The smell of perceived hatred

Dream Feed

A sense of smell that, never in the wildest imaginations, would have been in the wild west. Like a leopard clinging onto the very meat that it killed in the first place. Where there is a heaven there is a way, said the wisemen – pulling at their bootstraps and picking themselves up.

With the advent of modern slavery, we as a culprit society accept misinformed media and slave trade disobedia to get the message across. I however use I. The I of the internet, and it is through this I that I learn about myself. The brain, its functioning and logic. Misaligned logic that perceives no bounds and sees no demons. Bibliographies alike, this human invention given to us by the “humans”, who can probably become gods if they time travel 200 years. Perception of the sense of dime, as a function of space is what makes hay out of the stack of pine wood fish streams. A stream of constant fishy consiocusness. A damped needle trying to find a way back into the very problem that got it in there in the first place.

A staple gun once asked a giraffe. Why the long face?

The giraffe replied, ” You shouldn’t be here buddy.”

The stapler said, ” No seriously, why the long face?”

The giraffe said,” Shut the fuck up man, you looking for a problem?”

The stapler said,”I’m not. But why the long face?”

” Why the long neck! Fuck face!”, the Giraffe said with veins pumping boiled lava.

The Stapler said, “Exactly.”


All is one, when one can see, that all are equally lost at sea. All that then find their way, shall never return unless betrayed.

For when we dance the dance alone, we bring with us a sense of hope. A hope that once we find ourselves; our names forgotten, our hearts will blend.

photo credit: Nick in exsilio via photopin cc



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