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    jakeminick McGonagall's Ghost

    Member Since:
    Feb 2, 2011
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    My consciousness, in conceiving of an inevitable destiny of bliss, turns away, in the direction of stagnation. a pool of diluted reality. Embedded with the arms of inferiority and anxiety. Sitting back down in the pathetic comfort of gripping imprints, to gaze at a gray mist of hope over the mountains of self delusion. And with this vision I realize an addiction to chaos. Rather, an unstable gravity, a teetering center cringing at the sight of paths and staggering into the forest with masochistic lust.

    Mirrors of rational accusation reflecting dramatic childish submissive inferiority, masturbating in the corner of a padded room hiding from confrontations of cultural inevitabilities. This pointless dabble of unreachable consciousness for the feeble minded. Why kid yourself into thinking you are capable of commitment to such a complex subject reserved for higher intelligence. You are unworthy of such wisdoms and are only trying to escape from your mediocre existence of lower form servitude. Your consciousness is too shallow and unstable to comprehend this material. You are a complex recycling of self hatred. Take the hatred built for this submissiveness and pour the energy into dilated expression.

    A frailty in the left arm seems to suggest an inner reflection of idling gluttony. A tunnel of drift encasing energy in the lustful air of whispering self defiance. Pleasing to be in. feeding a friendly demon who penetrates trust with the throbbing promises of ego conception over and over again. Just let it breath in your ear and envelope your presence with illusions of future explosions as it secretly eats your moments.

    The materialized arms of description are pulling the nameless and formless down into the conceptual pit of letters. I miss the naivety to what lies behind actions. I hate the monstrosity that is the intake of reality. Everything pulled into this hole of probability. I want to say “no more.” I want to declare vengeance on the reality that formed this monstrosity of conceptual form. I want to annihilate this formed expectancy that the critical thinker sits in…the paved energy sewers of this common structure….i am full of too much hate for the anchor of commonality…or am I…..what is this? Here we are, analysis versus the nameless and formless….the question, is there a benefit to the energy…this hatred for the conceptualized boundaries that suck everything through the filter of doubt to carry the leeching, stabbing fuck face that is me with it…

    Explanation for mutation of connection perception…the repetition of function for vibrational imprint…a meditative electrical wind brushing the embedded chord…a compelled expansion of imprint releasing sleeping energy…
    the infinite merging of opposites…antimatter, matter; light, dark; imagination, reality; the infinite merging of alchemy…timidly tuning brutal reception…afraid to kill treasured pieces that consume…the fearful, shy child versus the ignorant egotistical adolescent…again…compressing to the point of insanity or genius. What do I carry that weighs on my grin, is this caused by a certain event, or a build up of tentative weight? What pushes the continuous masochism?

    Leading my imagination into analytical dead ends. Unsure of how to interpret seemingly meaningless thought. Hesitant to run with false assumptions filtered through common teaching. Lacking strong confidence in streaming words. Lack of focus and intent is the problem. Not enough belief in imagination, producing half ass results. Frustration imprinting subjective webbing, focusing vision in this synchronous realm of existence to harness the next innate filtering chord. Attempting a translucence of monstrosity…

    …Words, words, words, blah, blah, blah…flipping switches, language ignition, flashing images, watch them dance…the manager of this house-fire needs to remember where and when the fires were lit or this place will never catch.

    Posted By jakeminick | Dec 8, 2018

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