by variousignatures

Cyberspace.Golden Dawn. A couple cornered lines is all it takes to keep the dreams alive. Adapted from lands unknown. There once was a trace here of some vapor like fear that had been beckoning forward. And were you among the oppressors when it was time to make decisions? Did I spy that bonny face mother kissed? Ultra-nationalistic mongers covered in dust shot out in one’s and zero’s magnificently. There was nowhere to turn once the cascade came over the wall and explained what we were building all this time. The hot red face of hatred that drives us. That we cannot understand. 
The permanent stasis of this land is hyperventilating and generally punctuated by an occasional movement. We have found this land and intend to purpose it for our very vital means. What was here? It was bacteria and phosphates. The occasional flash of insight that what we need is not quite what everyone needs. Like when the boy went missing for 30 years and decided not to come home to his still mourning mother but rather to fall off the bridge and into the negative water. What everyone needs is closure. 
Europe is on fire and the faded empire of social unrest sends up yet another string of hysterical zealots. Decorated with words like “lawless violence,” I yawn to spite myself. You yawn to spite me. I want to live in a spite house in way of the movements I disagree with. I do not disagree with any movements. I want to live in a spite house that floats through space. I want them to find me and scrape the outer shell that obscures their needs. I want them to try and break in. To try to tie me to their will. I want the paranoia to be projected to a universal level. Cower. Cower. Cower.