yes, attracted to her. She stuck in my side and made me watch me watch the blood trickle down the mournings of the past, a wicked room it was, took another part of me with it when it got lost, when it lost track, when it derailed, when it was flacid, when it was penetratable; fucking copulative bitch!

It’s easy to say that the storm will pass over, it’s even easier to say; we’ll survive and get through, but what makes it’s not so easy is the cycle of things. The disease that erupts everytime we party a little longer, stay the night over at a friends, work a little harder (It’s also questioned when we don’t), work your arse off to surpise them and then we have the cliche’ “Why can’t you be like him/her?”

The thing with them is that no matter what extent you go to “live up to their expectations”, you’ll still fail miserably, you’ll still one notch short and some even have it “lucky” and become the type that are “never showpiece worthy nor ornamental”. The thing with them also is that they expect us to “not make the mistake” they made when they were “our age”, yet they were in they “they’s” face doing the same we’re doing, they excuse “We were bastards/bitches” or the most popular “We never listened, but you should” and there’s the classic “we know it’s wrong and we dont want you to make the same mistake”. Despite all these “ways of life” that they expect us to follow, along comes complimentary is what we all go through; something which I like calling the “consticancy level”, this is when they do every thing mentioned above and then one fine day, we’re “they apple of they eye”, honestly speaking this is the worst bit.

Not a lot of us have had the best and not all of us have had the worst, but the thing is when will they let us be? Maybe, we’ll end up like them, maybe, we’ll end up not being them and maybe, we’ll end up not being either – either which way it swings – I really don’t give a shite any more, I stopped, I know what I have to do and I know what I will do and lastly, I will do as I please, whether you like it or not.

Unreleased peace and un-favored conspiracies, budge not; for the minuscule levels of content is nothing but a trap. Revolutionary minds and extremists see between the lines unlike the insane who drive straight into the wall of a past. A past that drew first blood, innocent blood, and fatalities on trigger mode.

However, all said and done, it’s time to face the facts – I Listen to the tunes of you,lost in images of you, when you smiled with me when I was joyous, when we lost ourselves in the glory of you..when I made this work you made this work.. we continue to make this work.. so now I ask of you to follow my trail, walk my coast.. teach me yours and I’ll teach you mine. For, I have drunk the poison from the trash cans around the alley and I prayed that I would self-destruct before. The name of the game is a combination of manipulation, contemplation, aggravation and ventilated madness!

The hands on the clock tick, setting ablaze a dozen gears and sprockets into over drive, self sufficient and evolutionary structures of chromatic origin. The consistency deemed of ethereal flames and the lost lustre redeems itself with the boredom of the unusual. “Good”; they said but worse than bad is what they got. Complexity was the baselines set on the dynamics and design of virtuosity put in to blend with the deftness of the pivotal most perceivable height.

The mind was just a sprig flowing out, the seed was the fig that ate into and claimed its parasitical like over towering throne. The womb of the forest was nothing but a deep void of nonsensical contrasting mayhem, a restive light tried its best but for the children of the damned that cried in silence engulfing the remains of what was to be claimed to become a divine miracle.

As reservoirs lay in the slavery of it all, consumed, raped, butchered and burned to eternity, the supremacy of the kings traitors was the end of a new beginning. The verdict for the once innocent read – “Guilty as charged” and the following line was a mere “Sentenced to twelve years in exile.” Blinding flashes of light were the bars set and the wine and feast sessions were scattered with nothing but deliverance. Deliverance of nothing, nothings of no ones and this was a verdict that stood to penetrate every core, every womb and every virgin that set foot on this once pure soil, now layeth blackened and soiled with impurity.

The Sunset only meant another sunrise to take care off, another cock that crows on a bunch of deaf shoulders. The crystal studded black clouds were nothing but groans that were left behind by thick blankets of rashes and incinerated remains. Now, Hades was in his elements sipping his wine off the blood filled goblet. The court was adjourned and in split seconds dismissed for the blood rose to the brim of issues and thus sustained all frenzied, painful and lust-filled thrusts handed out by the ferocity, atrociousness and thunder of Zeus.