.01

I dreamed about a bombed out city with flowers in every crease and crevice
feathers on the lampposts in the middle of the metropolis
a fitting reminder to the intricacy of intellectual properties we let cromotose
devine intervention that brings us these seasons
this rock,which harbors our ghost.
peace omits from my being,some call it jesus
others allah or vishnu
I simply call it the faith in others,
chaos contained by structure in never ending vacuum in a space time continum,
but brothers
sisters
don't be fooled by forgiveness, and my trust in the art
I am,at heart
an animal
in every sense of the form.
my intentions are to be free
plain and simply
these invisible chains of your military industrial complex do not bind me
your consumerism propaganda orgys are things i have no thirst for
in other words
my intentions are pure,and my heart thirsts for one more
the open sky on top of a very similar road
post apocolyptic or any other various term
for at my core
...