by simply watching 'don't call me crazy'
with regards to mental health... a bbc3 documentary.

i find a few pointers, apart from the fact that i've learned
English to a standard that i could
be misjudged as a native, what with african psychiatrists
   and the history of England as  a postcolonial nation...
     the problems of premature depression
and other divergences from the "norm"
  (or is that a tu-dum tss... "the norm"?
i never know how to tell the joke a proper
way, so many jokes are mothered
by punctuation, i don't know
how many there are that aren't) -
so aside from that... the fact that i'm
faking being British... if you have any grievances
against me: you'd better me Ukranian
or Lithuanian... otherwise? *******.
yes, i know the Poles did terrible things,
Vlad wasn't the only person ready to
do sadistic **** on people by impaling them
on sharpened-wooden poles...
   and you thought the crucifix was bad...
but oh look... the artists inserted a peddle-stool
so he could stand while on the cross...
rather than actually: hang from it.
talk about a woman faking an ******.
then again: he was all kissy-kissy with
a centurion having cured the ravaging libido
of his "demon possessed" daughter who
had a hot bagel flirt under her skirt for him...
or as i say: **** a prostitutes
           **** for an extra ten quid: the sigma
of how many ***** that thing has seen
turns your tongue into a dagger...
that's where i have seen my salvation:
   not in the eucharist or degrading symbols
of a godly stature.
       no, the point is:
this misapprehension of where the origin of
thinking resides...
  the true materialists posit the origin of thought
in the brain... but, honey-bee, the brain
is preoccupied with its materialistic responsibilities...
to shoot adrenaline when bungee jumping...
why think it isn't already preoccupied with anything
but thought? the brain doesn't think
no more than the heart might... or your *******
wetted or your phallus becoming *****...
there's no point in ascribing thought to the brain,
even if you abstract the source of thinking
toward the brain as a *mind,
     the suggestion parallels what the brain does,
and what the brain isn't...
   as with the notion of god...
          ridiculous for most people:
or also ridiculous when man is taught to stress
his "individuality"...
                               both seem on equal footing
to be considered phantoms, but the individual is
more of a phantom than god...
                             and as Diogenes of Sinope found out:
you'll find god and the Archimedean eureka
quicker than finding an honest man -
who takes a candle at noon into a market square?
     ah: that famous lunacy...
but in the beginning the word was with god,
       yes, because when we started we only said ooh ooh!
and made those frightening monkey faces to
war off evil spirits and the Arabic third eye, evil.
   Darwinism created historical fiction...
           a bit like science fiction, but instead of looking
forward, historical fiction is looking back,
toward a time when people struggled against
the elements, and had no sense of having to think
given their actual pentagram equilibrium was tuned
into what was around them...
                   the senses could never deviate from
the world of shouting down a cave and hearing echo,
it's only when thought emerged and conceived words
   that the dubiousness of simple musing:
chicken or egg first? created auxiliary sense perceptions...
   we have left the sensual world...
           for we have "enriched" our lives with
thinking, the byproduct of which is what scared me
about this bbc3 documentary... that all mental
illness stems from allow thought to automate itself...
      in other words having no moral compass...
in other words: not having read a single book
   and learned a process of equating thinking with
narrating... as a sensible option to what others tend
to do (the innovators), and allow narration to be a void...
into which they pour all their thinking to
fill that void... with, say, Thomas Edison and the lightbulb...
Isaac Newton and gravity...
it's just scary that people can allow automated thinking,
     made even more evident that counters
the punitive transgender pronoun scenario
   that only focuses on the pronouns: he, it, she.
these youngsters in the documentary are dealing with
submitting to a pronoun focus of: i, it, you.
                      in some vague sense of a religiosity,
that they cannot allow cogito ergo sum into their minds,
a possessiveness of body, that later translates
into an identification with the mind: which is -
well, if you're going to posit the origin of thinking
in your brain, which isn't even there - you mind
as well posit the mind, seeing how the soul
is argued against primarily through our mortal condition.
   is the eye the window to the soul?
  and the brain merely a paraphrasing of that statement?
perhaps...
              but i wouldn't be too worried
             as Walter Benjamin was about art in the age
of mechanical reproduction... i'd be worried
that art is bound to the morgue of psychiatric institutions...
that art is not a term that suggest the origins of
   such ailments:
due the original lack of it in such places:
  but that that it was never there... and that finding
art can be therapeutic is why art can be scolded
               and establishment art is nothing more
than the pinnacle of us, having abused words,
waging fewer and fewer words, can't produce
    a work of beauty... merely a work that occupies
a space.
                art = space...
          that's the statement these days...
being oversaturated with scientific assurances has created
this insurgence of over-competence or making
art not art in a sense timelessness, as in Dante's
comedy isn't equal to space,
            but that it's equal to timelessness...
    or a statue by Donatello...
                          these days art = space...
because it's not going to be timeless... it was once
the iconoclasm in metaphor of: the lion of Judea...
          Lucifer as the morning star...
                         it will not be timeless because it
has been reduced to the establishment's aesthetic
of tracey emins' unmade bed... or
       damien hirst's the physical impossibility
of death in the mind of someone living -
i never said these things aren't art... some people
said cubism would never be art compared to
surrealism... but shove a triangle into Pythagoras'
head and you get some sort of mathematics...
              it's based on that principle...
what wouldn't work in the case of hirst would be
to put a cancerous tumour into a plastic cage...
people would associate it as some sort of atomist
representation of a nanometre worth's of some
larger thing... i do appreciate the fact that big
art works... it needs so much face to embody
the fact that you are to think about it...
                         and not to have a **** over it:
it's art that's anti-arousal and more and more
and more about how to juxtapose it in your mind,
always to abstract the brain as the mind
   and to never appreciate the idea of having
to source thinking as solely endemic to the brain...
the brain is busy, the heart is busy...
            we have perpetuated an outer-body
experience throughout our time since the time when
we first acquired the phonos of thought...
                 and it is a peculiar "sound", thought...
a dance memorable to actually having a hope in
possessing a soul... even after all sturdy things
shrink into the obsolete, and even vegetable.
but the piece i'm referring to?
     kinda paradoxical... given that a shark would
probably eat you... but then again counter-paradoxical
given the fact that most shark-attacks
     make the shark refrain from eating you,
but merely nibbling on you and leaving you alive
albeit nibbled on... maned... with scars...
so i get the part where the shark is in fact:
an impossible death to conceive... only for the lucky few.
  apart from the fact that the shark is caged
like a prehistoric mosquito lodged in amber...
              woodland gold, amber...
  that's the literal interpretation...
                                 but it's still a moving piece,
modern art isn't crap at all... it's just something you
don't get an ******* over...
            take any still life and apply a cognitively
based chemical reaction: stimulate a narrative...
in that famous phrasing, connect the: dot dot dot(s).
    become, in that almost ridiculous sense:
     a Sherlock Holmes... but all that died was about
a minute's worth of your attention...
this is what's fuelling revising a need for television,
big static things... my personal favourite?
that Tate Modern installation by richard holt -
hand on heart: about 3 times...
              i felt like a mosquito drawn into that:
ah the bright shiny light... 180º and a glass ceiling...
that's all it was...
                   art in the age of mechanical reproduction
has to almost ridicule man, or at least ridicule
the idea that he can become an individual,
    as was the ridicule of man that he could become
a god...
               sooner or later any attempt at individualism
becomes trendy, vogue, and magnetises and
monetises a need to mimic, replicate... one punk today:
20,000 punks tomorrow...
       /
           but that sort of mincing is mostly associated
by the bewilderment of our own success...
                           it's almost like a we're engaging with
a sabotage process: deliberately trying to undermine
ourselves by staging a variety of "anti-social" endeavours
we promised ourselves upon a belief in the "individual"...
      modern pieces of art debunk that myth,
it's that modern art pieces require so much space that
gave them the most adaptation prowess over, say,
a puritan's concept of art, as in a Turner painting...
           classical art can be put into a Florentine market
square and be passed by quiet casually,
because it provides an assurance - it forbids engaging
in an iconoclastic vigil, it's an assurance of the past
and how golden it was... but a modern sculpture
in a busy place where many people congregate
without first allowing it the asylum of an art gallery
and people will treat it as a chance to hone on it,
vandalise it, or steal it and sell it from scrap metal...
       modern art requires an asylum to be accepted,
an art gallery is an asylum where people with
good intentions enter and leave appreciating something
that, to the pleb, would get a rotten egg thrown at it.
    and as with regards to how i phrased something
earlier? how philosophy talks of the logos
     that doesn't see the phonos: or the dichotomy
between actual sound, and sound ascribed a
optically-phonetic disparity encryption:
deepened by a self-styled aesthetic of the "ruling elites"...
          and in the beginning the word was with god...
we're merely licking the toes of such a possibility...
         and just you try to bypass the orthodoxy of
encoding sounds with queer spelling...
                     you, in a sense, learn two-languages
with every single one you learn...
   how to say it and how to write it...
                              and then there the how you hear it
and how sometimes you hear different lyrics to
the ones sang...
                         a bit like the Chinese,
who, upon reading the English translation were
bothersome to get rich quickly after seeing
too many matchsticks in ideogram translated as merely
Li Po; i'd too go bananas and become frustrated
and retaliated by getting to Einsteinian grips with
the mathematical alphabet that bore Li Po... i.e. 1, 0
through to 9.
      ah yes... philosophy that doesn't appreciate
grammatical words, or in that sense credible for a biologist
not necessitating a genus to ease any argument,
to actually further it... or to play ping-pong...
   grammatical words are equivalent to the subconscious
given we tend to write some a sense of fluidity...
the unconscious? schematics akin to triangles...
  "images" or rather shapes...
                             beginning with Δ: isosceles...
later varied to the Γ triangle of Pythagoras...
          and as far as we got, a respectability to
not conjure up a square as worthy of encoding a sound...
nearest being the H... and that turned out to
be much ha ha ha.
                   still... i can't come to grips with these teenagers
in the bbc3 documentary talking about
automated thinking! i'm not denying it, i'm not
doubting it... it's just a question:
          how could such a pronoun muddle come about
that you discourage ownership of all your mental
activity? and instead leave a rampant kindred of an
abandoned snail's shell body to wreck havoc?
   it's almost like a a want to refuse to use words...
or encode words... rarely are people told
that the eyes are used as encoding organs...
                   but that the tongue knows no filters...
what the eye ingests... the tongue sometimes can't
digest... and vice-versus... that what the eyes digest
the tongue can't ingest: hence the rebellion
against contrary political ambitions -
   the ears? well: the ears are allocated the heart as
a partner... the tongue and eyes are entwined...
but the ears are allocated the heart...
                     you tend to feel words more than
hear them... because by the time the tongue
represses combining itself with the eyes to
that elevation of thought... your body becomes
autocratically synchronised to a sort of music
of heightened of unanimous response...
             well, it's not exactly a fetish watching such
documentaries.. iconoclasm in metaphor...
  i swear i wrote this before... how philosophy avoids
grammatical genuses... and how all too
ambivalent poetically equivalent nouns and verbs
are to hide our imperfections that precipitate from
art... iconoclasm / anamorphosis in metaphors...
                         camaïeu in allegory...
                   divisionism in pun...
                                       chiaroscuro in imagery...
gestural abstraction in onomatopoeia...
                     just some examples, and none necessarily
     convincing - as ever... this is my excuse
for i am always bound to say language is Alcatraz
   and my escape from Alcatraz is bound to metaphors,
fo

I do love
But it ain't quite
like the Discovery Channel!!!

I want so much more than
the collective desire of Park Avenues

I believe like,

With exactly no doubt
like zero are the hours
which can never count
upon the seamlessness
of my perceptions

I do but I don't
I am and therefor not

I talk in mirrored tongues
I observe in uncanny detail

Micro and macro all a flow
overly ever rushing torrents
moving galaxies about

Pouring in
more rushes out

You can picture it
over the mighty edges of
and rushing to, fro and about
every swirling an obstacle stout

Though such knows not
one another in such ways
inseparable upon one journey

As She manifests from her he, Self
He's giving for he gets the She of,

An ever persuasive passionate,

Play... .. .

Greater than the dreams

We know of love yet
Shy to conceive

They, their passion
.........
  .....
   ...
    "
    '
We inwardly receive

Those torrential lovers
pourings do spillover
and on and over
and rush upwards
ah ever more easily!!!

Vast sensualities
******* rhythms
of this a, Our universe
in micro exotic intoxicating
allure, irresistibly entwining
the smallest tastes and teases
of songbirds loving symphonies

As butterfly and a bee in the ever
sweet scents of psychedelic sighting
wavings in ever inviting ever ripening
ever flows of heavens manna sweets, but
sours the way short where some say sinners
ought never see or be, though such is silliness see,

For such shy glimpses of what is less than momentary
which is not countable, when our greatnesses will carry on
beyond our redemptions of what only we shall see clearly so
simply, one day twas the dark night of a soul, here blasphemed
about the sacredness of all ever evident being so close found fondly,

Sweetly, though lost in those ever aching wishes of our journeying together

Would death be ****** abandonment at all a freaky thing unconceived
dark night of the great light conceived viewed in our ever grace and beauty
but she lets you feel her he's and all the glory, all the glory an unrealized being
in all our collectiveness has not yet seen but in the depths of where it's consider dark
for simple decisions we all have and must have made to function here, there

and at all,
at once...

No time, no space, no EMC squared's
yet in Newtonian fashion the soul spirit remains
carries on in infinite motion and motions of our choosings
and for better and worse we do all about the same for we
were never thrilled about all the separation we discovered
in reluctance and or in blessed joys of great companies
of loving hearts, eyes, ears, arms with tender loving
caring hands of nurture enough twas enough for
you are still here now and those who have not
have forgiven all other misguidance eagerly
when it is easily found tis only our own
choice to be and set free freely

And I can want any petty desire too
and put myself up for adoption to,

The petting zoo
and you...

For hell yeah I want to be here
all the way and with you
my wayfarers

I Do...

do do dee da da
oo la la and ma mama

childs all of such grace
we oft just call gods

And greater love seen
dispensed philosophically
by self proclaimed atheism's

Denialism can rather be the truth
of atheism, self pitying so deeply
resenting the here now for some
overly wishful thinkings and
of mournful emotionalism's
about the 'it just ain't fairs'

Beware they will take you
to their wheres, wearing
their wares of self hate
while glossfully
painting in
glitterings
of fools
gold

Feign not thou
we are co conspirators
already decidedly agreed
agreeably dancing on the sharp
end of one pointed pin, hand holding

But remember if we were ever shaken
off of binding bonds ever closefully as
the chasms of divergences really are

We still ever dance ever lightly on
the everly fine poignancy of pin

And the illusion of being
garden casted for some
shamefully blameful
denials of the snakes
sly fashion to even
ones need of feed

And or wither from
the long and short
of journey with
the ever's of

here now...

Paradise
Perfectly

Paradoxically

In our
every
way

So I am
in great hunger
greater thirst firstly

For the one great illusion
desert stricken for not seeing
the forest of paradise for every
tree and every grace of all possibility

Without such would come from impossibility*

Once Again...

Peri Kousmos became effective with the thunderous lightning and mighty deluges, huge exhalations of fire Spiritu et Igni began with all the beads from the bottom of the sea rising by the seven suns that were duplicated odd, and even on the firmament of Agios Andreas. It was three o'clock in the morning of the antipode, and a splendorous halo with seven satellites that had at their summit the tops of roosters on some resplendent rays, which covered the meridian of a Demiurge that existed erected and frozen, opened over paradise. on the Peri Kosmou or Reference of the World of metamorphosis. Spuriously the emanations of the pamphlet that began to move from its geological boundary were made where everything was silenced and bruised in the compact parts, with all the wandering parts that wanted to enter under the ***** of the islet that was becoming spiritually. The Necromancer Monograph or work was violently prostrated in the four elements of nature with the geodesy of Vernarth, towards the Mandragoron Surveying for when Vóreios slipped into Nótos when Borker and relaxed both senses, then Dyticá with the demiurge Leiak relaxed from the Equinoctial of the Aftó, to fork through the narrow spaces and finally rise in an eternal vertical, whose center was relieved of a non-bellicose admission in a tremolo that wanted to shudder and defer from an extreme like the Eplinctae that made them move obliquely, the Stymphalos came out from the meanders, then the Brastae earthquakes bubbled from the Notós de Borker when he held them on the straight that contorted on the lacerated ones, later with the observation shot of Theus when the subsidence of the ground with the Hizematiae held them evidently parapsychological. Vikentios did the logistics of bridging the lands that were opened and divided around the perimeter, Marie des Allées held them with great force the ground that naively used to quiet for ephemeral moments with the Astae earthquakes, until Wonthelimar appeared and became effective in the verticality that expanded when it sank due to its shaking with the Palmatiae, and finally Vernarth bellowed with disgusting gutturals so that they would react to the Mycetas earthquake, which was exhaled from disgusting visions of the Peri Kosmou evidencing incidental paragraphs of Apollo, which although he understood of analogous emanations that seemed to be demonic plasmas of the aldehyde in the Valley of the Pleisto close to the Phocis. The sublunar pretended to have tangible oracles through the gasifications of the original Epiclintae earthquake that moved them towards the meanders where the bronze birds awaited the precepts of the Saint to take an advance on the celestial kingdom. This implied that the nature of the Stymphalos would require the sensory stimulation of the golden cowbell of the *** to stimulate them in their gift of flight, with their heavy wings that rested at the right angle to later draw on the cavities.

The sky was beginning to disappear and in the fissures that the Dyticá de Leiak line leaned, the shores of the sea were rearranged to assist them by magnifying the supine lines with the vertical ones, within the microseisms that began to increase from the earthquake, avoiding breaking the surface who was still generously supporting them by the cross of Patras that was he bilocated with his five-meter golden cross, up to his goddaughter island with the little finger of the Apostle Andrew. From here in the surface of the earth would be ajar when cracked by the little finger of the Apostle, then he would leave in his hand a minimal piece of earth so that they could be preserved from the cataclysm, and be redeemed by the bronze birds. Only in this way was the revived earth aware of what was happening, and let it escape in the concrete stones that had evaporated from the apostle, only letting in some bursts of the Metelmi that interlaced by springs of the lusters of the sublunar cycle, which intermingled with the land and the ocean, and the fire with the scalded air. The rebellions of the Mega Seism transferred them in psychic divergences towards the Palmatiae earthquake, which recovered the edge of the pilgrims who did not manage to attend the course of the Mashiach holocaust when they were apprehended by this force of the Palmatiae earthquake on the path of Bethany. From the valley of the Pleisto the uproar effects of Golgotha were counteracted, and from Patras when the sense of the earthquake shone on Vernarth's Mycetias in the 70th Earthquakes with the reverberated waves that flared in the verb, and in the guttural lows that They freed themselves from the subsoil, when the substrates of the mother's possession forged discrepancies of order or Kousmos, having to be reissued with so much rapture and sordid frenzy of the verb that did not recognize him from the stench of the waves that rose from the creeping subsoil, like a cobra that smiled linearly through the eyes of the fire conjured by the infected, and with the disproportionate deviations of the adjective, where salvation was the correct invocation where it has not been seen in the pharynx of the cobra, which struck itself in the impetuous fierceness of the burning global balance. The Peris Kosmou or reference of the World was compared with the paragraph that the evangelizing writings indicated with the chromatic, and not with the adverb when the fiery red of the Mycetias Seismic went directly to his fetid belly with halitosis to fully protect the wounded and Marie des Vallés with the reasons for the vertical and horizontal movement of the “Brastae and Epiclintae”.

Of course machines can't
Think as people do. A
Machine is different from a
Person. Hence, they think
Differently. The interesting
Question is, just because
Something, uh.. Thinks
Differently from you, does
That mean it's not thinking?
Well, we allow for humans
To have such divergences
From one another. You
Like strawberries, I hate ice-
Skating, you cry at sad
Films, I am allergic to
Pollen. What is the point
Of...of... Different tastes,
Different... Preferences, if
Not, to say that our brains
Work differently, that we
Think differently? And if we
Can say that about one
Another, then why can't we
Say the same thing for
Brains... Built of copper and
Wire, steel?



Who ever has not seen this movie, I strongly recommend you check it out.

In that dingy room,
There is a smell of dust,
And smoke,
Many unborn notings vie for attention,
In thousands of files mingled with dust,
Decisions creeping for attention,
Decisions await confirmation,
Classifications,
Discussions and Divergences,
May some day,
Converge(to the bewildered few),
To some decision(?),
One has been taken today,
"Put up these files Tomorrow".

3/30/2O23 WRITING
https://www.dropbox.com/scl/fi/l8njruxa73yee9b0jzmhd/The-Ultimate-Unabridged-Guide-to-Esoteric-Working-English-2.docx?­rlkey=kunoar7ghpfkb7fjk5xkdgx95&st=i84ornny&dl=0

THE WROX OF ATTINGENT ATTRITION WIELDED BY AKINESIA ORBITED AROUND GALERICULATED JARVEYS TO THE PANMIXIA OF BARNSTORM WASES OF BARTONS ENTANGLED IN THE CRUCIBLE OF ERUCIFORM MOTIVES FOR OLIM WALLETEERS AND WALLFISH THAT BREAK THE BRATTICE RANKS OF APARTHEID THAT ABORNING ALPENGLOW SUNSET SAFFRON CAJOLES OF THE WELKIN SCYTHING AGAINST THE PLEROMORPHY OF REDACTED AND REDOUBLED PLEONASM THAT MIGHT BE AN ESCADRILLE ON THE FOREFRONT OF THE CAMARRA OF VENTRILABRAL FEATS OF KNEADED MALAXAGE FOREVER THE SUFFRAGE OF BODACHES ENTANGLED IN SARSENETS OF SERICULTURE. WE WITH RIP VAN WINKLE THORNY IMBROGLIOS OF THE COLLECTIVE AMNESIA CREATED BY SIMULTAGNOSIA WE SPURN THE ANZACTILE FLASHBANGS AGAINST SECTILE DOLDRUMS OF WINTRY SUPPEDANEUM USING THE FAGINS OF SUBACTION THAT THE CLOFFIN OF GEZELLIG TRAMONTANE TO ALL SPECTERS NEVER A BUGABOO OF BODEWASH RINSED IN NIHILISM COULD EVER SURMOUNT WITH THE CARYATIDS OF CHOMAGE AND METEORIC CHOANIDS WE STAND A FIGHTING CHANCE TO REVIVAL AND WITH THE WAPENTAKE OF CONFEDERATE OMPHALISMS WE MIGHT SEE A CLEAVED WORLD DISMAL ON SATURNINE SYCOMANCY BECAUSE THE NEMESISM OF ROILING ROARING ROORBACKS OF CAREFULLY PLUCKY VENOSTASIS MIGHT THE BARRULETS OF HABITUES OF LIONIZATION BE GREATLY ENRICHED BY THE ENLISTMENT OF NOVERNARY MACROPICIDES BECAUSE OF FALTERING STEVEDORES THAT EVENTUALLY THE CURGLAFF BECOMES AN APOTHECARY SENTIMENT OF DELIBERATE POISON TO THE WELLSPRING OF WINTERBOURNE ARCEATED ARMISTICE WITH THICK AND DENSE CURDLED BONNYCLABBER THAT CLOYS THE MUTILATED ETHOS OF THE VANGUARD CORTEGES AND THE CORBELS OF THE SYBOTIC FENNEC AND FIDDLE. WE BLACKGUARD AGAINST RHADAMANTHINE AGENTS DEPLOYED BY SENTINEL TRIBUNES TRYING TO GLITCH THE FUSION OF PARVANIMITY WITH THE CAPABLE BANDELETS OF SPECIOUS SOPHISTRY THAT SCRAWLS INTEMERATION IN EVERY SUBDICOLOUS SWARF OF GRAVID IRONY PREGNANT ONLY BECAUSE OF MIDWIVES TO CIRCUMLOCUTION THAT MOTIVATES THE THRESHING FLOOR TO SEIZE THE FIG TREE AND GALVANIZE THE MUSTARD SEED ECONOMY OF ERUCIFORM DELIGHTS KNOWN FAR BEFOREHAND BY COGNOSCENTI FRAVVERSCRIBBLE BECAUSE OF THE OBLATED NUTATION THAT GOUGES TOO MANY BECAUSE OF THE ZOOSEMIOTICS OF NEKTON TRUCIDATION THAT THE HARVEST OF NYALAS IS NOT IN VAIN FOR ALL OF THE CODSWALLOP THEY DERIDED IN THEIR PERENNIAL FICTIONS AND THEIR BONTBOK PROSELYTIZATION OF MANY SUSCEPTIBLE SURQUEDRIES OF SURDOMUTE MYTHOS SPANKING THE MONKEY UNREEVED BECAUSE OF TURNSTILE PHARMACEUTICAL ROT THAT DISTILLED IN ITS ESSENTIAL CONTORTIONS THE CORDWAINER APPEAL OF CURATIVE NOSOCOMIAL RANCOR TRUCKLING TO HIDDEN EPITHETS BURIED IN ACCOLENT TEMPTATIONS RATHER THAN SUPERSTITIOUS IDEOGENIES THAT BECAME THE BELLWETHERS OF INOCULATION IN AN ERA BESET WITH PLAGUES AND THE BLAINS OF BLUNGED ORTHOPTEROLOGY ZESTY WITH THE ZEAL OF THOUSANDS OF ANGRY ANGARIES FOR THE UMSTROKE OF LABILE LEVERAGE FINESSING THE BARCAROLE SUCH THAT THE INSIGHT OF THE WIVERN OF ANTICTHON MIGHT EVENTUALLY BECOME A DIAMONDS ARE FOREVER PARABLE OF THE RETCHED MISCEGENATION OF OUTCAST MANUFACTURE STRICKLING A FENESTRAL DISGRACE FOR THE JANGADAS OF THE CAMPANILE SEED ****** BY CALUMETS OF THE VEES OF MOULIN ROUGE SCANSORIAL CONDUCT OF THE DEMARCATED DERMATOLOGY OF PATINAS ABOVE THE CIRCULAR REPOSE OF VISIBILIA BECAUSE THE GIAOURS OF SPHACELATION OF GRAMERCY BROWBEATING FOR SPECIOUS RANTIPOLE RANGIFERINE SERROWS OF ESTABLISHED ELITISM ABOVE FUNNELED BURROLES OF BRAINTRUST SUBORNING ALL ALLEGIANCE TO THE GREATEST PINNACLE OF SUBSIDIARY CIVILIZATION THAT IS NEVER INDOLENT AND ALWAYS A REPROACH TO THE WISEST PEOPLE OF WISEACRES WIDELY ENTERTAINED BEYOND VAPULATION IN CATERCORNERED ELITISM. NYALAS ENGINEERED THE BIGGEST SCAM IN THE HISTORY OF NYALA AND THE STULMS OF CORPORATE SABOTAGE DESIGNED BY THE MAJORITARIAN TREACLE OF URBANE BERLINE DERELICTIONS OF PROXEMICS THAT WE MIGHT SEE THE BOLAR STOLONICITY OF CASEMATE BRITSKAS RENDERING THEM EFFETE IN DISEASED MENTICIDE ABOVE CARPAL TUNNEL FORESIGHT OF TWADDLING SCRIPTURE THAT BELONGS TO ROCKSTAR PARLANCE BUOYED BY BRIMBORION BLACKLISTS OF SAMIZDAT BECOMING MORE IMPORTANT TO THE ACT OF BALEFIRE THAN THE PORTREEVES HANDING THE CLAVATE OF GHAWAZI THE CLAVIGEROUS MIGHT OF HANDSPIKE FOR JALEOS AND JARABES OF GREATER TRICOTEES THAN TREACHERIES BECAUSE THE VINTAGE WINDCHEATERS THAT SOARED WITH CORSAIRS MIGHT THEY BE SO PRIVILEGED WITH PREROGATIVES OF SUBLIME EXCHEQUER THAT HOPEFULLY THEY STORGED THEMSELVES ON HEALTHIER DIETS RATHER THAN THE NESH DEBAUCHERIES OF MISERICORDS BECOMING BETHELS OF THE COMPANIONWAY OF LECHERY THAT SCOWLS AT OWLERIES BUT INSTEAD WANTS THE NECROTYPE FOR ROOSTERS BECAUSE OF HEYDAY HATRED RATHER THAN SOCKDOLAGER PROSELYTIZATION TO THE LARGESSE OF PYCNOSTYLE PERSEVERATION. INSTEAD OF ERECTING  STANDPIPES TO THE ILLITERACY OF SEDIGITATED DELUSIONS FED INTO CAMISOLES OF BROCKFACED BRAZEN STRETCHERS FOR THE WALDGRAVES OF WARDCORN EXPERIMENTATION WE FIND THAT THE WINZE THAT LEADS TO THE SYRINX OF ELITISM NOT GUARDED BY ABESSIVE PRIVILEGE WE ENTERTAIN THE STALINESQUE SYSTEM OF PSYCHIATRY TEETOTALING AROUND THE CEREAL KILLER MENTALITY BECAUSE OF A SWARTHY BIAS OF PREGNANT NIGHT AND KNIGHTS TO RULE OVER HEADLESS HORSEMEN TAXIDERMIES BURIED IN THE CLOTURE OF CETACEAN MYTHOS GIRDLING THE CARDIMELECH OF BASELINE PRIDE RATHER THAN CARDIOGNOST UNDERSTANDING THAT NEPHROLITHS OF  STOCKINETTE ARE IN FACT THE BOLSTERED ECONOMETRICS OF SCALING THE TOTEMIC LEVERAGE OF SUBSTRATOSE SOCIETIES IN VARIOUS DIVERGENCES OF IDIOSYNCRATIC ARRAIGNMENT THAT RESULTED IN SUCH A PROFOUND NEUTROSOPHY THAT EXERTS A TUG UPON THE STOKEHOLD SPODOMAN CY AND SPODIUM OF SPECIAL INTERESTS THAT ATTEMPTED TO MAGNETIZE THE MESMERISM OF DEFEATED IDEAS AND IDEOLOGIES MIGHT THEY SURVIVE WITH CATHEXIS FOR THE WASES OF BARNSTORM OF RHEOTAXIS IN WAPENTAKE. THE WORLD NEEDS TO KNOW HOW SEVERELY THE IVORIDE OF THE IVY LEAGUES AND THE CONSTELLATION OF PEOPLE WITH PERVERSE COMPASSIONS DISCARDING THE EMOTIVISM OF BLUEPETERS TRYING TO EDGE BEYOND THE BOUNDARIES OF IMAGINATION TO FORSIFAMILIATE BECAUSE OF ECCENTRIC PECCADILLO THAT LURCHES AGAINST TIMBERLASK VIRILITY TO ENTRENCH A QUIXOTIC AND QUISQUILOUS MULIEBRITY TO ROUSE THE SEMAPHORE ALARM THAT NO LONGER CAN THE BANDEROLS OF THE SIMPLEST MEN BECOME THE SIRENS FOR EVERY PROTEST RATHER MIGHT THEIR TURGID DISREGARD RENDEM THEM IRRELEVANT BECAUSE ONOLATRIES AND SCRIVELLOS BOTH PANDER TO WICKED WICKS OF THE TABLE OF ALL AFFAIRS THAT EXLEX REALISM IN A PRAGMATIC WORLD OF STUNSAIL SUPERNOVAS DEFEAT THE NOMOGENY OF THE RADICALISM BECOMING MORE RADICAL BY INCULCATION THAT CONSTERNATION IS THE CRUCIBLE OF ARISTOPHREN DISTASTE BUT THE EXCHEQUER OF ELECTORAL CERTAINTY OF PERIBLEBSIS ABOVE CLEARHEADED SIGHT RATHER THAN MYOPIA IN FAMISHED LANDS FATTENING CALVES IN THE PROVIDENCE OF PROWESS THAT MIGHT RESCUE US BEYOND PETTY DELUSIONS THAT WE MUST ENCOUNTER TRIBULOID CNICNODES WITH THE BEST ABDERVINE AFFAIRS RATHER THAN A NOMENCLATURE ELITISM THAT IS SAVVY ONLY WHEN THE ABAFT TURTLEBACK ONLOOKERS OF THE NOYADE APPROACHING FROM MILLIONS OF MILES APART THAT THEY BECOME DISENTHUSED BY THE COMPOSITE SPECTRUM MIGHT THEY TURN INTO DEMOCRATIC SOLFERINOS OR OTHERWISE SOLFERINOS TO BEGIN WITH, THE LACERTILIAN CROTALINE SONDAGE OF DARKNESS IS A KNELL FOR THE DARK RASPY DAYS OF WHERRET AND STULTIFICATION OF GARBOLOGY EVEN WHEN IT REMAINS THE LINCHPIN OF ALL TROPES OF TRUTH FOR TROMOMETERS AND STADIOMETERS THAT UNDERSTAND WANIGANS OF WAINAGE. IN CONCLUSIVE HARBINGER UMBRACIOUS SERVITUDE TO A SUFFRAGE OF SPHECOID LITTORAL EMBANKMENTS THAT RIVULATIONS GUARD ABOVE THE GROUNDPROX MUGIENCE OF BRAYING JACKALS HAUNTING THE JIBOYA FORESTS OF AFFORCED AND ATTEMPERED ATTENUATION THAT RANKLES THE GRAVAMEN OF RANCID HINDSIGHT IN CHRONOPSYCHOLOGY THAT SPRAWLS OUTWARD FROM THE PROVENANCE OF ALL ILLUMINATION THAT THE SORBILE SOURDINE SGRAFFITOS TO THE ELECTORAL REGARD BECOMES A SWANK BEYOND SILKALINE BANGTAIL OSTENTATION THAT NEGAHOLICS AGAINST CRETACEOUS SUFFICIENCY OF THE PALLOR OF ARENTRUM ABOVE BLANKETED WALLFISH WHO SPY ON PISCIFAUNA MIGHT THEIR SENICIDE BECOME THE CAREWORN OPPOSITE TO ALL CAREER TEMPTATIONS FOR GIGMANIA IN A SLOW CARAPACE OF FORAMINATION ABOVE THE RESOFINCULAR DISTORTIONS OF BOLTROPES INGRATIATING THE INSTRUMENTALISM OF DECLINE. WE MUST HEED GOD AND OBEY HIS PROVIDENCE SUCH THAT THE CHEVET OF THE RELIGIOUS ACCLAIM OF GENERATIONS EXPANDS TO BE A DISCIPLESHIP TO ALL WORLD LEADERS IN THE SEDERUNT OF PATIENCE RATHER THAN IMPETUOUS FUROR AGAINST RIDDLED PRAXEOLOGY. IN THE CULMINATION OF ALL AGES WE MUST ENDURE THE SUFFRAGE OF COGNOSCENTI PIRATES MIGHT THEY EMBARK IN OPPOSITIVE SUPPORT FOR THE GRATUITIES THEY SEE THROUGH THE PORTALS OF ABATJOUR THAT SPAWNED MYTH AND MYTH CONQUERED THE TREACLE OF DECEIT BECAUSE OLMS OF THE PAST AND ZEKS OF THE PRESENT DESERVE A BETTER REGARD OF THE CREDENDA. NEUTROSOPHY IS THE BALKANIZATION OF QUIZZICAL IDEAS DERIVED FROM FAULTY COMPASSIONS TO MINORITARIAN BACKPIECES OR ROTUND PROPAGANDA COALESCING PEOPLE BY GIROUETTISM THAT THEY MIGHT BE ENTHUSED BY A WEIRD CISVESTISM AS A BADGE OF HONOR BECAUSE OF LIBIDINAL IMBALANCE AND MANY FORMS OF RADICALISM POLLUTE SOCIETY PRIMARILY BECAUSE ECCENTRIC BOOKWORM PROFESSORS HARDLY THE VICTIMS OF POLYHISTORY OFTEN TRADUCED THE CONTEMPORARY MALAISE AND INVENTED FROM A VACUUM A DERIVATIVE OF WARPED EUHEMERISM THAT MISLEADS MANY ONTO DESOLATE PATHS OF ISOLATION IMMUNE TO THE CONSENSUS OF GENIUS WHICH FLOUTS THOSE SPECIOUS SOPHISTRIES BECAUSE THEY ARE RACKRENTS OF ACADEMIC BANKRUPTCY THAT NEED TO BE ANNEALED OF A REVIVAL OF PEAK MODERNISM IDEOLOGIES BEYOND THE IDIORHYTHMIC PROGRESSION OF TRUCKLING COMPROMISE AND CLOYING TOLERANCE.

Humanity, a design of grace,
Each individual crafted by the Divine.
Clear to see their grace,
Seen in their faces, smiles, hearts, and minds,
Beauty envelops their every move, every act,
Humanity, Beauty without end.

Oh, how easy to see, but we do not see;
By divergences, we are blind.
Blind to all that is good, we hate;
Existing in different skins, we hate;
Speaking in different tongues, we hate;
Loving in different ways, we hate;
Living in different ways, we hate;
Calling divinity by different names, we hate;
Pledging loyalty to different states, we hate.

But why?
Too hard to love?
To see we are the same?
That our hearts beat the same life through our veins?

From divinity we have fallen.
Without love, this sight, our grace, crafted in the image of the Divine, is tarnished.
Made beautiful but free to fall, we choose to fall with hatred in our hearts.
With this hatred, this blindness, our paradise is lost.