processus de qualiaA Poem by delapruchna.whosoever finds themselves muttering the process of their very own struggle “to be” left in the woods for dogs, face down in a gutter like poe & drowning in one’s own vomit--- though untainted by the neon strategies of western “democracies,” such individuals may in fact interpret this place differently to only one of us (one & each, each & one) an apparent explanation is impossible--- still, the notion of explanation gets thrown by the wayside, it’s too hard for the average bear to convey without props & to explain is to take part in the explanation (one cannot separate) & the innate false manner of the explanation is like that of heisenberg’s whereupon the stirring of the soup with the finger taints the soup as a whole.
with only one cook in the kitchen coming up with attempts to describe the process of cooking can be a great task which inevitably will end up as nothing special & eyes blur with tears of frustration at the inability to communicate successfully.
how vulgar animals that call themselves humans take it to the next level, deciding just who are the wretches, witches, princes & princesses, in a world of wolves who feast on integrity & honesty, might baffle the fleeting onlooker, but to the studied eye, history thus far shows that if there can be found a way to silence you you will be silenced, with the biggest lies you ever did see while you were alive fast replacing your screaming truths & history shows that if you can’t be silenced, then you will be put to death, with the physical bodies of those you despised the most when you were still breathing, roaming the countryside to breed staggering amounts so that your very memory will be extinguished, gone, like no one ever uttered your name.
the pattern is escapable & the pattern lies here--- something needed to be told by one will be snuffed out by the sick sneer of the fat & greedy whole, it lives for the time when one less contrary voice is heard--- SO NEVER STOP © 2012 delapruch |
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Added on May 9, 2012 Last Updated on May 9, 2012 Authordelapruchnothingville, NYAboutBio: The writer we call delapruch has been writing since infancy. His first piece was scrawled on the inside of his mother’s womb. Long since published, the rights now reside in the hands o.. more..Writing
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