Follow the endless walking days behind the last ways over the hills and beyond anyone's wildest dreams. Juvenile missiles always projectiles of hate and wrongness throw you into the cliffs where below the rocks underneath one sees one's own demise. That is the map to my consciousness.
Oh how I do d espies the moment weary dreary, leery, all against the bird wingless and dying, starving because its needs are not met by any terrestrial nourishment at all. Just like me. As I watch the roads in silence and contemplate the Cadillac's and their empty sorrows and I enjoy thinking, gazing, wondrously at these vehicles no longer sultry innuendo for the perverse in nature, but are works of art in the hearts and minds of the engineer. But I guess that means that all of us are going to hell. If that is the case then what about the geniuses who wonder, wonder, love, and hate sometimes souls full of ideas of what life is really about. Still I wonder since the down of time about the vagueness of the sky and I relate to mother earth, the housewife like generations past, during the rain she washers her dirt floor with her cloudy mop she created, since she was a genius and no one I know would dispute that.
Who would dare try to mimic the genius in the lost day and the lost ways of antiquity and who else is to question every star and every heralding of a new line of thinking, one that involves actual thinking at that? But if we were to build upon foundations left with rustic rusty iron depleted trailers, melted by the lack of therefore the previous mentioned miracle, and before one could ever know that anything was wrong. That is wrong. It us up to the geniuses to create the world around and to decorate Mother's house, it is up to those inflicted with the disease of the mind and the disease of the earth and the disease fatally corrupting the pure brainwashing of society onto the intellectual being which are so-called pseudo-geniuses in their minds but the pristine virgin thought is left to those untainted by what everyone says is wrong.
Because everyone knows according to the Gospel of the government that what is wrong is oh so right.
Leave it to the geniuses who purge themselves of former belief and ecstasy of ignorance, which is nothing but bliss, nothing, but the ignorance of the lack of self-love, which is so common today in a world of teen magazines telling that if you want to be loved one must be blonde, skinny, and gorgeous. If there were all those people, would there be enough love to go around? Why have these Aryan angels demonically gutted all the souls of a mythological deity?
In this world, around one must find the genius inside to free you of the horrid beating of something so right, something so wrong, and something so new, novel, and rugged around the philosophical edges, that one must commit suicide against the chainsaw victory of the hopeless age around one. Dare I say you were a genius if you pursued the evil of society? I would never blaspheme my soul and sole belief. That is why all those who are not geniuses are going to hell, and never will I join you in your shallow masscult grave. One day the geniuses will rule the world; will you be there to see it?