The coldness of my unleashed disinhibitions have gracefully succumbed to the wisdom of cosmological forces, despite my ravenous salivations for all that is vehemently forbidden.
As I bark inside the relief of this solitary pound of articulated and socialised liberty, like an expression of abstract artistry within an ethical mudslide; I continue to teeter upon geographical tightropes which span unforgiving terrains across the ancient divides of propriety, where the baron plains of deuterocanonical origin are populated by restless spirits with gnashing teeth.
So, if they could ever be personified, I could easily butcher a myriad of depravities which tangibly characterise my inner Astarte and Ishtar demons – although, such an event would have to occur after we have engaged in a myriad of abominations where raunchy and indulgent copulations shamefully expose our brazen wantonness to animalistic inclinations.
Never offer to tie me down.
Restriction diametrically opposes my socially skilled yet nomadic being, as it sojourns across a psychedelic array of vibrant gardens, and weaves through present pathways which are timeless in their being.
It just is.
That is the essence of ontology.
Can we ever effectively contemplate the philosophies of predetermination and predestination?
As I am not dichotomous in my thinking, there is a legitimate place for being an omnivore within the walls of our societal fabric.
Although I radically accept that of which I do not approve, the psychology of ambivalence has led me to raise questions around the validity of horticulture.
My clock has melted down the flamboyance of those multicolored mountainsides of being and nothingness.