A mundane abnormality

Grey pangs of blue anger of a deranged egomaniac shelter the key to salvation, for nothing is sacred and nothing’s forever and life is a cretin’s pink pipe dream. Your love of consternation consecrated through red lust for death is the answer: her dismal tuning to existence’s demons makes stony wheels corrode with the excitement of great days, oh green days of endless belonging, and treasuries of life-affirming placebos and biases. Ah, fear, disappear, let me linger in silence, the science of heart sores has taught me a lot. A cringe-worthy spasm displayed in the ball-room, no place for such mindless displays of perdition.. no aims to correcting his weary soul’s vision, no hopes to connecting the dots and escaping, no losing the self in the face of desire, no losing desire in mists of the self. His mind is away, far away from the answer, his answer lies hidden in black specks of dust, in worlds now forgotten by life’s grand commitment to life and to death, and rebirth, and their shadows. No singular purpose to his self-denial, no flaming¬†chromatic in the cheeks of a loser, no pale cries for better, no bold laughs for worse. Her great sense of humour spread thinly on white toast, to show how transparent her smile really was, to show that in longing we often lose senses to living tomorrow by pawning today. Their robes of delight dripping with misconduct, with hope for the better, with love for the worst; Oh, master! thy hedonic impulse lies broken, and shattered and smothered in honey from radiant bees by Plutonium’s graces, with high hopes of selfless endeavours which lead to attrition of muscles of stars bringing new hopes to neurons of vagabonds entrapped in the carnival shouting at strangers, inviting the devil, “make peace with your own soul and join this dark trance”, for nothing forgotten, in spite of depression, her laughter flies skyward and wards off impressions of helpless convictions towards mother’s dresses that wear her and grant her awareness to kill. Oh, Bill! Where have you been boy? A good boy, a good lad, mom and dad love you, now go to the basement and tie in your wrists with the brightest of lights, and light up like a bonfire… A switch to Samsara, a gate to Nirvana, they’ll offer to you, for they love you, oh sweet boy! Embrace dissolution, for nothing is serious, and nothing is worth truly fussing about. All is ephemeral, nothing to build here, nothing at all. Hail for the clean-cut craggy exterior of a martyr on opiates rejecting his suffering for nothing could offer the love that he needed to keep her entangled in causes of justice to no certain end. Ah, life tastes like peanuts, the rations of soldiers programmed to wipe out the light in your eyes. It tastes like starvation derived from salvation of always just one side of a gold-gilded tin coin. The pope’s priests preach peace, but fuck children with great zeal, for what is more godly than raping a clean soul and injecting in its veins the virus¬†of angst which we all proudly share? Deranged for salvation, a massive migration, and bolts of this great gate turn to dust. The harrowing sentiment flows through light, sound, and colour, like Lethe in season, like Styx in the spring. The ignorant guardians of strong western morals, they swallow their hands whole, they flash-mob their pride. For we strive for our own good, but fuck the ‘statistics’, these flows of pure hope and ignorant gods. Ah, lead me to nowhere, oh herald of dark thoughts, for nothingness is all that we’ll get. Ah let me sleep well, oh hash-smoking light bulb, your nightmares are virtues, your life is my dream.. Depart from this thought-stream, enough jubilation; it’s time for a new song, a new tune, indeed!

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