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Unconscious Controlled Critique

A state of subjugation so infantile, yet so disruptive, could the layers of conspiracy go further in its existence? Purportedly, a state media ran through the filter of difference and excitement leveling its own demise for short term satisfaction to the overlords, controlling our every thought and idea to the very core. Is this state ran media a consequence of governmental control, supposedly through the use of democratic means, that theoretically can be shifted determinant on public perception? Partially, yet the media runs further than what we believe it to be. As our eyeballs are ripped out of their sockets to give monetary incentives to this industry, it concludes a multiplicity of ideation that exists on its own, and wrapped around to affect the very authors themselves. Entertainment, as we uphold it, levels a perspective relevant to a minority of beings, centralized in a very few cities, and then controlled by a smaller few individuals within the business sector, and
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The Sewer

  TW: Depictions of violence, psychological torment, and rape Wrapping its tentacles around me Keeping me quiet Alone in the sewers I can’t see the outside Sun bellowing in the deep Arising from its slumber Leaving me with interesting thoughts The amount of light similar to a tiny lamp The sun shines itself through the manhole I’m covered in ash and fire Sewage engulfs me into disease The tentacles grow in width No one survives in a sewer like this for long Disease and starvation are the only outcome May God have mercy on my soul God wants me to suffer I’m slipping on the floor Face planting into the water Rats scatter around my hair Smelling of trash and feces A distant smile arises in the tunnel Surrounded by three flamingos The smile’s a bit creepy The flamingos dance into formation “Come dance with us!” They shout The smile stares at me “We’re your oasis, your treasure, your orgy!” The smile creepily makes its grin wider The flamingos doing the tango I’m wearing a sweatshirt It sta


  Man I loved being abused And I think you did too Kinda wish it wasn't over Please come back my four leaf clover Maybe it's no self respect My problem is that I easily forget You and I are the same in that And I think you also want to come back I think the abuse was love A traumatized version from above Neither of us could admit it So we kinda had to split it As Kanye says run away There's nothing left for us to say Except that u can always come back But remember we'll both be under attack

Traumatized Exception Seekers

  The lie Presented as scientific Presented as intellectual Homo Sapien Homo Faber Man the wise Man the maker Truly belittling Autonomy and transcendence Apparent in description Homo sapien and homo faber Perverted the idea of autonomy Existentialism as the cornerstone A transcendence above reality The trauma of constraint within our minds Made us feel the need to escape We were bound by none other Than the slave morality That Nietzsche perverted in its definition A retribution? No, an individuality. Slavery is to the individual As trauma is to the human Interchangeable Equal in refinement Potent in solitary confinement Systemically imposed on ourselves The man is not the maker The man is the lost The man is not the creator The man is the reshaping The man is not transcendent The man is transcendent to himself only Reshaping the human identity As one of an acceptance of loss Necessary in our grievance with the traumatic impact of existence itself One of snark being the sole remainder I

The God of My Surroundings

  My sophomoric desire My destructive shape Planting a shallow deep into the veins Selective on its dispersion Hyper fluctuating through my brain. Demolishing and dancing Swift away through shimmying and springing A reconnection to the id A reconnection to purity A prototypical identity was born A fluctuating mirror With its vibrations high Its light sparkling Its light blinding Prototypical in its reflection Prototypical in its display The shimmering mirror Blowing smoke Blowing ash A nearby construction zone The shimmering mirror Now covered in soot Flowing through my veins, Demolition Destruction Beauty A desire for conservation A desire for desire Dancing through the woods The construction site A tower stand in its place A building erected A monument of prototype The saucer Flying through the skies A symphony of intellect A crash of despair Where did it go? The tower Standing above The saucer crashed into it The saucer damaging it But the tower still tall Dancing and demolishing On

Paranoid Autonomy

The rising automata, the perverse instability of identity, is autonomy just a sect of paranoia? Paranoia, the ultimate schizoanalysis, discredited as insanity, distanced from the noumena, present in all humans, holds onto a separation of the child with the adult, a potent disconnect between distance and closeness. An imposition on the real, paranoia is an adamant defender of truth, existing as a conspiracy theorist, segmented into a shadow, and disparate from the whole. Burning itself onto the psyche of rationality, and overtaking its identity, paranoia, the reflection of truth, rests on indiscriminate harm, and hatred of joy, a discernment of undisclosed identity, and a prominent voice in ideology. Autonomy rests its shoulders on the paranoia of control, the dominance of the object to the subject, the harm of losing the ability to venture, paranoia is a stark reminder of the instability of the child, but moreso the instability of the adult. Along the timeline of life, the grasp of the

Impossible Inherentness

  Pain vs pleasure, the ups and downs, an endless cycle of discontent. Absent of reflection, this cyclical abuse of the mind works as a coping mechanism to the stringent, and expansive, chaotic and overwhelming state of modern influences. The self, the universe, life, society, all of which are never inherently prescient to anybody, but reflective of a disassociation with your own autonomy. The power of global hegemony has distinguished these matters as part and parcel for existential singularities, the modus operandi of human consciousness.  These matters don't arise out of an inherent nature of the self, but as a simple reflection of the vapidness of the external with its automations of heuristical prevalence, turning the self into an automatic being, that the self should know who it is without exploration. Life controls the self, it animates it, and breathes it consciousness, deriving a reflection of the processes of the external into the self as a singularity. Its processes are