r'Variben
I’ve been spending too much time conceptualizing fifth dimensionally, at no fault of my own, as a member like a rescued pet of the illuminati and the metacognition that comes with being human and the indirect relationship to being Caesar and spending time between two dimensions of lucidity and negligence while reckoning and recollecting the items of contribution as a careful colored sand art foundation for a house of cue cards while reading actual illuminati documentation, writing it, holding quorum without opposition, quotidian parliament of a new world order while convincing my inner demons to keep them busy or reinforce my markedly rare and myotropic parody of prose, this being the first, while contemplating the corners of wheels and liquid dimensional transmodal post objectivist collectarian hegemony, while absurdly honest self destructive manifestation of pious hypocrisy unique to my station and abject obliteration of just but tangential goals while marketing myself as the wandering monk of common sense so to make a blending shadow in front of the crowds of sterile and plastic puppets, and foremost sycophants of an illusory competition of crippled social skills parroting the endemic congenital disorders, which without my swinging at instrikable trees instead am swinging literally at the seats of a stadium like a rude gesture at the summer sun, increasingly aware that without a private detective somewhat clear that quotients in the largest arrays savvy would need goals and now esteemed, but we are not crazy, just a little lost in egregious spirits realizing how similar our fishbowls have become, perhaps like drinks of moods and motivations I’ve poured too much brainpower into one of the colored glasses from the private parts of the spectrum, and in this condition is best to point at the world, the psychological dimensions, and not the fluidic time of memory, nor the passive and paltry resistance of linear time, nor the early onset of dementia so long ago. And...there’s still no verb for telepathy
Panicked leaders without the eons of simulations in their momentary thoughts, fleeting choices between motives they’re burdened rarely in my favorite rarities like notion and nostalgia, emotional wars passively instinctual in machinations against this text, inexperienced for chaos of country and coronation let alone choices of simple nature when such trivial monopolies on infamy consume unable to bide their time any longer without true identity and feril indemnity toward individuals from other collectives that can’t exist from egoist stone tablets scripting instincts negating peerage, but somehow finding time to claim everyone completely unrelated are wholly ignorant without saving political face in the process. This ecology of economy is fine, they have no rally against the rhetorical, no rage against the republic, and their targets are at face value public record, whether the unhealthy deviants of vocal focal points are verifiable or not, as they pour from exploitation, it’s only fitting that we should so help them drink. It would be a vulture and true to nature, but the rebel who wins wars would surely never sleep well, perhaps in warning you’ll see the many strands of the bard’s web and the truth will out, toward the edges it holds, where you wouldn’t rest we call home.
Thinker, maker, trader, warrior, and the occasional crazy person.
“It is reported that King Alexander the Great, hearing Anaxarchus the philosopher discoursing and maintaining this position: That there were worlds innumerable: fell a-weeping: and when his friends and familiars about him asked what he ailed. Have I not (quoth he) good cause to weep, that being as there are an infinite number of worlds, I am not yet the lord of one?” ~ Plutarch, Moralia