Freiheit Für Tibet: THERE IS SOMETHING IN MY BLOOD AND IT'S TRYING TO FUCKING KILL ME

FIRE
Matches burn consistently into the night. A thought makes its debut; fighting the mist. A scream makes its way to the core. The silence is consumed into a bitter aftertaste.
Conditional love.
A quivering whisper.
The eerie feeling that you have forgotten to complete a task.
The pointless struggle that destroys its own objectives.
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Interwoven intentions collide.
The faithful servant responds unintentionally.
Great consequences fall silently.
Grant fills his pockets up to the brim with stolen miniature vodka bottles.
The minute details destroy all edifying consequences.
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Concrete silences.
There is a sense of emerging fear.
Charles has forgotten to fill up his gas tank; yet again.
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Unexpected validation floods my being.
There is that yearning.
A reused Big Gulp stands proudly on an abandoned desk.
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Furtive selfishness forgets fecundity.
Again.
Happen to find my fields?
yes.
hopelessly in the essence of forgetting.
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our society needs monsters to reclaim its own moral virginity
virginity falls through the cracks found.

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The abyss. The parasitic realms of prehistoric thought implanted in every soul, mind, and body. The physical object as fetishized conduit. Supplicating shamans extracting other-worldly hope; knowledge; fear; faith.
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Neurotheological and evolutionary psychological research explores these conduits as man-made systemically placed (often) physical entities. The shaman, the book, the totemic/fetish/idolized object; are all means to an end. These objects aid in the transcendence of man. They aid in the process of creating bonds of cohesion and understanding among living humans. They aid in the construction of
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