Thursday, July 23, 2020

Snail Paced Freedom


such by a building or effigy or ideal; as haunted by freedom, the amusing project, where deep freedom is obedience, structure, or power—a filled wallet or boredom or minds fraught by chess pieces. I reappear looking glossy a bit tipsy on existence; so born to persist where leisure is fortunate but offered to few ants: such working frenzies, or assurance in a compliment, or something forfeiting insistence. but freedom is an enterprise. it designates socio-economic control. it means liquor or drugs or too much depreciation—of self while hanging by balconies or overly appreciative of razors—the choice such power while I live for her or him or children quite independently; so misbehaved as a slave to instincts for this is freedom by desire—as hedonists or book literate machines so analytical even sex is science; a project a niche or a spur digging into human ethics. by justification as to ruin his guts or to require something we can’t uplift. such internal pickets such occasion to hate ourselves where behaviors become instruments.
by bullhorns as racing through hallways where doors keep slamming; but it was ever such joy some video recording while angst built, it lived where death was sweet existentialism. our raving exhaustion or compound prisons while cultists retreat, suffocate, or go mad—such power such a mosaic life, such cloister or gamble or exile. our appointed freedom. our mental field trips. where we must be correct.     I dig a ditch. I sit therein. I’m dusty preaching at ants. I realize frenzy or rage or conundrum; but I impose I ask questions I put more on the mind of Jesus. such a supposition or such a disposition while I’ve designated self to watch or spew over a stew of spirit-ingredients. but what by freedom this mansion where we see rooms or cages or more freedoms; to fallback on morals while such a heathen, if this is of a mindset?     such deeper decisions coming at a snail’s pace by pure frets!    

I’d Save The Reader Years

    The beat becomes sickness. A long crucible—a drilling ecstasy. I was losing focus, feeling forbidden, if to self, if to mirrors. So curs...