Eriatarka's blog: "Writings"

Antiquated by the cultural time lapse that plagues its own history; beneath the musk of ravished liberty that has been raped behind closed doors, a panopticon society rests in the lens of its overseers.  Books once trapped, backtracked and washed clean of impurities (denoting isolated instances of a culture incinerating knowledge four hundred fifty-one degrees above ground zero while peacemakers with pacemaker scars scar the impotence of a porn star mentality) now procreate terrorist threats through weapons of phallic nature, nurtured in the stranglehold of a neutered neo-degeneration.  Culture is myth.  Deep within the sleeping iris, beneath the abyss, a relapse in the fabrication of space-time ventures into the alterations of communities scratched by heretics and treason; by the lectured politics of ever so truthful falsehoods.  Erasing all, if any, fine fond memories of a life that couldn't be taken now, the grass of confusion grows.

Fortunes needles and debauchery's opiates tax the seeping pores that empty the swamps of capital commodes.  Grafting the skin of blue-tiled fields, a ceremony of innocence drowns within delusional grandeur of septic nature; civilization's way of manufacturing hope.  Hypocrisy will reign utter supremacy.  Individualism is destroyed by a mechanist parliament whose bark brings forests to gardens, guided by the highest trees that deny the smallest plants from sunlight.  Juxtaposed between the thin lines of reason and the statutes of the obscure, an occipital bush drowns any cries of conscience in its complications of vines.  Kerosene kisses for the public, while speaking behind their earlobes sets fire to their homes, conjuring vocal debts.  Lacerating the tongues, a pack of scoundrels tumble through the gates of dawn, emerging as the order of the state - the new rulers.  Masonry of a flagstone mannequin sets foot on currency, worshiping the beginning and end of the unknown.  Nationalism wreaks of empty slots - nameless in presence, fickle in origin, the vegetation of power expands over canker sore thrones.

Oscillation under ocean deformations brings forth a faction of iron pupils, their sights set forth and strengthened with revolution locked in.  Palpitations form limits, however, as many beginning tripping in dance steps synchronized.  Quintessential aspects of defiance craft the arson of firearms, knocking on the doorstep of trembling foliage.  Reality is a thing of the past, for this is the new language they speak.  Synaesthesia relates the screams fired to the color of war.  Tickling the underbelly of a totalitarian beast, the cries form ulcers that drape the overwhelming landscape of tantrums.  Unspoken accusations denounce any form of syntax, as patriotism is treason and ignorance is no alibi.  Victims of flip book lifestyles race through the ruins of an empty restraint as the foliage of the bush begin withering away, exposing the confused spine of branches and roots that grasp no ground.  Winds of indictment approach from all directions and, although they try to warm themselves inside their protective patriotism, their flag-blankets are meshed with holes of ignorance.  Xenophobes pledged and pick-pocketed now drink the red Kool-Aid in ballot form.  Yet, we've sought refuge in the security of this guillotine.  Zen breathed a cumulonimbus clearing filled with metric scathing that ransacked the recidivists, curdling their crimes of priapic psychosis with downpours of aphorisms and gnomic slurs.