Recycled Human

CAPITAL

it scrapes the flesh from thoughts, ripping at simple and blistering through complex

an infected wound without a crown

peaks and pitfalls form in the absence of power. where should power hide if not the shadowed hallowed sand with a punch like the pounding of a drum yet functionless from a lifetime of hiding in plain site

liberally flirting with reluctant energies, synapses blazing as we reach for more to drink

food to eat and fluid to drink and moving pixels to watch and inharmonious language to hear and stale fabric to feel

like roses from weeds and branches from barren earth

complicated commands channel concurrently clouding crowds, commoners clasp clandestine claws clutching communal crackers

until we crack. though the thoughts snap to attention, programed by a higher visage crafted from a series of bulbs and knobs

ones and zeros and percentages

SLOWLY YET SURELY all things are shaped by the percentages emitted by the collective unconscious

Let the truth of chaos culminate in its final form, an evolution of thought that will only stop when we can no longer control it.