Bouazizi’s heavy eyelids parted as the Muezzin recited the final call for the first Adhan of the day.

“As-salatu Khayrun Minan-nawm”
Prayer is better than sleep

Rising from the torment of another restless night, Bouazizi wiped the sleep from his droopy eyes as his feet touched the cold stone floor.

Throughout the frigid night, the devilish jinn did their work, eagerly jabbing away at Bouazizi with pointed sticks, tormenting his troubled conscience with the worry of his nagging indebtedness. All night the face of the man Bouazizi owed money to haunted him. Bouazizi could see the man’s greasy lips and brown teeth jawing away, inches from his face. He imagined chubby caffeine stained fingers reaching toward him to grab some dinars from Bouazizi’s money box.

Bouazizi turned all night like he was sleeping on a board of spikes. His prayers for a restful night again went unanswered. The pall of a blue fatigue would shadow Bouazizi for most of the day.

Bouazizi’s weariness was compounded by a gnawing hunger. By force of habit, he grudgingly opened the food cupboard with the foreknowledge that it was almost bare. Bouazizi’s premonition proved correct as he surveyed a meager handful of chickpeas, some eggs and a few sparse loaves. It was just enough to feed his dependant family; younger brothers and sisters, cousins and a terminally disabled uncle. That left nothing for Bouazizi but a quick jab to his empty gut. He would start this day without breakfast.

Bouazizi made a living as a street vendor. He hustles to survive. Bouazizi’s father died in a construction accident in Libya when he was three. Since the age of 10, Bouazizi had pushed a cart through the streets of Sidi Bouzid; selling fruit at the public market just a few blocks from the home that he has lived in for almost his entire life.

At 27 years of age, Bouazizi has wrestled the beast of deprivation since his birth. To date, he has bravely fought it to a standstill; but day after day the multi-headed hydra of life has snapped at him. He has squarely met the eyes of the beast with fortitude and resolve; but the sharp fangs of a hardscrabble life has sunken deep into Bouazizi’s spleen. The unjust rules of society are powerful claws that slash away at his flesh, bleeding him dry: while the spiked tendrils of poverty wrap Bouazizi’s neck, seeking to strangle him.

Bouazizi is a workingman hero; a skilled warrior in the fight for daily bread. He is accustomed to living a life of scarcity. His daily deliverance is the grace of another day of labor and the blessed wages of subsistence.

Though Allah has blessed this man with fortitude the acuteness of terminal want and the constant struggle to survive has its limits for any man; even for strong champions like Bouazizi.

This morning as Bouazizi washed he peered into a mirror, closely examining new wrinkles on his stubble strewn face. He fingered his deep black curls dashed with growing streaks of gray. He studied them through the gaze of heavy bloodshot eyes. He looked upward as if to implore Allah to salve the bruises of daily life.

Bouazizi braced himself with the splash of a cold water slap to his face. He wiped his cheeks clean with the tail of his shirt. He dipped his toothbrush into a box of baking powder and scoured an aching back molar in need of a root canal. Bouazizi should see a dentist but it is a luxury he cannot afford so he packed an aspirin on top of the infected tooth. The dissolving aspirin invaded his mouth coating his tongue with a bitter effervescence.

Bouazizi liked the taste and was grateful for the expectation of a dulled pain. He smiled into the mirror to check his chipped front tooth while pinching a cigarette **** from an ashtray. The roach had one hit left in it. He lit it with a long hard drag that consumed a good part of the filter. Bouazizi’s first smoke of the day was more filter then tobacco but it shocked his lungs into the coughing flow of another day.

Bouazizi put on his jacket, slipped into his knockoff NB sneakers and reached for a green apple on a nearby table. He took a big bite and began to chew away the pain of his toothache.

Bouazizi stepped into the street to catch the sun rising over the rooftops. He believed that seeing the sunrise was a good omen that augured well for that day’s business. A sunbeam braking over a far distant wall bathed Bouazizi in a golden light and illumined the alley where he parked his cart holding his remaining stock of week old apples. He lifted the handles and backed his cart out into the street being extra mindful of the cracks in the cobblestone road. Bouazizi sprained his ankle a week ago and it was still tender. Bouazizi had to be careful not to aggravate it with a careless step. Having successfully navigated his cart into the road, Bouazizi made a skillful U Turn and headed up the street limping toward the market.

A winter chill gripped Bouazizi prompting him to zip his jacket up to his neck. The zipper pinched his Adam’s Apple and a few droplets of blood stained his green corduroy jacket. Though it was cold, Bouazizi sensed that spring would arrive early this year triggering a replay of a recurring daydream. Bouazizi imagined himself behind the wheel of a new van on his way to the market. Fresh air and sunshine pouring through the open windows with the cargo space overflowing with fresh vegetables and fruits.

It was a lifelong ambition of Bouazizi to own a van. He dreamed of buying a six cylinder Dodge Caravan. It would be painted red and he would call it The Red Flame. The Red Flame would be fast and powerful and sport chrome spinners. The Red Flame would be filled with music from a Blaupunkt sound system with kick *** speakers. Power windows, air conditioning, leather seats, a moonroof and plenty of space in the back for his produce would complete Bouazizi’s ride.

The Red Flame would be the vehicle Bouazizi required to expand his business beyond the market square. Bouazizi would sell his produce out of the back of the van, moving from neighborhood to neighborhood. No longer would he have to wait for customers to come to his stand in the market. Bouazizi would go to his customers. Bouazizi and the Red Flame would be known in all the neighborhoods throughout the district. Bouazizi shook his head and smiled thinking about all the girls who would like to take rides in the Red Flame. Bouazizi and his Red Flame would be a sight to be noticed and a force to be reckoned with.

“EEEEEYOWWW” a Mercedes horn angrily honked; jarring Bouazizi from the reverie of his daydream. A guy whipping around the corner like a silver streak stuck his head out the window blasting with music yelling, “Hey Mnayek, watch where you push that *******.”

The music faded as the Mercedes roared away. “Barra nikk okhtek” Bouazizi yelled, raising his ******* in the direction of the vanished car. “The big guys in the fancy cars think the road belongs to them”, Bouazizi mumbled to himself.

The insult ****** Bouazizi off, but he was accustomed to them and as he limped along pushing his cart he distracted himself with the amusement of the ascending sun chasing the fleeting shadows of the night, sending them scurrying down narrow alleyways.

Bouazizi imaged himself a character from his favorite movie. He was a giant Transformer, chasing the black shadows of evil away from the city into the desert. After battling evil and conquering the bad guys, he would transform himself back into the regular Bouazizi; selling his produce to the people as he patrolled the highways of Tunisia in the Red Flame, the music blasting out the windows, the chrome spinners flashing in the sunlight. Bouazizi would remain vigilant, always ready to transform the Red Flame to fight the evil doers.

The bumps and potholes in the road jostled Bouazizi’s load of apples. A few fell out of the wooden baskets and were rolling around in the open spaces of the cart. Bouazizi didn’t want to risk bruising them. Damaged merchandise can’t be sold so he was careful to secure his goods and arrange his cart to appeal to women customers. He made sure to display his prized electronic scale in the corner of the cart for all to see.

Bouazizi had a reputation as a fair and generous dealer who always gave good value to his customers. Bouazizi was also known for his kindness. He would give apples to hungry children and families who could not pay. Bouazizi knew the pain of hunger and it brought him great satisfaction to be able to alleviate it in others.

As a man who valued fairness, Bouazizi was particularly proud of his electronic scale. Bouazizi was certain the new measuring device assured all customers that Bouazizi sold just and correct portions. The electronic scale was Bouazizi’s shining lamp. He trusted it. He hung it from the corner post of his cart like it was the beacon of a lighthouse guiding shoppers through the treachery of an unscrupulous market. It would attract all customers who valued fairness to the safe harbor of Bouazizi’s cart.

The electronic scale is Bouazizi’s assurance to his customers that the weights and measures of electronic calculation layed beyond any cloud of doubt. It is a fair, impartial and objective arbiter for any dispute.

Bouazizi believed that the fairness of his scale would distinguish his stand from other produce vendors. Though its purchase put Bouazizi into deep debt, the scale was a source of pride for Bouazizi who believed that it would help his profits to increase and help him to achieve his goal of buying the Red Flame.

As Bouazizi pushed his cart toward the market, he mulled his plan over in his mind for the millionth time. He wasn't great in math but he was able to calculate his financial situation with a degree of precision. His estimations triggered worries that his growing debt to money lenders may be difficult to payoff.

Indebtedness pressed down on Bouazizi’s chest like a mounting pile of stones. It was the source of an ever present fear coercing Bouazizi to live in a constant state of anxiety. His business needed to grow for Bouazizi to get a measure of relief and ultimately prosper from all his hard work. Bouazizi was driven by urgency.

The morning roil of the street was coming alive. Bouazizi quickened his step to secure a good location for his cart at the market. Car horns, the spewing diesel from clunking trucks, the flatulent roar of accelerating buses mixed with the laughs and shrieks of children heading to school composed the rising crescendo of the city square.

As he pushed through the market, Bouazizi inhaled the aromatic eddies of roasting coffee floating on the air. It was a pleasantry Bouazizi looked forward to each morning. The delicious wafts of coffee mingling with the crisp aroma of baking bread instigated a growl from Bouazizi’s empty stomach. He needed to get something to eat. After he got money from his first sale he would by a coffee and some fried dough.

Activity in the market was vigorous, punctuated by the usual arguments of petty territorial disputes between vendors. The disagreements were always amicably resolved, burned away in rising billows of roasting meats and vegetables, the exchange of cigarettes and the plumes of tobacco smoke rising as emanations of peace.

Bouazizi skillfully maneuvered his cart through the market commotion. He slid into his usual space between Aaban and Aameen. His good friend Aaban sold candles, incense, oils and sometimes his wife would make cakes to sell. Aameen was the markets most notorious jokester. He sold hardware and just about anything else he could get his hands on.

Aaban was already burning a few sticks of jasmine incense. It helped to attract customers. The aroma defined the immediate space with the pleasant bouquet of a spring garden. Bouazizi liked the smell and appreciated the increased traffic it brought to his apple cart.

“Hey Basboosa#, do you have any cigarettes?“, Aameen asked as he pulled out a lighter. Bouazizi shook the tip of a Kent from an almost empty pack. Aameen grabbed the cigarette with his lips.

“That's three cartons of Kents you owe me, you cheap *******.” Bouazizi answered half jokingly. Aameen mumbled a laugh through a grin tightly gripping the **** as he exhaled smoke from his nose like a fire breathing dragon. Bouazizi also took out a cigarette for himself.

“Aameem, give me a light”, Bouazizi asked.

Aameen tossed him the lighter.

“Keep it Basboosa. I got others.” Aameen smiled as he showed off a newly opened box of disposable lighters to sell on his stand.

“Made in China, Basboosa. They make everything cheap and colorful. I can make some money with these.”

Bouazizi lit his next to last cigarette. He inhaled deeply. The smoke chased away the cool air in Bouazizi’s lungs with a shot of a hot nicotine rush.

“Merci Aameen” Bouazizi answered. He put the lighter into the almost empty cigarette pack and put it into his hip pocket. The lighter would protect his last cigarette from being crushed.

The laughter and shouts of the bazaar, the harangue of radio voices shouting anxious verses of Imam’s exhorting the masses to submit and the piecing ramble of nondescript AM music flinging piercing unintelligible static surrounded Bouazizi and his cart as he waited for his first customers of the day.

Bouazizi sensed a nervous commotion rise along the line of vendors. A crowd of tourists and locals milling about parted as if to avoid a slithering asp making its way through their midst. The hoots of vendors and the cackle of the crowd made its way to Bouazizi’s knowing ear. He knew what was coming. It was nothing more then another shakedown by city officials acting as bagmen for petty municipal bureaucrats. They claim to be checking vendor licences but they’re just making the rounds collecting protection money from the vendors. Pocketing bribes and payoffs is the municipal authorities idea of good government. They are skilled at using the power of their office to extort tribute from the working poor.

Bouazizi made the mistake of making eye contact with Madame Hamdi. As the municipal authority in charge of vendors and taxis Madame Hamdi held sway over the lives of the street vendors. She relished the power she had over the men who make a meager living selling goods in the square; and this morning she was moving through the market like a bloodhound hot on the trail of an escaped convict. Two burly henchmen lead the way before her. Bouazizi knew Madame Hamdi’s hounds were coming for him.

Bouazizi knew he was ******. Having just made a payment to his money lender, Bouazizi had no extra dinars to grease the palm of Madame Hamdi. He grabbed the handle bars of his cart to make an escape; but Madame Hamdi cut him off and got right into into Bouazizi’s face.

“Ah little Basboosa where are you going? she asked with the tone of playful contempt.

“I suppose you still have no license to sell, ah Basboosa?” Madame Hamdi questioned with the air of a soulless inquisitor.

“You know Madame Hamdi, cart vendors do not need a license.” Bouazizi feebly protested, not daring to look into her eyes.

“Basboosa, you know we can overlook your violations with a small fine for your laxity” a dismissive Madame Hamdi offered.

Bouazizi’s sense of guilt would not permit him to lift his eyes. His head remained bowed. Bouazizi stood convicted of being one of the impoverished.

“I have no spare dinars to offer Madame Hamdi, My pockets are empty, full of holes. My money falls into everyone’s palm but my own. I’m sorry Madame Hamdi. I’ll take my cart home”. He lifted the handlebars in an attempt to escape. One of Madame Hamdi’s henchmen stepped in front of his cart while the other pushed Bouazizi away from it.

“Either you pay me a vendor tax for a license or I will confiscate your goods Basboosa”, Madame Hamdi warned as she lifted Bouazizi’s scale off its hook.

“This will be the first to go”, she said grinning as she examined the scale. “We’ll just keep this.”
Like a mother lion protecting a defenseless cub from the snapping jaws of a pack of ravenous hyenas, Bouazizi lunged to retrieve his prized scale from the clutches of Madame Hamdi. Reaching for it, he touched the scale with his fingertips just as Madame Hamdi delivered a vicious slap to Bouazizi’s cheek. It halted him like a thunderbolt from Zeus.

A henchman overturned Bouazizi’s cart, scatter

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I wonder how I've ended back up in this position
dependant on not just a chemical or two, but
dependant on the love of a person
You see, I was not born a human, nor have I lived as one,

I'm used to the beauty of the darkness, for in dark places
beautiful flowers grow, but it takes eyes
shadowed in darkness for decades to see them
and to pluck them, one needs a still heart
that no longer beats with the rhythm of a living being

that darkness has shaped my world, shaped my mind
yet in her voice, her words, and her love
I've found myself slipping from that place
being pulled into one in which I do not know how to live
Here there is light, and sights to be seen
with eyes practiced to the sun

I used to believe the universe whispered to me
and maybe it still does, it's just that it's been so long
since I've listened, that its song is distant
raw, and uncaring

You see the universe is lonely,
that's why it turned into you, and into me,
to be embraced with it's own warmth
to embrace itself in its own desire,
what a simple thing we endeavor, is it not?

By becoming creatures bounded in time, and space,
we've forgotten our true self and along with it
the wellspring of love that created us,
now we seek it, although in lesser forms,
experiencing it with only a few
and the upper casts of beings know this,

Somewhere deep in our subconscious we also understand, and we know that we've forgotten it.

It's just that demons have embraced darkness, and a total absence of love, while we try to fill ourselves with small glimmers plucked from flowers that grow in the sun.

Demons, on the other hand, pluck flowers that grow only in the darkness, and those flowers have power over mortals, they will call to thee and under their spell, you will dream dreams meant for only devas, asuras, demons, and spirits.

This nectar is not meant for humans, yet in our arrogance, we reach for their stock and supply,
and with it we compose beautiful songs and paint beautiful shapes, we piece together majestic art and music that can open the mind, bend it, twist it, and mold it in ways from which it can never retreat.

We create,
Things that even devas desire,

We create,
Things that even demons devour,

But to us humans these things are toxic, they are too much, and we become lost to them.
Such that we call madness is a consequence of reaching too deeply into the well of knowledge with an unbalanced, ignorant, distracted, and frail mind, and in doing so, we forsake everything for the pitifullest glimpse of eternity.

In that place; only gods and asuras may roam freely; humans, on the other hand, are far too greedy,
far too curious, far too ignorant, and far too dangerous to possess such knowledge.

We should stick to light plucked from flowers growing in the sun,
because those flowers which grow in the darkness will only lead to our damnation, the conclusion of our race, and the manifestation of something far more terrible than any of our myths ever suggested.

One thread came loose with alcoholism at a very young age.
She recovered. She forgot and proceeded.
One thread was yanked loose by a growing tendency to self sabotage.
She clawed her way out of the spiral.
One thread pulled at others when she learnt she didn’t need alcohol to have a good time.
She felt deprived by self-restraint. So she slightly caved.
One thread burned along with her personality when she became a stoner again.
She was suffocated yet high.
One thread was singed by ****.
She fell back into her ***** habits. She found herself here, but not quite present.
She became dependant. As she flooded her body parts with superficial happiness, just a quick release, her mouth grew dry. Then the peeling skin on her stained lips began to stick together and she regressed into a still and faded silence. In the end, she was in shreds and blissfully unaware, alone with nothing but one solitary thread left to grasp at.

We all play the game each day.
And that's all it is, a game.
Our lives dependant on a dice roll.
Or is it predetermined?
Will we ever know?
Luck or fate?

So
I'm not
That independent woman
who doesn't need no man
In fact I'm feeling lost
though you my friend most boldly state
the truth that God completes
Something competes
it reaches first
and informs my heart of missing parts
Despite my fear in this debate,
it may soon be too late
as all contracts heap amidst the pyre
where Time burns
upon the Earth's last fire
mock marriage ends in conflagration
to be replaced by Consumation

Oh feel our bodies grow,
And our souls they blend.
Yeah love I hope you know,
How much my heart depends.

And I'll try to delay what you make of my life
But I don't want your way,
I want mine

I’m lying, I’m so very far from fine

I don’t believe, in talking just to breathe

I’m here to give you words as tools that can destroy my heart

He thinks that faith might be dead
Nothing kills a man faster than his own head

*** nobody knows he’s alive

I want to crack the door so I can just fall out

I begin to understand why god died

And I want everyone to know that I am half a soul divided

Don’t be afraid. We’re going home.

We had to steal him from his fate so he could see another day

Am I alive and well or am I dreaming dead?

Where all your blood is washed away and all you did will be undone

We pick songs to sing remind us of things that nobody cares about and honestly we’re probably more suicidal than ever now

If we wake up every morning and decide what we believe we can take apart our very heart and the light will set us free

Please don’t be afraid of what your soul is really thinking

It’s time you pick your battle, and I promise you this is mine.

I know what you think in the morning when the sun shines on the ground

But there’s hope out the window, so that’s where we’ll go, let’s go outside and all join hands but until then you’ll never understand

Simply suggest my chest in this confused music it’s obviously best for them to turn their guns to a fist.

I’m taking over my body back in control no more shorty

I fought it a lot and it seems a lot like flesh is all I got not anymore

You should take my life, you should take my soul

You are surrounding all my surroundings

Fight it. Take the pain ignite it tie a noose around your mind loose enough to breathe fine and tie it to a tree tell it “you belong to me this ain’t a noose this is a leash and I have news for you, you must obey me”

It ain’t the speakers that bump hearts, it’s our hearts that make the beat.

I’m pleading please oh please, on my knees repeatedly asking why it’s got to be like this, is this living free?

Some see a pen I see a harpoon.

I’ll stay awake, *** the dark’s not taking prisoners tonight

I don’t hear those voices calling, I must’ve kicked them out

Why won’t you let me go? Do I threaten all your plans I’m insignificant

I’m afraid to tell you who I adore, won’t tell you who I’m singing towards

I know it’s dire my time today

Somebody stole my car radio and now I just sit in silence

Sometimes quiet is violent
I find it hard to hide it my pride is no longer inside it’s on my sleeve my skin will scream

There’s no hiding for me I’m forced to deal with what I feel there is no distraction to mask what is real

This time there’s no sound to hide behind

I find over the course of our human existence one thing consists of consistence and it’s that we’re all battling fear oh dear I don’t know if we know why we’re here oh my too deep please stop thinking

Peace will win and fear will lose

There’s faith and there’s sleep we need to pick one please because faith is to be awake and to be awake is for us to think and for us to think is to be alive and I will try with every rhyme to come across like I am dying to let you know you need to try to think.

I don’t wanna be heard, I wanna be listened to.

I scream you scream we all scream *** we’re terrified of what’s around the corner.

My brain has given up, white flags are hoisted

The stomach in my brain throws up onto the page

I don’t understand why everything I adore takes a different form when I squint my eyes have you ever done that when you squint your eyes and your eyelashes make it look a little bit right and then when just enough light comes from just the right side and you find you’re not who you’re supposed to be?
This is not what you’re supposed to see, please, remember me I am supposed to be king of kingdom, swinging on a swing, something happened in my imagination the situations becoming dire, my treehouse is on fire, and for some reason I smell gas on my hands. This is not what I had planned.

We’ll be on fire

We have romantic fantasies about what dying truly is

We all know somebody who knows somebody who’s doing great, I know some people who know people who are flying straight, but I’ll kindly enter into rooms of depression, while ceiling fans and idle hands will take my life again.

But I would rather sing a song, for the eyes to sing along

I’m holding onto what I know and what I know I must let go

Redemption’s not that far and darkness is going down.

Nobody thinks what I think, nobody dreams when they blink, think things on the brink of blasphemy I’m my own shrink think things are after me, my catastrophe.

Are you searching for purpose? Then write something and it might be worthless, paint something yeah it might be wordless pointless curses nonsense verses you’ll see purpose start to surface, no one else is dealing with your demons meaning maybe defeating them could be the beginning of your meaning friend.

They will play a game and say they know what you’re doing through and I tried to come up with an artistic way to say they don’t know you and neither do I

I hear a second voice behind your tongue somehow

They will not take you down they will not cast you out

Dear friends here we are again pretending to understand how you think your world is ending sendin signals and red flags in waves it’s hard to tell the difference between blood and water these days
I pray that one day you see
The only difference between life and dying
Is one is trying that’s all we’re gonna do so try to love me and I’ll try to save you

Won’t you stay alive I’ll take you on a ride, I will make you believe you are lovely

Your redemption won’t grow stale, we are now just setting sail, on the seas of what we fear, treason now is growing near to me, I’m coming clean, god hit me straight on.

I know, where you stand, silent in the trees
And that’s where I am

Why won’t you speak, where I happen to Be? Silent in the trees standing cowardly
I can feel your breath, I can feel my death.
I want to know you, I want to see, I want to say, hello

I don’t believe my ears and I’m scared of my own head.

Clearly I am dying, dearly I am writing

I’m lying cause I say I am fine

I’m so sorry but I do believe that all my bridges I have burned and I’ve earned a policy of no return

Today, day, I want to go away, way

I put my sock on my feet, just so that my soul would fall through my toes, And I walk through my door, just so I don’t fall through the floor.

So bold and fearless in the risks we take, laugh in the face of gravity as it’s laws we’d break, on trampolines so high, we reach for the sky, but I do not look up anymore and I don’t know why.

I take my face off at the door because I don’t know who they will take me for

I’m the son of all I’ve done

When we’re done we’ll all have made something new under the sun

“Where’s your home? Where are you going and why are you here?”

I will tell you what I can, but your mind will take a stand, I sing of a greater love, let me know when you’ve had enough.

When your father turns to stone will you take care of me?
I will make you queen of everything you see, I’ll put you on the map, I’ll cure you of disease.
Let’s say we up and left this town and turned our future upside down, we’ll make pretend that you and me, lived ever after happily.

Since we know that dreams are dead, and life turns plans up on their head, I will plan to be a *** so I just might become someone.

Taking my only, friend I know. He leaves a lot. His name is Hope.

I’m never what I like, I’m double sided

*** I’m twisted up, I’m twisted up, inside my mind

When the sun is climbing window sills, and the silver lining rides the hills, I will be safe, for one whole day, until the sun makes the hills it’s grave.

By the time the nights wears off, the dust is down, and shadows burn, I will rise and stand my ground, waiting for, the nights return.

I do not know why I would go in front of you na shied my soul, *** you’re the only one who knows it

I don’t know why I think I could lie, *** there’s a screen on my chest

I’m standing in front of you I’m trying to be so cool, everything together trying to be so cool.

I can’t see past my own nose I’m seeing everything in slow-mo look out below crashing down to the ground

A train from the sky locomotive my motives are insane
My flows not great okay, I conversation with people who know if I flow on a song I’ll get no radio play.
While you’re doing fine, there’s some people and I, who have a really tough time getting through this life so excuse us while we sing to the sky.

We’re broken people

I can’t take them on my own, my own, pa, I’m not the one you know, you know

Don’t wanna give you all my demons, you’ll have to watch me struggle, from several rooms away. But tonight, I need you to stay.

I am up against the wall, the wall, pa, I hear them coming down, the hall.

I want to drive away in the night, headlights call my name.
I’ll never be, be what you see inside, you say I’m not alone but I am petrified.

Is close the closest star? You just feel twice as far.

I’m so afraid, of what you have to say, cause I am quiet now, and silence gives you space

And the wrists of my mind had the bleeding lines that remind me of all the times I have committed

What kids are doing they’re killing themselves, they feel they have no control of their prisoner cells, and if you’re one of them then you’re one of me

Now the night is coming to an end

The sun will rise and we will try again

Stay alive, stay alive, for me.
You will die, but now your life is free take pride in what is sure to die.

I will fear the night again.

I hope I’m not my only friend.

There’s an infestation in my minds imagination

This not rap this is not hip hop, just another attempt to make the voices stop

This doesn’t mean I lost my dream it’s just right now I got a really crazy mind to clean.

Can you save my heavydirtysoul, for me?

If I didn’t know better I’d guess you’re all already dead

You’ve got one time to figure it out, one time to twist and one time to shout, one time to think and I say we start now

Death inspires me like a dog inspires a rabbit

I wish I found some better sounds no ones ever heard, I wish I had a better voice to sing some better words, I wish I found some chords in an order that is new, I wish I didn’t have to rhyme every time I sang

Now I’m insecure, and I care what people think.

Sometimes a certain smell will take me back to when I was young, how come I’m never able to identify where it’s coming from?

It would remind us of when nothing really mattered out of student loans and treehouse homes we all would take the ladder.

We used to play pretend give eachother different names

Used to dream of outer space but now they’re laughing at our face saying wake up you need to make money

I wanna stay in the sun where I find, I know it’s hard sometimes

I think about the end just way too much, but it’s fun to fantasize

I won’t fall in love with falling

I’d die for you that’s easy to say we have a list of people that we would take a bullet for them a bullet for you

Metaphorically I’m the man but literally I don’t know what I’d do, that’s harder to do even harder to say when you know it’s not true and it’s harder to write when you know that tonight there were people back home that tried talking to you

All these questions they’re for real like who would you live for who would you die for and would you ever ****?

I’ve been thinking too much, help me

I’m fairly local, ive been around, ive seen the streets you’re walking down

I’m evil to the core, what I shouldn’t do I will, they say I’m emotional, what I wanna save I’ll ****. Is that who I truly am? I truly don’t have a chance. Tomorrow I keep a beat. And repeat yesterday’s dance

I’m not evil to the core, what I shouldn’t do I will fight. I know I’m emotional, what I wanna save I will try. I know who I truly am. I truly do have a chance. Tomorrow I’ll switch the beat, to avoid yesterday’s dance

It’s the few the proud and the emotional

The world around us is burning but we’re so cold

Our minds change on what we think is good, I wasn’t raised in the hood, but I know a thing or two about pain, and darkness, if wasn’t for the music I don’t know how I would’ve fought this.

I’m in constant confrontation with what I want and what is poppin in the industry it seems to me that singles on the radio are currency my creativities only free when I’m playing shows.

Who would you live and die for on that list but the problem is there’s another list that exists and none really wants to think about this forget sanity, forget salary, forget vanity my morality, if you get in between someone I love and me, you’re gonna feel the heat of my calvary

He cranked out those dismal chords, and his four walls declared him insane.

I found my way right time wrong place

I know my souls freezing hells hot for good reason

But I’m not good with directions and I hide behind my mouth, I’m a pro at imperfections and I’m best friends with my doubt.
Now that minds out and now I hear clear and loud I’m thinking wow I probably should’ve stayed inside my house

I don’t know if this song is a surrender or a revel. I don’t know if this one is about me or the devil.

Help me out, my friends and I we got a lotta problems

Wanted to be a better brother better son wanted to be a better advisory to the evil I have done I have none to show to the one I love

Polarize is taking your disguises sepersting then splitting them up from wrong and right, is deciding when to die and deciding when to fight

I don’t know where you are, you’ll have to come and find me

We have all learned to **** our dreams

I need to know that when I fail you’ll still be here. *** if you stick around I’ll sing you pretty sounds and well make money selling your hair

I don’t care what’s in your hair I just wanna know what’s on your mind.
I used to say I wanna die before I’m old but because if you I might think twice.

What if my dream does not happen. Would I just change what I’ve told my friend. Don’t want to know who I would be. When I wake from a dreamers sleep

Scared of my own image. Scared of my own immaturity

Fear might be the death of me. Fear leads to anxiety. Don’t know what’s inside of me.

Even when I doubt you, I’m no good without you.

Temperature is dropping, I’m not sure if I can see this ever stopping. Shaking hands with the dark parts of my thought no, you ar wall that I’ve got no.

I want the markings made on my skin, to mean something to me again.

Hope you haven’t left without me, please

Who I am today is worse than other times. You don’t know what I’ve done.

Why I’m in denial that they tried the suicidal session. Please use discretion when you’re messing with the message man, these lyrics aren’t for everyone only few understand.

Hope you’re dead *** how could you sleep at a time like this

I’m the kinda guy who takes every moment he knows he confided in
Music to use for others to use it

Life is up here but you comment below And the comments below will become
Common motivation to promote
Your shows next episode
So your brain know to keep going
Even though hope
Is far from this moment but you and I know it gets better when mornin finally reads it’s head, together we’re losers remember the future remember the mornin is when night is dead.

My people singing

Be the one to take my soul and make it undone

Be the one to take me home and show me the sun

Where we’re from, there’s no sun, our hometowns in the dark
Where we’re from, we’re no one, our hometowns in the dark.

We don’t know, how to put back the power in our soul

We don’t know, where to find, what once was in our bones.

I look outside and see a whole world better off without me in it trying to transform it.

Listen I know, this ones a contradiction because of how happy it sounds. But the lyrics are so down.
It’s ok though, because it represents Wait better yet it is, who I feel I am right now.

I’m a goner, somebody catch my breath

I wanna be known, by you.

Though I’m weak, and beaten down. I’ll slip away, into this sound.
The ghost of you is close to me.
I’m inside out, you’re underneath.

I’ve got two faces, blurry’s the one I’m not

I need your help to take him out

Don’t let me be gone.

I can’t believe how much I hate.
Pressures of a new place roll my way.

Spirits in my room, friend or foe?
Felt it in my youth feel it when I’m old

I’ll be right there, but you’ll have to grab my throat and life me in the air. If you need anyone
I’ll stop my plans, but you’ll have to tie me down and then break both my hands.

You can learn to levitate with just a little help

Cowards only come through when the hours late and everyone’s asleep mind you

My heart is with you hiding but my minds not made

No we are not just graffiti on a passing train I got back what I once bought back in that slot I won’t need to replace

Sever all I thought I could depend on my weekends on the freezing ground that I’m sleeping on please keep me from please keep me down from the ledges

At least they all know all they hear comes from a place.

When everyone, you thought you know, deserts your fight, I’ll go with you
You’re facing down, a dark hall, I’ll grab my light and go with you

Surrounded and  up against a wall, I’ll shred em all. And go with you
When choices end, you must defend, I’ll grab a bat, and go with you

Stay with me, no you don’t need to run, stay with me, my blood.

They’re callin for your head and they’re callin for your name, I’ll bomb down on em I’m comin through

Just keep it outside

If you find yourself, in a lions den, I’ll jump right in, and pull my pin.

East is up, I’m fearless when I hear this on the low
Easy is up, I’m careless when I wear my rebel clothes

They will know that, Dema don’t control us

They wanna make you forget

Save your razor blades now, not yet

I’m flying from a fire, from Nico and the Niners.

What I say when I wanna be enough what a beautiful day for making a break for it, we’ll find a way to pay for it, maybe from all the money we made razor blade stores, rent a race horse, and force a sponsor, and start a concert a complete diversion, start a mob and you can be quite certain we’ll win but not everyone will get out.

Can’t stop thinking about if and when I die for now I see that if and when are trike different cries for If is purely panic and when is solemn sorrow and one invade today while the other spies tomorrow

If I keep moving they won’t know I’ll morph to someone else

I’m just a ghost

Defence mechanism mode

What are we here for if not to run straight through all our tormentors

Anybody listening?

This beat is a chemical

Lovin what I’m tasting
Venom on my tongue
Dependant at times
Poisonous vibrations

I’m running for my life

Hide you in my coat pocket

Felt I was invincible you wrapped around my head now different lives I lead my body lives on lead the last two lines may read incorrect until said

I despise you sometimes I love to hate the fight and you in much life is like sippin on straight chlorine

Grows while I decay

Can you build my house with pieces I’m just a chemical

My interior world needs to sanitize
I’ve got to step through or I’ll dissipate
I’ll record my step through for my basement tapes

Nice to my kind will be on my side

And you know you’re a terrible sight but you’ll Be just fine

Your exterior world can step off instead
It might take some friends and a warmer shirt but you don’t get thick skin without getting burnt

No I don’t know which way I’m going
But I can hear my way around

I never look for conflict for the thrill

For you I would get beat to smithereens

And my problem? We glorify those even more when they

My opinion our culture could treat a loss like it’s a win and right before we turn on them we give them the highest of praise and hang their banner from the ceiling communicating further ingravjng and earlier grace is an optional way. No.

What’s my problem don’t get it twisted it’s with the people we praise who may have assisted

I could go out with a band they would know my name they would host and post a celebration . My opinion will not be lenient

We don’t get enough love well they get a fraction they say how could he go if he’s got everything I’ll mourn for a kid but won’t cry for a king.

Neon gravestones try to call for my bones

Promise me this. If I lose to myself you won’t mourn a day and you’ll move on to someone else

But they won’t get them

Don’t get me wrong the rise in awareness is beating a stigma that no longer scares us but for sake of discussion in spirit of fairness could we give this some room for a new point of view and could it be true that some could be tempted to use this mistake as a form of aggression a form of succession a form of a weapon thinking I’ll teach them well in refusing the lesson it won’t resonate in our minds I’m not disrespecting what was left behind just pleading that it does not get glorified maybe we swap out what’s it is that we hold so high. Find your grandparents or someone of age. Pay some respects for the other that they paved to life they were dedicated now that should be celebrated.

I could take the high road but I know that I’m going low

I’m a bandito

This is the sound we make when in between two places where we used to bleed and where our blood needs to be

In city I feel my spirit is contained like neon inside the glass they form my brain but I recently discovered it’s a heartless fire like nicknames they give themselves to uninspire begin with bullet now add fire to the proof but I’m still not sure if fears a rival or close relative to truth either way it helps to hear these words bounce off of you the softest school could be enough for me to make it through

I created this world to feel some control destroy it if I want so I sing Sahlo Folina

I can feel pressure start to posses my mind so I’ll take this beat I should delete to exercise

No I move slow I wanna stop time I’ll sit here til I find the problem

This clique means so much to this dude it could make him afraid of his music and be scared to death he could lose it

You were one of those classic ones
Traveling around this sun

I wish she knew you

You were here when I write this but the masters and mixes will take to long to finish to show you I’m sorry I did not visit did not know how to take it when your eyes did not know me like I know you

Then the day that it happened I recorded this last bit I look forward to having a lunch with you again

I’m tired of tending to this fire

Embers barely showing proof of life in the shadows dancing on my plans

They know that it’s  almost over

The burning is so low it’s concerning *** they know that when it goes out it’s a glorious gone
It’s only time before they show me why no one ever comes back with details from beyond

In time I will leave the city for now I will stay alive

Last year I needed change of pace
Couldn’t take the pace of change
Moving hastily
But this year
Though I’m far from home
In trench inches not alone
These faces facing me
They know what I mean.

i've started to absolutely loath these shifts at Oxford...
for one: compared we're talking about a league one side...
the ****** stadium is one thing
but... just the drive there: and back...
out of the house from 1pm until 12:30am...
and for what? there's that coughing up for fuel
which has increased from £10 to £15... hell: my pay
hasn't risen...
   on topic: i was talking with my father about this...
inflation... the prices of commodities increases,
but the wages do not...
    fair enough: i might seem gullible at times...
given my grandfather was a member of the communist
party... but then communism in Poland
(a satellite state) wasn't the same as it was
in the actual Soviet Union... i'm no romantic of communism...
but surely if there's a concept of inflation:
there ought to be a logic around a concept of deflation...
but there isn't one in economics,
i.e. when wages go up: but the price of commodities
stays the same...
yet... the work of dairy farmers is the same: quality
and quantity-wise... economics it not my strong point...
i'm just thinking out-loud...
and i like thinking-dumb...
              my recent fascination comes in the form
of Confucius < Mozi < Mencius < Zhuangzi | Huizi
i.e. Kong Qui < Mo Di < Meng Ke < Zhu7ang Zhou |Hui ****...

i leave the house for roughly 10 hours and bring
back about £35... sure... it's the easiest shift on my list...
i get paid £35 to watch a football match...
but? today... the sky above Oxford looked more
entertaining than the football match... so? for the majority
of the time while the sun was still clinging
to reign over the sky: i was just looking at very pretty
clouds in the distance... i sometimes can't stomach
these base human foundations for society:
entertainment... i'd rather drink a bottle of wine
and just watch clouds behave like sloths...
or... perhaps not sloths... more like when a jellyfish
****** a cauliflower....

at least there was banter with my "manager"
en route toward Oxford... i ate a McDonald's in the alley
while waiting for him to pick me up...
banter... oh right: code words...
we call them the PLATOON... there's about 40 or so
"banana boat" folk... Daniel is the guy who conjured
up the expression: black don't crack...
what does that mean? you can't tell a black person's
real age... since you can be looking at a black
person who's 50... and you'd guess their age
to be 30... black don't crack...
i really think cosmetic industries should look into
the genome of both black people and people
with downs syndrome: those ******* hardly age...
you can't tell if there's a wrinkle on them...
seriously!
                  white boy humour... white boy
British humour... i'm writing this in complete earnest...
it's not even a joke: well... it's funny in a conversation
when you can crack jokes without a CCTV crow
on your shoulder...
so we cracked jokes about the PLATOON...

Daniel played that famous video of the ventriloquist
with that Ahmed the dead suicide bomber
puppet: I **** YOU...
i laughed on the verge of tears...
it's almost like that Dave Chapel sketch about
uniforms: a woman all tarts and no choux pastry
stuff... and Dave's like: pretending to be a police officer:
excuse me, ma'am... i may be dressed as a police officer!
but it doesn't mean that i am, a police officer!
or Team American's Durka Durka: Muhammad Jihad...
i just said to Daniel: are any of these ***** from
Rotherham? where? oh you know...
that Rotherham grooming gang scandal...
i'd love to get my hands on one of those *****...

a former prisoner officer talking to a former
chemistry student... seriously... those organic chemistry
schematics of electron migration were a bit pointless:
until i realised: they showed me loopholes in
the language... call it the rearrangement of vowels
and consonants... absolutely ridiculous:
since all theory and very little practice...

oh sure... the PLATOON was there...
i started it calling it SLOW-IQ from cousin-*******...
which is true... you have to start calling out
taboos at some point...
i mean: these guys were slow...
Ha-HMED! hark the H... draw a longer breath
and forget that the R was ever associated with a trill
of a rattlesnake...
oh sure... we get sold that puny story-detail
of low testosterone levels in European men....
these days? i was signing them in...
i had to ask 2 or 3 times for them to repeat their names:
they spoke their names so delicately
i couldn't understand them...
and i'm the one who picks up sounds...
my auditory hallucinations sometimes speak louder
than these people, "these people"...

i checked up on some theory...
the length ratio of the index finger to the ring finger...
i look at my left hand... then at my right hand...
oh **** me... no wonder...
i'm a *******... a promiscuous *******...
my ring finger is much longer than my index finger:
much longer on my left hand than my right hand...
ergo? a shorter index finger implies higher levels
of testosterone...
   am i to be, now, what? self-congratulatory...
no... it's intrinsic ontology: i can't help what i am...
just like i can't help with being a raw-red Caucasian
in mentality that's deviant from the British-compact
model...

i cleaned the house in the morning really focusing
on repeating the song My Friends by
the Red Hot Chilli Peppers...
hey... listen... if these ******* have the audacity to
march in with their mosques... blow themselves up for
no grand attaching reason to further each and every one
of our plights: again... life isn't that terrible...
reality isn't unshakeable: unmoveable...
only people unto people make this life difficult:
usually out of complacency... laziness...
a solipsism that doesn't begin to factor in a fact
that solipsism could be a theory: a testing ground
of understanding autism...

but i abhor these Oxford shifts...
i leave them spent... the egress is magic though...
i'm more time-wasting than time-investing...
i still don't understand how inflation works
and i still don't understand why deflation doesn't exist...
the worth of goods increases:
but the method of producing these goods stays
the same... i have to admit...
i'm thinking about going out of my comfort zone...
looking into the thinking of economists
and not philosophers...
after all, my name was once allocated
to one famous tax-collector...
                     mind you: i like thinking about money...
not that i have a stash of it...
just enough to enjoy thinking about it...
i like thinking about money because i don't think
about spending it like most people do:
like most people who spend it frivolously and therefore
don't have enough of it and therefore
are in debt: these people are in debt because
they spend money on credit...
i have money, because i spend money on debit...

i couldn't never allow myself to accept a credit based
system of expenditures...
it made no sense to me: sure, you have more protection
using a credit card than a debit card...
after all the current system focuses more on creditors
than it does on debtors... then again: like for like...
you need less creditors than debtors:
you actually require more people in debt than
those willing to provide credit...
but then there are people like me who hyper-focus
on an earning-spending dynamic who
avoid building up too much credit:
by not building too much credit...
you can't exactly build up your... "debit score rating":
there's no "debit score" rating...
money turns into water...
you behave like your wallet if a dam...
that's a "metaphor" for savings and expenditure...

it's impossible for me to spend on credit...
why? i can't earn on credit:
well... i can earn on credit of my performance:
but that's a different sort of credit:
it's a credit i earn... rather than spend...
but i spend exclusively on debit...
on the basis of a debt i'm owned for my work...
i like money...
in philosophy there's that scared word: THING...
and NOTHING...
in economics there's that word too: MONEY...
and NO-MONEY...
oddly enough nothing is a categorised as a pronoun
while thing is categorised as a noun...
ergo? money is a noun and no-money
is a pronoun...

                    it's not even about being poor...
broke-***... it's about having enough money to do...
whatever the hell you want...
without a co-dependant... no woman: no children...
i can ******* from a shift... ask to be dropped
off at a petrol station... rather than the usual pick-up
spot... buy a £3 platter of sushi...
three ciders... a 10 packet of cigarettes...
eat... smoke a cigarette... then take at least two
bottles of cider dancing into the night...
i used to love swimming... now? if it's not cycling
it's walking... esp. come the night...

there's nothing quiet like it...
i hate these Oxford shifts... if it wasn't for the humour
i don't think i would have ever bothered...
focus on perception...
it's all about the TILT of the EARTH...
from the winter months and the summer months...
i was admiring the night thinking about
just that... this one... constellation...
in the summer months she's up-close...
you can see her enlarged (yeah?
things in English are generally asexual...
but you can ascribe *** to them...
like in most sensible tongues of the European
continent, there can be a sense of
the masculine and the feminine in nouns...
there's no need for gender-neutral pronouns...
there can exist gender-provocative nouns...
constellations are feminine)

   right... so there's this one jaw-dropper
of a constellation...
it's massive in the summer-time...
can't miss it... what the naked eye can't miss:
the mind ought to write about...

you know the constellation i'm talking about:
during the summer months it's enlarged...
but during the winter months it's squeezed into
its compact representation:
it's the same ******* constellation...
but since the earth is tilted on its axis...
that tilt generates a "disparity" of vision...
it's microscopically viewed in the summer months
and macroscopically viewed in the winter
months... when you sometimes walk the night
streets... tilt your head left to right...
and watch a bonanza of frost settling on the pavement
like it might be the glitter of paparazzi's cameras
eventing a strobe light effect of frost
glitter paving your honoured walk back
to a cold bed where only you or perhaps a cat might
be sleeping in...

no... it's not the constellation of cancer:
it's the constellation of scorpio:

                    •
                •
            •

­                   •
                      •
                          .
           ­                                  •

    •

that's most definitely a scorpion...
the tail... the torso... and the two pincers
extending...
but i'm not referring to the constellation
of scorpio... i'm refferering
to...the trapezium with a tail...

the big and little wheelbarrow constellation are
one and the same...

•
                        •


                                                                ­            •
                                            •


                                                 •                  •


it just depends on how the earth tilts...
call it her the little and big wheelbarrow...
microscopic in the realm of summer:
macroscopic in the realm of winter...
not a rhombus with a tail?
and what about the constellation of
scorpio...

three days by: Jane's Addiction...
always with the bass guitar that gets me...
now admire the tilt of the earth as this one constellation
all the same moves in and out to to an even greater
focus... "flat earth" expert as myself
ought to know... knowing one's own geometrics of
not having the luxury of parodying
movements that
demand the rigours of traffic...
such is a man's luxury of trailing behind night...
trailing behind dreams:
behind dreaming...
such is this world: that affords me so much
luxury... so little mediocracy...
            
tonight i brought back an acorn...
no... i wish i brought back an albino mulberry...
then again: i wish i brought back an oak conker...
but i prefer acorns more...
those hatted pebbles... oak? chestnut...
a corn that's not corns... that's acorn?
conker then... no? a nut with thoughts of
pirate X-marks-the-spot-chests?!
etymological tested grounds of frequented nouns...
hammer... table... mosquito...
            sun and moon...
                        sun as a he and moon:
although however stressed asexually: will be a she
in Ing-Leash.

Is there a natural virility to the fertilities of the inductions of space time’s continuums?  Is this a microcosmic phenomenon or more dependent on the depths of pervasion of its macrocosmic relativities.  Perhaps there is a unifying field theory we are not yet aware of which explains how it paradoxically is a little bit of both.  Regardless, given the fact that there probably was no beginning to the universe then quite literally an eternity has already passed.  So why then, given our understanding of the physics of physical interaction, is not all in a state of complete entropy?  
     This afore mentioned fecundity must exist.  Further in it’s quite likely the cause of physical existence as we know it.  I have a theory: This creationism occurs at such an imperceptible rate that positive eons of quadrillions of ages must pass in order for the cosmos to replenish its stockpile of physical matter (possibly matter without atomic structure as we know it) so that a new cycle of infinite big bangs in infinite space can occur.  Ushering in a new 500 billion to trillion year cycle of physical existence as we know it.  Further again, perhaps the implosion’s contraction’s revisions are the cause of the atomic structure of matter we experience during this new physical cycle.
      The thought of such quantum leaps to me for the intensities of physical matters existence and catalytic capabilities.  
     Granted your not going to find these speculations touted as fact in a Wikipedia excerpt.  The answers are in fact unknown.  I’m merely being hypothetically thoughtful with what I’ve learned of possibilities prospectus.   Given these truths allow me to hypothesize further.  
     It seems to me that the evolution of the organic morphologies of biological ontogeny were created by a conceptually reflective derivative (or perhaps antiderivative on the interpolations of integration) of functional physical mechanics.  That perhaps the creative force behind their inception (similar to the afore mentioned natural inductions of space time’s continuums) was the physical realism of and or the residual harmonic vibrations of kinetic supremacy.  
     Consider, the planet we’re on is revolving at approximately 60,000 miles per hour relative to the sun, the solar system we inhabit is revolving at approximately 500,000 miles per hour around the center of our galaxy.  Our galaxy is traveling at approximately 1,332,000 miles per hour through space with our local group of galaxies and revolving at approximately 216,000 miles per hour around the center of mass of this group of galaxies.  All this to give you some conception of the kinetic actualities of our planet’s trajectory’s extant as a projectile.  We have an almost incredible amount of potential or kinetic energy that is generated by our physical velocity through space.  Although we don’t seem to be aware of the impending preponderances of this realism as tellurian denizens it is nonetheless fact to our intellectual relativities.  
     Once again perhaps the actuality of and or the residual harmonic vibrations of the actuality of this phenomenon are the impetus behind the evolution of the organic morphologies of biological ontogeny.  We don’t know for certain how the first amino acids were formed.  Much less how these acids in the primordial soup made the quantum leap to living existence as biological organisms.  Once again I hypothesize it was a conceptually reflective derivative (or antiderivative) of the creationism behind functional physical mechanics.  e.g. the natural inductions of space time continuum and the quantum leaps created by the implosion’s contraction’s revisions of our big bang.
     By now you may be wondering why I have extrapolated these hypothetical scenarios about the physical creationism of our universe and the perceived similarly analogous state of organic and biological origins, so I’ll tell you.  I hoped it might make the dissertation I’m about to make on the fecundities of the corporeally preternatural and perhaps metaphysical inclinations of our sentient race easier to comprehend.
     With the advent of biological organisms the diversity of physical existence has apparently exceeded its physical complexity.  Understanding has evolved.  Relatively extraneous interpolations of adhesively practical extremity succeed in a hierarchy of functionally integral forms.  Being a firm believer in evolution this phenomenon makes me wonder: Is the impetus behind the genetic anomalies that influence the seemingly positive nature of natural selection’s progression a pervasion from the social contiguities of a species? Perhaps a random occurrence with no discernable precedent?  Or, more likely even, the equivocal nature of the superior essence of the ontological state of the beings involved?
     Though many believe that it is truly a random occurrence I have a tendency to want to believe otherwise.  That just as there is a natural fecundity to the induction of space time’s continuum there is a positively oriented inclination integral to evolutional progression.  A sort of élan vital on the orthogenesis overtures.  Granted it is somewhat dependant on the phenological nature of environment but improvements occur which have little to do with the ability to cope with the weather.    
      So is there such a thing as élan vital as it relates to ethology’s entelechy?  Is there any benefit for humanoid demagoguery in pursuing zoomorphic zoolotry as a social contiguity?  Can we actually make accession to transcendentally existential ascension?
     The obvious answer would appear to be yes, at least in partiality.  Maybe we’re incapable (at present) of assimilating incorporeity ideology’s non-corporeal states and existing as godlike disembodied spirits (who perhaps have not lost their proclivity for corporeally preternatural being) but social relativities are an evolving state.  Truly the better we treat each other the better off all will be.  Now I’m not talking about being a bunch of fawning sycophants or schmaltzy schlep-it-ness schmucks, more like the swanky saunter obsequious diligence could indentured servant sail lend to all.  Not given because it’s mandated but because it’s the essence of social contiguity’s evolution.  Granted the individual must remain sacrosanct.  Our metaphysical prowess is at best hypothetical.  Actual magic is not a tool in our kit-bag though I aspire to such everyday as I attempt to be teleportation real with my telepathy to the demons I appear to be confronted with.  I site clairaudience clairvoyance on the vicinity victuals of vigilante villain, the propinquity habitations of harbinger’s harangued, the proximity parameters of perimeter’s peripherals, why I’ll even throw in the objectified manifest’s diminutive minutia iotas of self inductive interstitial extrapolation, and if that doesn't get it I'll talk about the embark embargo extraditions and the extraversion embezzling euthanasia extortions.  The thought of such spatiotemporal telemetry tactician.  Protractive analyses of dimensional delineation on the terrestrial equestrian.  Tellurian terrene!!
     The obvious realisms of all of this are that we are indeed capable of making these quantum leaps armed practical magic.  I say lets fecundity get down to it.  Exserted protuberances of erotica erectile errantry, the vibrant volition of verve.  I’ve had enough of vapid flatulence and insidiously sinister archaic.  Mankind’s inability to supersede his developing anachronism may well be the cause of his demise!!!  We’ll become theosophy’s theophany incarnate, the ecstatic euphorias of corporeally preternatural’s enigma entity on the identity crisis!!!!

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