Things You Can't Say On Television

03.06.08

Pinny pucked and pie angled jew cribs. My bestest device. A long fellowed invitation to fetal strength. This clash of cymbals, roar of maniacs and blotted paper strewn across a thousand rooms. Sidewalks bursting in and out of the labyrinth of noon. Flashes of eclipsed obscurity dazzle twisting leaves in the brutal wind. A breath of irony and taste filling volume to maximization. The trinity of sound has never triumphed over the letters of magnitude. This delirium cannot be held to the truth. This engagement can never be vowed to in the course of a brief reconciliation. Outside these walls of God made of brick and earth, there fore lies a Burger King which some fuck shine boy would love to make havoc upon. To lie didactically in his own filth and slime resting upon the pillars of pestilence. I AM GOD, I AM GOD, I AM GOD. I am the one who steals your heart away and does not give it back. I am the one that creates your mind to destroy it. I can weave in and out between the chaotic patterns of time. Ripping and tearing through eternity. A black out of equal importance. The invasion of time whittles to your bones until the flash of denial falls upon the bright eye. A man amongst killers. A brutal rush. The hectic flames. A nuisance in the hour of great speed. We carry on to great lights. In smiles and in terror living in that filth and slime. Content with the chaos. Accepting of the chaos. The chaos reaches its black tongue around the corners of all that weeps rain and offers shelter to everything that lives in armor. A sword for the Christian and the Jew. A sword for the chief and Heath and Marlo. A mirror for the eye of the soul. Destruction is patient in its dark shadow, gliding ever forward through the sludge of society. Falling off of ledges into valleys of kings. Rivers flooding over unto land. Land receding to the chaos. The chaos of the kind night. The chaos of the violent day. The chaos of the invisible void. The void that is prepared to neither punish nor reward. Some look upon this madness in mind riots of their entire existence while some close their eyes and surrender to the void, let it fill their body and take it to the farthest ledge of the universe to spin in eternity upon the brink of brinks. Resting in the peace of the void. The nothingness that contains everything and nothing all at once. A type of truth set out to release the virus of the nothing. And it may be you of all people who denies its substance and leaves one in the cold to burn between the transition of the seasons. For this is a dream within dreams running amok atop the ruins of expression. A tempered fable of dimensions amidst a rising sea covered in starlight. This is where nothing begins and all comes to a final and flashing close, louder than the silence that precedes the waves but still quieter than the death of something sick and rotten meant to not be living, Saved by the desire of thought in action. A powerhouse of the finest form. Litter flows through its desolate regime of abandonment, scars of holes define its land. Marks of treason laid waste unto days of hope and glory definable only by the coldest of ears, half frozen in death half awake in life. Flittering above the liquid for a last voice of reason in a world locked inside cages, clipped, clamped and chumped. The continuation of insanity locked in a fitful force of motion content with the jubilation and the frost of innocence on that one white flower in a field of battle and victory won only in the minds of those fit to count the dead. Here is the true end of the infinite line and it has no reason for its countenance besides its fact of the true domain of the chaos.