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Brinesanity – an abide jar, filled with all the fuqs given.

By

Wince saws.

There has been a change in governing.

No shit Einstein.

It has to change, since the foundation of it in the roots of democracy it has always changed. It has to, as a living and breathing thing, it will change. It can not remain static, for to be so would be death alone.

Mention concrete here, and stone. I would love to smirk and just look in gap eyed wonder, and maybe point to or circle the word living again. I get tired of doing this in life, and I am not going to be doing it virtually all the time, sure you can call me an asshole for actually understanding what I am smirking about – but I don’t judge the quality of my life by such measures.

Seriously.

I judge this by the quality of the living I am participating in, or not. This includes the nations and the culture of participation within those collections of people and intellects of varying degrees.

I consider myself gifted, so what?

I also consider myself an idiot, a fuqtard by choice in various propensities.

Confusing?

Not at all, if you can dig that there is no black and white.

But sure, you go ahead and take a look at this – tell me, is it black or white? Can it be summarized in a 140 tweet, and then passed on to provide a clear and absolute reflection of an ideology? Is it right to sit back and laugh at an entire nation as powerful as the USA, and claim all the problems can be solved if only they listened to the “people”?

The machine is real. It can not be stopped, it can be merely be mitigated.

Yes, the levers pulled behind the curtain by the small wizards, the one that has Dorothy so intimidated has been exposed.

However Dorothy is much more advanced in her ways also.

So they just sit there, in this cold stare.

Waiting for something, someone to help them.

This is where the director comes in. Some of the stage hands flutter by, or an arm appears in the window that is showing us the full glory of the moon. Truman is having a coffee break, and the world decides it is time to change the laundry over and grab an Oreo.

All the world is a stave, and music is playing.

The tone of it, and where you listen will both reflect what you hear.

How you interpret it will always be a function of the quality of you.

Not me, I am too busy studying the effects of Zoloft economics and Prozac politics.

I have always been fascinated by the invisible brown acid, and as far as strange trips go following the logic along the path of the below illustration, wonderfully defined for a sober second thought provision afforded by those of us that know we can’t change the world, but we sure to fuck can change the station to the shit they are telling us to listen to.

The information rainbow holds so much more than just pots of gold.

There are pots of many kind.

Some even have orange grass.

iFeta

Sometimes, you can feel the cold chill of the blades. Different shapes, and with different hammers that hold force for longer than most men breath in a lifetime. Then they release, and move to another foundation. Quarry for a query, a calm for the blink that you wish you could get back. Those tasks are not meaningless. You will forever be part of the concrete. Fabric of the masses, such pride.

*abide*

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