Here is another spoken word from a reading full of blue in a room of clues as to why we all gathered here to share our silent moments of uncertainty certainly I grew up in a food stamp paradise but isn't it nice when being raised on r ratings and nicotine isn't the worst fate for the hate of accidentally existing inside a stranger that was never intended suspended inside this method of madness that only comes sporadically systematic while lacking the schematics for clarity why I'm a product of a fun house mentality so you see its not always up to me when the words spill or the shrill ringing of writing until asphyxiation because scenes dissect when they do what else can I chew without clearance or an appearance of sanity I swim in remnants of peace when I forget to breathe or conceive a world without an ink stained funnel for this morbid curiosity we feed to offset the mediocrity of a T.V persona existence this persistent need for violence is almost an impulse we convulse with a dark euphoria screaming gloria into the train wrecks broken neck headlines splattered with genocide cowboys and plastic pondering while the wondering of a reasonable whisper fall victim to loud speaker urgency