What really needs to be said...when indeterminate silence clarifies. Who can follow among this rock spinning around fire why we find ourselves born into these lives. We are here. It's never fair. We have our battles. We even have the challenge of picking and choosing battles. No need for tears. Just fight through matters and try to sustain some semblance of a pulse. Some folks have little to battle. It's not so much their version on this rock. It's a distancing unknown to the map. Just fight it through and understand in the process how not to devolve into something waxen entirely. There are these promotions of love love, peace, harmony and the like. It's odd, in that, some folks, the promotion, is simply the end for their existence, all the while, those not among that avenue, can embrace and enjoy life as it resides of a different avenue. Again, a distance never to be found on a map, in the mirror, body to body. Some people are born into a nest. Some, are born into fire. Who made that choice? Indeterminate silence. Pulsating adrenaline. Blood shot intensities coupled with bursts of light-headed rlease. Rooms spinning. Laughter. Violence. Rinse and Repeat. The audience is enjoying life, why can't you. I think of the gladiator, all eyes, someone who found themsleves there when they didn't even cast the first stone. They were at peace, and wanted others to be at peace, and yet, it was all stones thrown their way, along with instincts ripping into their flesh. Indeterminate silence. Pain. Numbness. Head floating. Cheering in the background. To be among the existence as one doesn't exist, even as they are portrayed as an existence to be destroyed. To hold words that simply dance around an experience shrouded in silence. There wouldn't be tears. There wouldn't be some form of feel-good or feel-bad measure among the mirror. No eyes. Just silence. Existing among the existence as non-existence. Words falling off, a failure of the articulation. Again, an indeterminate silence. We all stand in the mirror, and the worlds vastly different, of which among the understanding, there isn't understanding at all. Who can say why the unfortunate event belongs to the beholder. Who can say why the fortunate event belongs to the beholder. Does it belong? I think different paths yield different answers. I think those who experience actual hardship hesitate, and those who experience actual silence ponder without words, but this is the mirror, and confidence will adorn the day that is our night with hollow words. What else could be said? The sun rises among suns, and the sun falls among suns, only the reference doesn't have to exist. Maybe the sun doesn't rise? Maybe the sun doesn't fall? Maybe we have a false sense of importance? Confident words likely find a counter. Those without confident words, simply can move on in silence. To move through the given oscillations, the hardships, the friendships, the guenine connections, toward something unknown without doubt, without knowing, without a need to be guided through, as the notion, doesn't make a lot of sense. We existed before there was a language, and yet, to understand on this basis as a safe way through. How so? I like indeterminate silence.
So each and everyday we appear before the mirror. Some of us embrace, others, with very different stories, reside somewhere else. Again, I think of Plato, to reside among shadows, a shadow language, smelling the shadow roses. It doesn't add up in any sense, one plus one or three's company. We flow in, and we will flow out. No need to be saved when something already has you. It's going to be okay, of which no literal assurances are needed. And any of us could question the literal assurances, though few will. Why these assurances? One desiring the entire matter, considering this world, such a willingness can be used, of which considering the hardships surrounding all of this, the entire affair isn't so silent. It's the sound of war. It's the fire on the runway, as earth angels march in a straight line. To be the one upon the arena, a gladiator, on the floor, bleeding out, with those viewing you as a spectacle, finding pleasure in your erasure, seems more alive than the stands enamored by the mirror, embracing formations among a modern tarmac, circling at the surface. Rock spinning among fire...To reject the notion of a better world? Who does this? It's largely sparkle tits and earth angels on parade, why? It's a smile for the camera rather than a sobering stair, why? To have a sense of living in a way that isn't always looking so cosmetically alive? To simply live and embrace that living, neither happy nor sad? To have a presence, rather than buying into the inundations of a need to be present without a presence? Be enthused. Be happy. Be Successful. Fuck the process, who needs to know the teeth from the meat? Be the body that recieves acceptance and earth angel glory. Be everything that everybody wants. Be the star that is so close and yet so far. Shine in the mirror. To live among a sobering sense of living, to understand among this indeterminate silence, seems impossible or needs to become an impossiblity. At best, there are professions of knowing one does not know, coupled with salvation in the mirror. It's complete bullshit, but safety seems to be the way, unless you don't mind bleeding out on the coloseum floor. It's Charlie and the Chocolate Fear Factory. Here you will meet your death as a shadow among a glinting nothing. Sign the dotted line and the Charlie's grid experience will be all yours. Shine on. Enjoy yourself. The table is set. It is all yours for the taking. Desire to your heart's content. XOXO. Here, take a picture, as you lose a sense of what that picture ever was about. Understand the new you. Strive. Again, the oddity of even existing among this.
Something about streetcars and violent southern "families"
Stanley returns home to find Blanche alone in the apartment. She has descended into another fantasy about an old suitor coming to provide financial support and take her away from New Orleans. She falsely claims that Mitch had asked for her forgiveness, but she had rejected him. Stanley goes along with the act before angrily scorning Blanche's lies, hypocrisy and behavior, and calling out her lie about Mitch. He advances toward her; in response, she threatens to attack him with a broken bottle, but is overpowered. Blanche collapses on the floor and Stanley is last seen taking her unconscious into his bed.
Some time in the near future, during a poker game at the Kowalski apartment, Stella and Eunice are seen packing Blanche's meager belongings while Blanche takes a bath in a catatonic state, having suffered a mental breakdown. Although Blanche has told Stella about Stanley raping her (which he denies), Stella cannot bring herself to believe her sister's story. When a doctor and a matron arrive to take Blanche to the hospital, she initially resists them and the nurse painfully restrains her. Mitch, present at the poker game, breaks down in tears. The doctor is far more gentle and she goes willingly with him, saying, "Whoever you are – I have always depended on the kindness of strangers." The poker game continues, uninterrupted.
While working at the record label, the aunt figure oddly tells me I wouldn't simply know how vicious the grandmother figure is, and yet, I would. Much like the oddity of hearing about a legal case targeted at a uncle over the abortion she had, as the brothers were fucking her when they were all kids. You are informing me I wouldn't know how vicious she is, and yet, I know her playbook, which differs from the absurdity of obedience to this shit. She set that up. Kids will be kids right. It's a great way to gut someone out. You want to establish this early on before the kids can even gain an awareness of what is going on. Much like hugging and jerking the back of one's hair, but not just anyone, the one who laughs too hard, the one, who stands on the tippy toes for the sister figures, of which you all have a funny moment, and that demonic look, at the counter, head turned, stairing. Or that oddity of a grandfather figure, keenly aware, not to show affection within the grandmother figures view, and those treatments among the violence along with comments, the mind can handle a lot, of which a network would follow her handy work. All of it can be used so well. The irony, seems, that for example, when someone transitions from teenage years into adult hood is scaled in a way that the doctor actually buys one a hamburger, articulates a plan, but also knows from the scale, it is something he had to address decades ago and not it is back! He didn't understand how, among the institutional measure, this could start remerging. And of course the grandmother figure always said, every 50 years. I mean, when the killers hit that kill hustle plan. Time suit matters up, but be sure to gut everything out first.
And it can take on a variety of forms, a shape-shifting streetcar of sorts. Just embrace the moment as we take an incline all the way up, whether it is the case or not. Here one is, among the passengers, what is or isn't the case will not matter at this point. Here you are, and the needed measure, owns your blood. Run fuckers. It's the new ancient wisdom, of a design that works in a lucrative manner rather than a discerning manner. And I mean, when one can be dolled up as running up that hill, presented to these key families who wouldn't at all take too kindly to this new play of manipulation...I mean, to be the one who was focused on matters of process the entire time...not exactly into taking from one's table, of which there was something entirely off to those who, if you actually get it, that play of ass-antic that intends on treating those who are not to be subjected as subject, I would imagine, the humor among the lower ranks gunning for their power while simply being "grateful for what they have," as a talking line, as the enjoy this new day of nice shit for superficial good behavior, orienting toward the one once protected now gutted out and used up before they can even fully speak, isn't going to end well at all for the group too clever for their own good. I mean the institutional measure was supposed to stop these matters, but when the institutionalist made that deal, and the heads can turn the other way form a payout under the table...smile. A group that seems to think a superficial act and facade will get you by, and yet, we can all trace the behavioral design. When these peculiar matters are beginning to manifest. When promoted activities of society aren't actually adding up, in terms of stabilizing measure. This fine play of the more sophisticated ignorant "American" south. I mean when slavery was shutdown, then it's a quick shift in strategy, fuck the old form, we have a new way...it's all about the family now, among those we can sign up, of a particular nature, the one with tendencies, as my own so-called "family" unit would assert. Human trafficking veiled behind the walls of family unit activities... I mean it's family right? That means the one with tendencies will be loved in a way where all stand by trusting, "their family" they say the love and I mean, we know what family is, so of course, they absolutely love him...even though the formation of human trafficking is right there in view for those getting beyond the surface...Where's Britney?
It's tragecomic. Even the humor, to be scaled in a way where the doctor has to buy hamburgers and explain, you were abused and I get that you don't even fucking know it. It's a normalized violence and this wouldn't be disclosed to me, but considering this has been seen before, I mean some folks, family is simply a blood shot away from a good payout. Who will really find out? Traffic the bleeding heart fucker, by the time we are done, the waxen zombie will be candle lit up, melting. After all, all can be used and hustled, even those who set the grid that your access has now turned you into a god to them, who, if they do find out what you have been doing, that you have been lying to them, subjecting them with lip service, they will wipe you and your access to the grid they setup up, completely off the map...But yes, you do have all that money. Good for you.
Much like the one among the network that did this to me, prefers still, to come to my work, with the most upbeat energy, so kind, so gracious, and yet, I grew up in this and you think matters tacit aren't understood despite explicit presentation. I guess, when, a group follows the come around in relation to what they have been doing to those who are going to handle the business, desperate measures no?
Some time in the near future, during a poker game at the Kowalski apartment, Stella and Eunice are seen packing Blanche's meager belongings while Blanche takes a bath in a catatonic state, having suffered a mental breakdown. Although Blanche has told Stella about Stanley raping her (which he denies), Stella cannot bring herself to believe her sister's story. When a doctor and a matron arrive to take Blanche to the hospital, she initially resists them and the nurse painfully restrains her. Mitch, present at the poker game, breaks down in tears. The doctor is far more gentle and she goes willingly with him, saying, "Whoever you are – I have always depended on the kindness of strangers." The poker game continues, uninterrupted.
While working at the record label, the aunt figure oddly tells me I wouldn't simply know how vicious the grandmother figure is, and yet, I would. Much like the oddity of hearing about a legal case targeted at a uncle over the abortion she had, as the brothers were fucking her when they were all kids. You are informing me I wouldn't know how vicious she is, and yet, I know her playbook, which differs from the absurdity of obedience to this shit. She set that up. Kids will be kids right. It's a great way to gut someone out. You want to establish this early on before the kids can even gain an awareness of what is going on. Much like hugging and jerking the back of one's hair, but not just anyone, the one who laughs too hard, the one, who stands on the tippy toes for the sister figures, of which you all have a funny moment, and that demonic look, at the counter, head turned, stairing. Or that oddity of a grandfather figure, keenly aware, not to show affection within the grandmother figures view, and those treatments among the violence along with comments, the mind can handle a lot, of which a network would follow her handy work. All of it can be used so well. The irony, seems, that for example, when someone transitions from teenage years into adult hood is scaled in a way that the doctor actually buys one a hamburger, articulates a plan, but also knows from the scale, it is something he had to address decades ago and not it is back! He didn't understand how, among the institutional measure, this could start remerging. And of course the grandmother figure always said, every 50 years. I mean, when the killers hit that kill hustle plan. Time suit matters up, but be sure to gut everything out first.
And it can take on a variety of forms, a shape-shifting streetcar of sorts. Just embrace the moment as we take an incline all the way up, whether it is the case or not. Here one is, among the passengers, what is or isn't the case will not matter at this point. Here you are, and the needed measure, owns your blood. Run fuckers. It's the new ancient wisdom, of a design that works in a lucrative manner rather than a discerning manner. And I mean, when one can be dolled up as running up that hill, presented to these key families who wouldn't at all take too kindly to this new play of manipulation...I mean, to be the one who was focused on matters of process the entire time...not exactly into taking from one's table, of which there was something entirely off to those who, if you actually get it, that play of ass-antic that intends on treating those who are not to be subjected as subject, I would imagine, the humor among the lower ranks gunning for their power while simply being "grateful for what they have," as a talking line, as the enjoy this new day of nice shit for superficial good behavior, orienting toward the one once protected now gutted out and used up before they can even fully speak, isn't going to end well at all for the group too clever for their own good. I mean the institutional measure was supposed to stop these matters, but when the institutionalist made that deal, and the heads can turn the other way form a payout under the table...smile. A group that seems to think a superficial act and facade will get you by, and yet, we can all trace the behavioral design. When these peculiar matters are beginning to manifest. When promoted activities of society aren't actually adding up, in terms of stabilizing measure. This fine play of the more sophisticated ignorant "American" south. I mean when slavery was shutdown, then it's a quick shift in strategy, fuck the old form, we have a new way...it's all about the family now, among those we can sign up, of a particular nature, the one with tendencies, as my own so-called "family" unit would assert. Human trafficking veiled behind the walls of family unit activities... I mean it's family right? That means the one with tendencies will be loved in a way where all stand by trusting, "their family" they say the love and I mean, we know what family is, so of course, they absolutely love him...even though the formation of human trafficking is right there in view for those getting beyond the surface...Where's Britney?
It's tragecomic. Even the humor, to be scaled in a way where the doctor has to buy hamburgers and explain, you were abused and I get that you don't even fucking know it. It's a normalized violence and this wouldn't be disclosed to me, but considering this has been seen before, I mean some folks, family is simply a blood shot away from a good payout. Who will really find out? Traffic the bleeding heart fucker, by the time we are done, the waxen zombie will be candle lit up, melting. After all, all can be used and hustled, even those who set the grid that your access has now turned you into a god to them, who, if they do find out what you have been doing, that you have been lying to them, subjecting them with lip service, they will wipe you and your access to the grid they setup up, completely off the map...But yes, you do have all that money. Good for you.
Much like the one among the network that did this to me, prefers still, to come to my work, with the most upbeat energy, so kind, so gracious, and yet, I grew up in this and you think matters tacit aren't understood despite explicit presentation. I guess, when, a group follows the come around in relation to what they have been doing to those who are going to handle the business, desperate measures no?
I always go back to the doctor, though. He wasn't just a doctor; he had seen, more so likely experienced, a lot, it seems. He wasn't merely prescriptive and officious. It's like he encountered something he, and his network, hadn't seen for a time. I was an old reminder, even if I was among my youth. He was confident that if I just focused on my own interests, matters would emerge. It's like that notion of body and mind, though not the design in the mirror, but rather of a different form, think Plato, think of matters that wouldn't involve shadows on a cave wall. He was assuring and he did inform with a strong sense of concentration, over hamburgers, on hearing him and noting what he says with this odd clarity, of this way of pausing to clarify the importance of what he was saying, on what I am to do. I did it, and it is coming together.
Looking back, a lot of what wasn't making sense, in what the doctor did, does make sense now. For example, he never directly told me, you are saying things are fine, but the scales say something else. He would say something on the lines of, well you are saying everything is fine and he would affirm that matter and then go into what my challenges in life would be, which had to do with the EQ side of matters. He knew what I went though it seemed, even if I didn't, and I will still not forget when he said he doesn't know how this happened. He knew. There was a pattern. He had seen it before. He bought hamburgers to chat, something that isn't really a norm. His pauses. He etched certain matters and it sticked and as I continue on, again, it is coming together. And there is that oddity, to take note of that need to condition me in a way that hollows me out. It is purely evil, and yet, it didn't, even as this same network gunned for me into adulthood, once they realized matters of having me trafficked were not working out. It is still happening, though I can tell to a lesser degree. Seems like a particular network already follows the activities of a particular group, and gutting out the kids before they can fully speak isn't something unknown. I say this simply because of my experience with the given doctor, and in relation to other matters read. Some people just don't give a fuck, and are more than happy to take a family portrait and talk loving nothings to everyone, as they stage the violent treatments normalizing, disensitizing, distancing, coupled with benevolent facades, nice words, networked intelligence guiding the one to their needed role, that has absolutely nothing to do with them, even as they didn't have that early opportunity to understand who they were. It's a purely evil affair, and yet it does look angelic, fun-loving, professional...happy.
I think there is a lot of good that's come of this. I can't say there is a literal story among the experience. I think the experience was there to remove one's ability to even articulate what was happening to them. It's why this play works, unless institutional measures step in, say with a given school system to benchmark behaviors to identify the pattern. It seems, even in 8th grade, that pattern was known, as there was an intervention (followed during postgraduate special education courses years later), and yet the response from the one driving all of it, was a complete, outright, fight against any institutional measure of calling the pattern out. When you are tapping the shoulders of your federal judge buddy, and yes, a certain matriarch dials up certain people to make clear what they are going to do among halls of legality... I can understand now, why this was the case, especially when considering why I am sick, how I got sick, and the one who delivered that fine treatment, much like placing ones fingers on someone else's neck to give them a stroke. Yes, loving, violent world...how wonderful, among smiling "family" angels affording nicknames once they submitted to the matriarch's politics. Kill with kindness and keep it tight. Yes, indeed.
This is good I think. There is much more of an awareness at this point. I note of people walking around sharing experiences of their life, growing up, and going through a lot of matters that connect them to life. I was raised in a way where it wasn't going to be that for a time. Again, when I consider that meeting over hamburgers, I follow he knew what I didn't know, and that I would be a late, late, LATE, bloomer in terms of making such connection. I came out of a hell he hadn't seen in a while. It's that southern confederate horseshit upbringing that the US institutional measure was consciously fighting until it became about upbringing. At least, that seems to be the case. I could be wrong. I don't think so though. I don't have a family, though I have my mom. She is family, but I wouldn't have an actual family in the sense that most people have, and I'm okay with that, considering the people who were around me growing up, and how they used that notion "family" to do what they did. I don't want to ever see them again at all. Much like when the sister figure randomly shows up to visit, it's not a pleasing experience at all, and yes, I could follow as I reach these older years, she was covering her ass. What was being done to me, was now coming into focus. How someone can find it within them to fuck with someone elses life in that way is beyond me, and this is someone also on the recieving end of the violence as well, and yet, in an act of mindless obedience we join in at the table with the matriarch's poliitics and start gunning for me. That's a sister? Maybe a sister figurine? Not a sister at all. I never would want to see the around ever again. Not at all. Not in the least. Ever. That wouldn't be family and you know it.
I think too, notions among people who discuss matters normal, or have these neurotypical responses to say notions of violence, when that violence is normalized, is distancing as well. It isn't helpful. I think that's why I was told just to focus on my interest early on, and stay focused on that. When I think of the psychology at play it's viciously brilliant. Here is one that a network driving the violence knows will experience a disconnect among these so-called loving people, who connect emotionally and shun the one who doesn't connect, which should foster further energies that desire a certain violent measure toward them, of which joining the network can satiate such a desire. To recognize the one in this pressurizing hell they setup of which this one in their cage, can easily find resentment and hatred and can easily be trafficked with a good word from a "family" goose stepping with this network of underhanded horseshit.
And sure, these are words, and this could be art, and this could be a falsehood, this can be many things to many people...but what happened remains. It was this William Faulkner style upbringing. It wasn't a hollywood movie, so these moments weren't strung along in a 2 hour succession, but rather, it was a play of psychology over a long duration, a concerted effort to gut matters out of the kids and even making sure the adults didn't show affection to the one with tendencies, the one who laughed too hard (And that moment, that look, Ill never forget that set the stage of our relationship, a purely evil being), and when that wasn't working...up the violent treatments, in a fashion to where again...one manages to be scaled in a particular way. I've done good with it all I think. Not perfect, but pretty good. I'm not caugt up among planned measure of my trafficking. I haven't robbed a bank or anything. I'm not someone prone to actual violence, and I focus on matters that I enjoy which wouldn't involve the mirror, but rather these matters of process. In particular, finally holding a genuine connection to a medium of art, as noted with artists like Polly Apfelbaum and Wolfgang Laib. Like drumming, like performative philosophy, I prefer to engage in a way that holds a meaning, that isn't so literal and does establish a genuine connection that defies understanding on the basis of mirror, of something more than the shadow show upon a cave wall. You just understand when you find that process with the very instruments you are using, where everything is interesting, where there is this concerted focus that isn't consious, a peacfulness, that indeterminate silence as you create, the sweet spot of some art form...I've been there before a few times over, and that's what's happening with the art avenue. Minds attempting to understand technically what I am doing...they just aren't going to get it unless they make that effort. Some are too young to have that experience yet, but they are on their way. Others, who are even older than me, I don't know why they don't do it. Something. Even if it is a mechanical robot garden or where I am from the wolfman muffler sculptures, find that avenue that works for you and then delve into matters creative until you find that sweet spot. It doesn't have to be art. Something creative with a genuine sense of connection. It's there, but it's never a given development. We all have to work for that. Meanwhile, there will be others who despise the one of this particular nature, again before they can fully speak a language are recieving treatments to gut out these tendencies. To erase who they are in the name of using someone, a body, a mindless drone if things workout, fully trafficked, caught up, to bankroll for a network that upon the surface, upon people observing their kind meet and greets, the professionalism, the energy, the enthusiasm and outward love exuded...Seeing is believing therefore the air we breathe, I have reiterated throughout even my polemics, wouldn't establish a logical basis of understanding. There is always a price to pay when one goes with what is easy and just takes matters for what they are at the surface. A smiling face ready to kill lives for that kind of standard. All looks well, but how does a network actually determine these matters...and again, that takes me back to the doctor, who had these emotional scales, and I was fine, and yet, he seemed to follow I didn't even get the fact that what happened to me wasn't at all normal and fits that pattern he has seen before. Welcome to that aspect we call the fucked up south. It's still around, though fortunately for me, where I grew up, the East Coast culture is here, and a group that isn't down with this shit seems to have tabs on the matter, of which my Mom and myself can simply exist as we want to exist, peacefully, and fully apart from folks utilizing that notion of "family" and yet considering their aim and what they did, no, we never were that, and yet, one wanted to keep asserting this...and we all know why...and to return, that smile, that pseudo-warmth, to cover one's ass. No. Stay away.
And I expect the network driving the matriarch's behavior toward me to pay more visits with that flippant approach, and co-workers tied to them to take that same flippant approach as well. Sure, by all means, I don't really need to be respected by you. I know what you are about, and to do this to someone, it shows me, you wouldn't have respect for yourself, so why should I expect respect from you. It's fine. I've moved on, and though the intent was not to let me move on, seems like there is a network that is on your ass about it. Meaning, these fine events of violence that have made their way into my adulthood, seem to be...on record. Also, the fact that I am not violent at all and my officlal record would protect me as well, considering no suspensions, good grades after the divorce, a lot of academic activities...and yet, post-Edinburgh, circa the "family" figurines, who I have had little communication with, spin the intelligence and gun for my trafficking...and it's not solely them. I mean, when one is a network, who am I to this irrational play. I am to be all caught-up. I think that development helps me understand the role of my Mom and also the role of academia and the way these spaces created a needed distance, to clap back at this group. Otherwise, easily, I wouldn't be here, much like a friend who isn't here anymore, after dealing with these finely-tuned, nice-nothing, earth angels.
It's not a need to talk, but rather, a need, to finish the era before I am fully involved with folk art, in a similar way that I was involved with music. Once I leave an avenue, I typically do not return. This happened with music, and it will happen with the performative. I simply like to reach that point where I am reaching some sense at least of a summation, maybe not a closure entirely, but something to say, I can walk away from this activity without ever sensing this need to return to something. For music, it was going from these technical bands, to projects that were technical in this queer sense, of genre bending, of mind bending forms, three hour sets, or jazz styles, etc...to something grage, punk, and purely a disaster, not in the sense of unskilled, but something that didn't want to be skilled at all anymore. I went from a technical mastery to a looseness, to a different form of power, like that of a Basquiat painting of sorts, or a Bitches Brew session, or a Ramones down stroke method, of forms that were there to relinquish something superficial.
There is something about streetcars and violent southern "families." There are these families who look so kind, fun-loving, and happy, and yet, they aren't. I'm familiar with both. Like the streetcar, these families like to move along neutral ground. There isn't a conflict among their environment. There isn't a moment of passion, a moment of distrust, or anger out in the open. No, all is nice, and all is neutral. I can't offer a closure to this, but I can explore in a way that relinquishes something, and I'm there I think. I wasn't raised to have a sense of identity or awareness. I was raised to be used up it seems, to be prepped out for something, and yet there was never a disclosure in relation to this. Seems like a plan among the smiling faces who just "love" me in that particular way, and for the duration. To be the one to reside in the cage they have established early on. So it's a late, LATE, bloom type of matter, in terms of identity and awareness, which for our earth angels of a differing avenue, wouldn't mean one isn't aware, rather it's an awareness in relation to matters normal actually being abnormal, even as all of us interact together. Of which, I couldn't really identify at all as southern, even if a southern network was driving all of this. I was among southern culture, and southern people, but I was waxen early on, among the treatments. I did have experiences that were southern, but was I invested into any of it...not at all. It wasn't even possible for me to be invested. I would smile yes. I would get a long yes. I wasn't there though, and the reasons do remain insofar, so it's not getting toward an understanding either, as any of us follow, these intense experiences aren't literal. It's peppered with good moments yes, and you can seem the same, and yet, that transition into adulthood and that meeting with the doctor, who noted, something is entirely off...and the return of this evil grouping upon reaching graduate school, and that event that made me sick, and a series of events coming into fruition, as the other voices, other rooms, play among this network falls apart. This group is purely evil. Why do we have to be nice to each other. I don't like you. Why continually kill with kindness? Which, a bee sting in relation, is the needed measure to act upon, so no, I keep matters at the surface but when does that movement along the neutral ground get called out. Which the irony, is that play, of the one noting of the personalities moving along the neutral ground, dolled up, in that streetcar, always have someone in mind to experience an irony, a mirror to show to others, of that very scene...a streetcar moving along the neutral ground with choice personalities in it, the ones with tendencies, on strings, caught up, even if that isn't their nature at all. It's dead scene irony. Paper (writing like this), Scissors (this can help set the divide), Rock (waxen creature with head on fire, bullhead, the mind can handle a lot)...My upbringing, my time growing up among this grouping was indeed dead scene irony. This likely has to do with a lot of my hyper-creativity. I began channeling inward rather than outward, which I can follow when I was social until second grade and then for years, no parties, no friends, just violence, psychological mindfucks, and trips into the woods to imagine. Then more waxen existence among a normal-looking facade, rinse and repeat. It's looking alive, even if one is feeling like shit. It's very fucking strange. Why would a culture, in their right fucking minds, ever want to promote this? But when trafficking is the game...dead scene irony it is...and it would extend beyond this American context/"American Southern" context. The violence among these families, dolled up in the mirror, killing with kindness, hustling in a way that is unexpected and wouldn't be understood among plays in the mirror, is rooted elsewhere.
Of Olive Trees & Snake Water
Homer's Odyssey (c. eighth century BC), Odysseus crawls beneath two shoots of olive that grow from a single stock,[79] and in the Iliad, (XVII.53ff) there is a metaphoric description of a lone olive tree in the mountains by a spring; the Greeks observed that the olive rarely thrives at a distance from the sea, which in Greece invariably means up mountain slopes.
Some speak with their tongues and some speak with their eyes Could try and bargain a price But you could pay with your life You try and shape the body But the body shapes the mind Now your mind is disappearing Your health is in decline
it’s all about the environment olive trees create. With their gnarled trunks, thick root systems, and dense leafy canopies, olive trees offer the perfect shelter for snakes like grass snakes and adders. Their twisted forms provide cool, shaded spots in the heat of the day—and when you’re cold-blooded, that’s a big deal. But it’s not just the tree itself. The typical olive grove comes with its own natural perks: dry stone walls, rocky terraces, and sun-soaked limestone soil. These features soak up warmth all day and release it slowly at night, creating a toasty after-hours haven for snakes. An all-you-can-eat buffet for cold-blooded predators...These groves are teeming with critters that snakes love to hunt—mice, moles, lizards, and even small birds. It’s essentially a ready-made buffet for reptiles. And when prey is plentiful, predators follow.
Some speak with their tongues and some speak with their eyes Could try and bargain a price But you could pay with your life You try and shape the body But the body shapes the mind Now your mind is disappearing Your health is in decline
it’s all about the environment olive trees create. With their gnarled trunks, thick root systems, and dense leafy canopies, olive trees offer the perfect shelter for snakes like grass snakes and adders. Their twisted forms provide cool, shaded spots in the heat of the day—and when you’re cold-blooded, that’s a big deal. But it’s not just the tree itself. The typical olive grove comes with its own natural perks: dry stone walls, rocky terraces, and sun-soaked limestone soil. These features soak up warmth all day and release it slowly at night, creating a toasty after-hours haven for snakes. An all-you-can-eat buffet for cold-blooded predators...These groves are teeming with critters that snakes love to hunt—mice, moles, lizards, and even small birds. It’s essentially a ready-made buffet for reptiles. And when prey is plentiful, predators follow.
Oxytocin, Ganz Wien FREEZE
Icarus Forking for Blood (Where's Daedalus?, doll her up as meat, of Cowbells, of Bullheads, More cowbell fuckers, More fucking cowbell), Designate [Test Scores, Observations, etc...] Stars Up High, Christ-Types in "Safe" Hell (after all, he died for "our" sins, give those fuckers a cross), Rinse and Repeat...So many problems, so many bankrolls...It's not so hard, really, just stack up the loyal observatory, to have innocent chats, along with observations, test scores, and the like...dolled up for peace, health, and happiness, so nice...killing with kindness...and gunning with the very spin of intelligence. Just drive the fork into this finely tuned game of social fabrication. The rest will take care of itself. As for the performative...and matters being all on this so-called internet...shit.
Quickly, get our youth...here is where this asshole works...I need you to befriend. Nicknames. We need nicknames. We need dichotomy sandwiches. Belittle the asshole. Our young good word, IF, you do a good job then you can be with us...converse and drop inside jokes on this idiot. Praise how smart he is. I mean that IQ. Be the inside to the outside. If he asserts one notion, go the other way. Who me? my innocent conversations as underhanded play! My interest is genuine. To do that to an angel like you? No, I couldn't possibly. I hardly even know you. I have the best of intentions with you and everyone else...always. Split that ho. Divide. Do the good deed and you will thrive among us. Smile. Keep it tight. Champion world peace. She's a sucker. Eeek!!! Kill this ancient bitch. Get her on the controversy plan. Sign her up for the endless conversation plan. She's to be a dirty slut. Find her a lover. Put her on the mental health cycle. Our network is to uphold the American Dream! It's over...It ain't over...because a killer gotta kill baby. Tap that ass. Be a STARRRRRR......running the show and still can't seem to get the play...duck, duck, goose. You too, can figure it out, and become the next winner, a regular glasshouse elevator into the sky...I wonder how it ends...Begin again...Killing Moon on Deck....Strive to live in his image, among empty seats...the finely tuned ancient SPIN...
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