Friday, 18 March 2011

Fickle open-endedness

No puritanical bullshit for the days to pass, the shame slowly subsides. Pieces of plastic dragged to the edge paving way to the lights. The sound of relief echoing from the shadowy background of the morgue intensifies, dropping a louder beat with every forceful thump. All the white horses and knights panic and frolic as the days come into light bearing nothing more than just regrets and mistakes, vendetta against the oppressors. The human menagerie has finally come to an abrupt conclusion if only for a very short while. And while the meeting in question bounces off into ideas of self-inflicting stabs to the groin, none of which held ground into the proving. It only dissolved into something perverse and worse and worse, adversely affecting the outcome of what was to come, of what will become, of what had been done. No justification held more meaning other than the own, the individual, swiftly switching into something more of an ego. Trapped in a maddening rage of witnessing altruism burned to a crisp, the slow build came forth like water from a spring igniting the tree to fall into grace and suffer as we have suffered. The endless cycle proved too much and the infiniteness fell into an agonising antagonism of human nature. What was left of the situation proved to be fatal as it crumbled like dust and withered into the vast space of homogeneous slime and sorrow. The message was delivered as soon as death came to the guilty. It was a powerful sight to behold. The grotesque, inhumane lifeforms became somewhat transparent all of a sudden and with it came the energy of the sun shining through a tiny gap in the midst of all that slime. Herewith lies the scapegoat, therein went the asshole. And as the moon shined on both the wicked and the beastly came forth hope. A hope that some day everything will turn out for the best, that the struggle for now represents only a tinge of what was to happen, what was to come. In turn the radiance was darkness as was dim into light. Beauty spat out madness calling forth the peace of mind that wandered. And there it was, undaunted.

The laughter came from behind, the enigma of having to bear nothing at all. What was the reason for reconciliation? Neither form nor timber. The pacifist spoke in tongue while the all-absurd listened, and to learn the most important aspect of respect and honour was ill forgotten. The bitches have none, the elderly has one. When it was a moment to recall all the basic manoeuvre the fault was always by the side watching. Below all the negativity and false accusation none of which stood to matter, kill and be killed, taken by the fool from the horn and the thorax. The pelvis twitches serenely and whispered to all ears the love that fell on bruit. The actions of the suspect soon turned to ash; that which followed reminded us of how we can recreate something better from scratch. The majesty begged to be forgiven from a knave to commoner to royal crown, endlessly shuffling the deck of cards that represented everything that they stood against. When the time comes no one will remember who it was that engaged the first inhalation. Then it smelled of manly scent of expensive fragrance. Hallowed to the bone of dissuasion and boredom and frenetic. It all ended with the pencil that the lipstick wore, not the whore to submitted herself to the cure. A bounty of thoughts formed lines of perdition as if it were but an image of thought itself. Reality knew no disclosure blaming the medium again for the same amount of sensationalistic propaganda. They waited for the moment, and for weeks, without mentioning anything significant, spoke out with melodrama and disdain, cut from the abdominal wall of the tiny boar.

It was a sure win amongst the irrational losses. The stars left a hole in the ground, a moment of silence and offering to those who yielded into great affection. The asshole lingers hidden within the brooch. They climbed the highest bid and fell wounded on the blue mats down below, and there they saw red. 

Search and destroy