So I’m on my way to nyc, it’s a long bus ride, so much time to kill and ponder the state of all things. Business or pleasure you ask? Well, Love takes me, Love pleases me, and there are deals being made with supradimensional deities that are created to fill the empty space that we’re originally restricted to accept as a Truth of a dark fairy tale pertaining to a collective Ego aimed at jacking itself off while swallowing itself head to toe. These rambles a la thorns in bloom are to ensure an understanding that, I felt the need to expresss the wild yin-yang black hole flavored vortex that looms over us in sinister mirth. With ol’ Donnie Dumpypants, who I am quite convinced is legitimately a carrier of a maggot brain mental deficiency (like eat-crayons-dipped-in-his-own-shit special), swiftly enacting the plan to revert our country back to pre-civil rights times (which is an abbreviated explanation), I face a kind of hopeless anxiety which looks to snowball into an overwhelming force of frightening flabber-aghastery. I think he’s on pace to neuter the concept of hyperbole, as already some of his moves are lazily lifted straight from popular dystopian literatures and exceeding perceivable levels of shit that could happen, but c’mon, no way the pieces lined up with Jupiter in retrograde and Venus’ orbital reverse which, if you read up on such alternative facts in the Doomsday manuals that “teach” the masses how to reign and be reigned over; this is the goal. The brazeness is so extreme it’s almost admirable. The amount of authentic hate that accompanies me everyday is physically sickening, and as someone who despises having such hate towards any one or many persons, it’s a forced bath in a tub of bloody stool.
But then we got membership to the most rad of familial communities. Goodpeople, Gratepeople, like all yous and even sometimes me, we are players in the glory of yellow skies and the bluest of sunshines. We seek out the, at times, hidden flower fields and thank the bees and invite their critter bros and jazzcats juggling yo-yo ma’s and papa’s doing dizzy dosios for making the days and nights splendiferess to know. We take Love back from the soulless exploitations in assembly-blined hollow traditions that perpetuate the insane whirlpool the foes engage in various types of effort to keep us corralled into and convince us all to be docile and accept this juggernaut of evil as breaking through the current is impossible and a danger to our well-being. Well I, for one, feel like I am a pretty good swimmer, and since this hate has got a gorilla-glue grip, why not process it into the fuel necessary to wreck the fuck out of that monstrous structure these gluttonous hedonists of all things excrement are trying to imprison all the decent, kind, and truly Grateful for the amusement park experience that is being a sentient meatstick on a freggin sweet rock hurling through a ginormagangtuan universe all while knowing we’re cosmically sexy compositions of itty-bitty atomic legos that grabbed Flux by the horns and made it to a place where many figured out that Love is at the heart of being in harmony with the Web of Life and it can transcend the limited boundaries of the prototype beta version that was never intended to be permanent, but be a decent and wonderous enough puzzled maze to get through, all while taking time to stop and ask the roses, “what’s that perfume you got goin, because it’s rocking my world?”
So, what does this garbley rant of flowery verbosity supposed to mean? As anything I pen, whatever you can get or take from it. But my own crux of the biscuit, my shooting star of an aposrophe, is some of these impending nights will be darker than others and some days we’ll serious wonder if the sun is still there.? But then other nights will compose stellar mosaics with the joy and laughter from dancing like the king’s veteran jester, able to blend the fool’s ridicule with knowledge of timing to impress; and other days we’ll know the sun is just a star and it shines because that’s just enough.