man, a shattering of woe against the shoreline of synonymous
due applause - or kindred with the devil,
burrowing to circumstance the saharan shadow,
tipped shortest via noon,
how experience
humanity without a language,
that god brokered, and not sanctify
Pontius Pilate as the saving grace?
lava mea mani mundi -
wash my (mandi(ble)) hands clean (purus) -
aristocrats of Pompeii... ugly *******;
differed - as was the price
of entering Oxbridge.
which is why the content
of dreams was questioned, rather the context...
because who was the narrator, after all?
why didn't Freudian theory
question the narrator, but instead superimposed
itself as the gravitas narrator: combining both
content and context of dreams?
i find it scary that Freud
managed to toy around until the point where
he found a dysfunctional dummy staging horror
that lacked all necessities of a ventriloquist
framed toward a subplot: embedded in needing one.
is Freud the only person to provide narration
for the phenomenon of dreaming?
i still find dreams caged in Kantian noumena...
i.e., why do they happen in the first place?
i think it's strange that dreams occur in the first place,
that's the context question,
Freud already answered the content question:
****** Pythagorean truce: it's called all geometric shaping
fits the answer: *******.
yes, that's me done & dusted...
i'm just wondering about what need
we have within Darwinism to dream... what are
the evolutionary downsizing benefits?
isn't dreaming a delusional cauldron that disturbs
our will... or is Hollywood dead and our fancies
are no longer fanciful... what would a history
of dreams reveal, merely Joseph as the sole
dream architect?
Freud was but a man,
he said something about the content of dreams,
he didn't say anything about the context of dreams,
i can't find anyone to explain to me
a need for a context and a need to dream...
i guess the people who dream are as easily
impregnated with a summary of Voltaire's Candide...
that this is: the best of all possible worlds...
sure, but inscribe upon this world
a concentrated censorship of dreams...
let me dream the last thing i might see
and give it all the mechanics of what others dream of
to the tilt of fully-embraced enhancement fakery...
i will still not understand how you managed
to lodge a photon inside my cranium, or why there's
a need for me to dream, that's Freud point + on the content,
but that's also Freud point minus given the context...
not if i have to hammer a thousand nails into
planks of wood will a dream matter to me....
by god, make your money from analysis
dream content, but you'll end up a pauper analysis
dream context... are our lives so dandy and simple
that we retreat from political hierarchies
and what needs to be addressed
and with tails dragged between our hinds
we create foci for translating dreams into
a realism that can never be realised, because being
a realism, it's only a superficial version of
the pain that reality is?
yep, so much "wording",
and how many breaths did you inhale and exhale
while i said that? me too, on words: too many.
Freud can have his content-invoking
affirmation of life and the subsequent prejudices...
but Freud cannot have a context-angling depravity
to forward life, and consequent pejoratives
being suitor:
for those who dare not think
are easily converted to dreaming...
and those who care to not dream,
are ushered into the most obscure thinking
that has not parallel with celebrated thought
akin to Einstein or Newton... but then again,
the celebration of dreams have only one representative,
and he's biblical... oh sorry: mythical.
yet that's where it all begins,
and it is a great sacrifice... to abandon the comforts
of dreams, in order to think uncustomary
or even murky, uncelebrated thoughts...
to think the mundane and non-applicable
insistences... and then dream nothing,
and then see humanity's impecible practibility
in the do rather then the lost assertive of be,
for humanity does the most, and is the least...
for every hundred of do instances,
there's but a hundreth of a be instance worthy a mention;
meaning? do the plumbing...
chop the timber, fix the electric...
no one tells people to reach a frantic embodiment,
or calls for an impersonal god that might leave them
personal & authentic... everyone always asks for a personal
god that leaves them impersonal... robo-tectonic akin
to Islam... thus ascribing: quantifiably nihilistic...
is my life too unbearable to continue or
unbearable to convene such a life, and quote:
"simply nodded" on my Christmas greeting card...
******* cha cha cha...
i ain't a trebuchet,
but i'll swing a plum with a pair of knuckles
should you need more lip-balm for a smooch;
i'm just jittery about the date you'll test me.;
because the other-half-of-me was particular
about that dietary schematic of anorexia;
some said it was cool amphibian akin to ambiance
and hence the strobe light and break-dancing epileptic:
coffers full of chuff!
o lookie lookie, who the ****** unit of the
daffy bunch: quack squint-mc-dire...
no wonder she says her name's Chelsea postscriptum.
