Friday, January 4, 2008

Yeti stalking in the jungles of Post-Modernism

What is the bashing recklessness of tackhammered atonement that springs achingly spryly from the mounted pillars of Northward folly? Why is the glibbish tone of tortured souls a truth serum to the youth of our modern antiquity? Where are the lavish answers that open mountaintops for the call to prayer that will resound through the valleys of the brain and unlock the bolted doorstops of the mind of humanity?
There is a code of conduct among the wild ambrosian drinkers of whom I count myself one, and it consists of one thing and one thing only: that in all of the dozy embraces occurring throughout the millenias, we must be present. So stay your mind to the foolish flinging dizziness that drowns us all in a rancorous sweat of nausea, and bring yrself back from the brink of the void to be here in the moment, now.
Is it not an obligation to the cornerstone foundations of this world that we now, in this moment, find our way into the future of our history and stop with all the foolishness? I cannot express my grief and worry for the way forward and the needlethreading acrobatics that will be required for the survival of our kind on this planet. But anyway...

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