The train moved too quickly today. It was as if it knew that there were things to say but it didn’t want to let them come out. To make sure they wouldn’t accidentally drop a word or two about what shouldn’t be. Of the world that once knew that it could recover itself, when it knew the wonders of its own stupidity and sought to fix them by assigning the task to experts who know more than the men before them, but less than the men that came before them. So who to believe?
If history is anything to show, the only thing worth seeing would be the glow of the embers of flames that take down idea’s and crumble the foundations of existence, as only the reality of this game. It is that it’s only fun when the rules are known unknowns with a twist to make sure that no one who ever wants to play knows that the known unknown unknowns should be the only currency for dealing with it. Waxing poetic as Huey Freeman, as though accepting that that pessimistic Bisy Backsons, aren’t the worst thing, but rather the The overindulgent owls of the court who preside over the judge, makings sure the verdict is to keep breaking down and owning more and more to feed the flock they quickly feed on when they see the first sight of blood or the potential for blood.
Humanist’s would hold the belief that humanity is meant to be one, not limited by borders and ideas, but by the experiences that the lives of all would propagate and help plant the seed for the tree, from which the fruit is picked. Consumed, then shown to be nothing more then egotistical self posturing because humanity is too fucked up to do much about unless you care too much about the tree that create the roots for which their ideas stand. Hold strong and don’t fret, there was never much left to lose, but the idea’s fundamental naivety to the fact that everyone is corrupt, and not a soul attempting to find the difference means to do it because its true.
But when built to spot the differences between a leader and puppet, learning that manipulation can be summoned from but an idea that would hold as improbably true, but none the less with value to the puppeteer, the truth becomes clear, backbones are for those that will die. Humans will believe anything as long as nothing else is given for them to understand, life retains simplicity as question are then never really asked or brought up, since they’ve nothing do with their self worth of the idea. So cognition and perception stew in the proverbial cauldron of distortion and chaos, while belief systems are made for those that can’t seems to grasp the notion of the flux of time and the eternal state of content-ness and control.
Built at the precise times that it needed to be built, transmuted into the harbingers of the whatever tomorrow would bring, the scars the pasts that are held so dear, even if their lossless audio drivers maintain that there is a 95 percent degradation in how it gets interpreted, given the appropriate filter anything can sound as if the fate of the worlds words depended on its. Built specifically to the thing that is required to watch the combustion of the worlds as they collapse into themselves and then proceeding to fall out into the dusting of reality that pelts the worlds around them. The monarch flaps its colorful appendages as the youth of tomorrow are ushered into the gale forces of mistrust and acedia, contented to find out eventually that all they really ever were, were the embers of what came before.