The Pathology of Perception continued

Fickle and opportunistic are the thoughts I have.
Home is not the place I return to but rather it is the place I left.
Thousands of eyes, some behind glass, some above me, others below, some operating
Machinery, others operating my future.

Paranoid are the thoughts I have.
Eyes, staring so hard they leave bruises,
All burning with the same desire to tell me my future.
Sight so perfect and powerful it misses everything and like and x-ray it exposes and preserves for
Posterity the nothing that resides within me.


That's just the way it isn't.
Waterfront, water purity, bottled water, and trend per square inch.
Water and the emptiness of a thousand bottles, bottles returnable, bottles without a message, no
Genie, nothing but a promise.
A promise of a refund, a promise of sustainability, a promise that nothing that is will be the same
As it was but we won't know the difference.  What promise, what a brilliant bit of passing the
Buck.

Who the fuck are they anyway, who is it that tells us we can, we can't and we should.  Are they
Living up to their own modest expectations?

It is the poor, it is the majority, the impoverished, the ones with no legacy, no real estate, a reality
Too real.  Passing on the environmental wishful thinking of the needlessly affluent.

Going down to the water to pray, going down to the water to do what we must, lemmings and vile
Propagandists, its all the same, water treats us all the same.


Disappointing are the thoughts I have.
Repetition is the key, the key is repetition.
Short memories, and causes, oh so many causes, follow one follow all.
The world is taken off of life support, and we look for a cause, not a beginning, not a trigger, not
The father and mother of Effect, but a vague notion that allows us to feel superior and helpful,
To feel as though we are a part of the Popular Apathetic,
A part of nothing a part of absolution in as benign a fashion as has ever been conceived of.

Pessimistic are the thoughts I have.
Who the hell do you think I think you are?
Do you mean more to me than your feeble popularist bullshit?
You deserve nothing more than to drown and float in a pool of your own sensationalized popular
Culture waste.    

You and I know nothing.  It is better to admit it than to fall in with those who wish to use your
Ceaselessly desperate unworthy holier than thou bullshit as the foundation of an institution Dedicated to housing the most asinine of everything we stand for.
Buy it or be left behind, sell it or forever be ostracized and wallow amongst those who can't afford
It.


Repetitious are the thoughts I have.
Unable to see the forest for the disease.
Carry me there or bury be here, I can't walk that far alone.
Pharmacological conveyor belts lead to and through articulate excuses and between lies spoken


Or textual representations of apathy, suspicion and animosity all waiting for analysis.
Painting my world with shit, what colour is the shit with which you paint you world?  I paint the
World with shit the colour of television, painting every fence and every doorway.
Fences that can't keep them out, telephones that can't keep, me in.
Fire is the solution to a problem too cold.
So cold it numbs our senses, doesn't allow the senses to relay satisfaction to the appropriate
Synapses, suffocation and silencing, smouldering and shameless, acceptance is a curse.


Suffocating are the thoughts I have.
Fire is what we deserve; yet fire isn't a cure.
I feel the jaws of bugs, inside and out, they are there chewing, digesting, running away with what
We are, what I am.
Nothing stops them, not the colour of night not the lavender bullshit that silhouettes the black
Concrete and brick confines of a world of our own creation, a world that is uniquely mine.


Grand are the thoughts I have.
Destruction and retribution, a child's sense of rebirth and permanence.
Nothing is everything and everything is going to be as it wasn't.
As it appears and disappears the very air we breath carries with it hatred and ignorance, who am
I to judge?  Who are you to question my authority, you claim ignorance yet you throw stones, you
Perpetuate and prepare people for pain, and laying prone you perceive perfection.  Perfect
Submission and seemingly limitless tolerance, you can't make an omelette without breaking a few Spirits.