the sky is so f***ing lazy

Theories on Everything activated the human scheme,  simplified nature’s intentions of order. Applied to metal and microchips, mortal person was able to sit at the edge of his bed, spine curved to center vision on the cellphone held in his steady hand, researching the Johnstown Flood of 1889.  To compare the usefulness of inventions to society’s desires the addition of context is required, this disrupts any cackling from a smoker’s lungs, or the proverbial cannon-ball fodder which plagues the parking-lot crowd. (Cadillac driver is omnipotent in a Devil-May-Care sorta style, while a Buick-whatever passenger rides the clouds like she was Zeus fucking a Pegasus among the stars.)  

Freedom consumes the perceiver to retain actual data from the plethora of malfeasance plaguing the divide, a space clueless in its retention to understand conquered dominion, it resets progress when pushed forward and forever along the way Freedom rows…

Space (bleeding nothing of value) rests her wounds on the arms of her Lazy-Boy recliner. Consumed by lounging posture, she reaches for the ceiling and grasps at the holes in her walls for balance. Gobsmacked by fear of falling, a fear developed from knowing that plunging stars are already deceased once viewed by the mortal eye. She believes in a better disposition to relieve the cosmos of its pigeonholed woe, as completion in knowledge reaches climax, conclusions will be recognized to imprison the thinkers and the end is SURELY nigh.  

%d bloggers like this: