A bullshitter to one’s own heart isn’t factual without statements gone astray. Its practical logic locking natures way of leading you astray, if you’re never opening one’s heart. That someone isn’t contrary to forbid their heart when even attempting to lock it up without *******! ******* is already contrary when it’s the very lock itself to someone’s own heart. Masking the potential when agreeing to focus on the (factual) leading astray away from the practical logic as the key to your own safe of *******! Bullshitting the safe confines logical dumbness. Trying an attempt at even wanting to touch that lock, will ZAP you into another bullshitter of someone else’s very own unique type. Spreading it like a virus. An outright PANDEMIC! Gesturing the practical logic to act as anti bodies when retracting away from the stench that is the opposite to what already makes sense beforehand. Then how did the bullshitter in someone’s own heart spread toward the next one appearing at the same conjunction in time? It’s never that easy to clear out the imperfections from actually ever dealing with the real self importance of it all. The locking bullshitter to someone’s own heart, is in the shape of a slithering snake. One appearing to you in the form that matches practical logic of what a surface area matches with one appearing to see what doesn’t hide itself. Compared to the counterpart diminishing all claims of what it counts as absurdity. The surface area in the form of a snake of practical logic. A snake whose logical way of doing something, is using it’s poisonous, corrupting fangs to influence another bullshitter who never counted on starting like that. ZAPPING them into a newly formed conjecture! Never truly knowing the actual repercussions to how one should act, once infected. Never knowing if there the same choice as the one choosing to obstruct in the form of blinded absurdities. That poison being the lock. While seeing the actual form of practical logic in the form of a key. Alright. Alright! So, by getting this straightened out. Revealing a potential, but an already obvious gap in the margin. The poisonous fangs are the virus. Making someone into a very unique bullshitter of there own design. Heart filling up without truly effecting it yourself. If any molecules are flooding the heart that much. Plugging the brim dry! Then if one doesn’t see the truly defined picture. Every molecule literally flips inside out to control what is never truly obvious to the infective. Dropping continues doubts about something truly being wrong with the bullshitter to someone’s own heart. The infective thinking this is the practical logic one should poke fun into everyone’s else’s business. Now switching over a one-sided debate to which one truly is making some sense as a mere starter kit. The snake itself being the vessel which holds the poison inside itself. Completely unaffected by there own virus. Fate unsealed, which is an illusion to how it controls it’s actions. Nature redefining all practical logic without trying to ask…WHY?! But (WHY) never being the first reaction to knowing (what it’s for)? Simply put it… It’s to hold the poison away from one’s own heart. The body is the key. While the fangs eject the poison as an example to retreating oneself in the process. Snakes free will being judged by a never-ending continues drawback of never being the one who is truly free. Being the one never truly free is always envious of ones being infected. So, it can purposely dive deeper into how one can change the sorting out with the good. While patronizing the evil into its own debated circle. Waiting a judgemental trial of getting out of the *******. Being a bullshitter to someone’s own heart isn’t cheap. Never the less… Neither is one fated to be cramped inside a prison as both lock and key. Supported by the corrupting poison being the snake’s heart itself. A slithering snake offering both nurture and hindrance. Hindrance being the processing ploy of absurdity taking flight under its own pressurising guilt. Slithering molecules to a poisonous heart are overflowing with a bullshitter to another’s very own unique type. Boiling STRONG! Getting ready to ZAP another unsuspecting copy of the original design.

What’s happened! A voice remarked. Why are my puzzle pieces scattered in a wasteland? Another voice spoke up, sounding distant. That’s what I’d like to know! Then more followed. Sounding like a choir of different voices were in effect. Except none of the voices sounded cheery in their perfect chorus on cue. A shriek followed. A wasteland full of shrieks rumbled the ground. Ejecting lots of dust. Blinding visibility across a wide landscape! A landscape full of sand. Governing a deadly waste scouring a dryness accumulating pieces of voices not to far off from one another. Dust from the shrieks rumbling the ground, finally clear. Settling a glimpse at what has been shrieking with such volumes of obscure reasoning. Puzzle…PIECES! Huh? Who said that…? The voice asked, completely taken off guard. What instrument are we trying to provide here? Not sure I’m exactly wondering what your trying to offer by the term (instrument)? Having instruments aren’t folly you know. Another voice interrupting the other voices conversing nonsense. You guys do realize non of what your saying is making any practical sense? Like…at ALL! Huh? One voice replied. Another joining in. Well if your so clever…why don’t you entertain us with how things should really be voiced? Gladly! The more logical voice commented. The voice acting snobbish made a sound. Showcasing it didn’t like being told what it knew and what it didn’t know. The dust has settled. The two voices conversing said on cue. Your point…? No logic, until you display your horizons onto the landscape which shows what we are. One voice replied confused. Logic? Another responded. Horizons? Then on cue again. Landscape??!! The logical voice continued. Just looking around the landscape, which introduces the horizon of who, what, and where you are. Making the logical assessment that, well…everything…is what should have been since the very beginning. Panting for just a single moment. Without claim or focus…the end! The two conversing voices completely dumbfounded, sighed very harshly! Finally deciding to take the more logical one’s words more seriously. Other voices following on cue. Which made all voices look down toward there surroundings. The logical one smiled brightly! AHHH! Another shriek came. O…JEEESSSUUUSSS!!! More shrieks accumulated the wasteland. Prompting more dust to rumble. Popping all over the horizon’s visibility again! So, what did we learn about this very confusing, obscuring display? Well…easy! A voice said from no where. That it was a display of nurturing. Huh…? Really? The one sounding like the narrator drawn in by the voices interest. Ya, well… They stopped to rethink what they just offered in response. Your hesitating. The narrator’s voice sounding suspicious. Ya, well… Not sure how to express what I saw. Still remaining suspicious, the narrator continued. Anda…what is it…you exactly…saw…? The voice from no where exploded all built up energy in one gigantic spurt! There was puzzle pieces scattered in a wasteland! They had no identity to speak of. Pieces deconstructed in a sand covered landscape full of dry essence. And…and… They stopped mid-thought to catch their breath! The narrator didn’t speak a word. The dust was symbolizing ones missing grasp at not figuring out they were all apart of the same form. The same essence. Drying out claims too full of themselves through partial reasoning on potential agreements never going anywhere. Mmmmm…mhm…mmmmm… The narrator seemingly amused by this information. No identity, means no way of connecting to one another. Never to make sense of the premise one could offer. Puzzle pieces stuck in the sands of dry essence. A rut too involved to be just any coincidence. The dry essence covering up each puzzle piece. Muffling there voices forever. They tried to reach out. Trying to make sense of (what could have been). Rather then how to assort their differences into one claim. Working together wasn’t this identities strongpoint. Pieces were arguing too much. Until one seemed to be the most offering of the bunch. Thou…thou… Go on. The narrator said. No one listened to them. Following in the footsteps of one foolish puzzle piece after the other. Until there was nothing to be left, but silence. The voice from no where shrieked towards the narrator’s glaring tension toward the speaker. Laughing in disgust toward the potential risk one poses when reaching out toward its other component pieces.

Logic isn’t focused with poetry. Poetry is purposely alienating logic. Splitting up logics meanings into pieces that can’t be put back together again. Only fitting back together in a more imaginative sense. Imaginative grasp of abstract functions winding up a newer playing field. Playing fields that aren’t taught, until you instinctively bind them back together again. Logic is thinking, right? Feeling makes it subjective. Instincts collapse the two. Rearranging them back into fitting purposes without design of chance. Chance is everywhere. But design is not necessary. Only when there is a purpose in thinking. Feeling is the doppelganger of neurons smashing synapses together. Filling in logic that doesn’t need to be. Again! No design of chance. Chance is everywhere. Feeling interprets the pieces of logic when infused with poetry. Poetry being chance. Chance dominating all aspects of abstract features in its thrall! Poetry becomes infused with logical mimicking. Copying to catch the details of reasoning, interpretations, and analyzation. Repurposing the pieces to remain everywhere. So, it can learn what it means to be separate. If it’s logical, It ain't chance. It’s purely intentional! Making each separate piece its own backing logical platform. Giving rise to more reasoning, interpretations and analyzations. Never repurposing, until it’s ready to unwind itself back to the core. Like a magnet. A magnet with no purpose, rebuilding itself back up again. Diminishing the vulnerabilities of feeling too stretched out. It doesn’t hurt. Yet it’s uncomfortable. Resistance isn’t futile, if it’s a positive process one is nurturing to overcome. Overcoming stresses of desires. One has become too cramped! Cramping the style of the only vessel to hold those aspects together. Abstract features on a timer. Timer equivalent to infinite steps to achieve a goal. A goal of provenance. Provenance without limits knowing when the deed is done. Magnifying the timer to ring! Signalling the imaginative grasps on the newer playing field. How long have those abstract features of aspect attributes knowingly collected new material? And how many abstract features culminated parts of itself from far off reaches, from the original core? Except with time, comes (process inducement). A claim hinting at miniature parts of a whole, becoming their own wholes. Finding their own cores. There center. There true calling. Poetry being the culminating focus of every aspect ever formed. Producing far reaches of perspectives. Overclocking desires newly buffed up on a style that makes simple reasoning, interpretations and analyzation blush constantly!

Engaging the processes that never matter, is blasphemy! Coating with coaxed visions of what wasn’t the usual demeanor of completion. Magnifying a matter of consequence over structures of doubt. Magnifying another matter entirely. Switching off the coax disposition. Processes becoming enraged. Engaging what it truly wanted to open up onto itself. Performances exiled. Properties fallen silent for non being the wiser. Trippy situations become sensitive desires. Opting situational premises. Offered to become desolate in the spotlight. Spotlight blips out for a few moments of data being processed over along period of space. The time was undetermined by valid postures. Valid postures filtering out neat and tidy. Only wanting to look it’s best. The blips mean more to what time can’t separate. The space occupies reason. Reason being pushed into uncertainties. Uncertainties becoming trapped. Disillusioned in the path that processes an easy way out. Filtering more reasoning on pure logic alone. Logic is great. Yet undecided. Everything caught in tumbling transmissions. Engaging the processes that never matter, isn’t blasphemy. Until you find the route of measure. Opting more devices from within to escort the spotlight into submission. Submission prompting more blips in the spotlight. More processes become enraged! The blips being the true mask to what uncertainty flips around like a rag doll. Its design isn’t enraged because it can’t decide its own reasoning. It’s enraged because it’s engaging with itself. Similarities being too of the same varieties for one process over the other to notice in finite detail. A mirror reflecting off one component between another. Never noticing the illusion of itself being the only one of its kind. The twist! Being what it can’t recognize. Is the acknowledgement of another like it? Programmed to twist, turn, pull its way to victory in undetermined results. The logic is careless. Showing adaptions aren’t perfect. Tries and tries. Until something clicks for the escort route out of the blasphemy. Rooting you in place. Each component reflecting its own processes off mirrors one can only acknowledge. Wait! If one can twist its desires around itself, reflecting it like a mirror. Then how does it communicate with another component? The fate isn’t in the details. But for you to figure out. A fated bland disposition regains control. Processes become engaged once more!