Oil is the character

John Lennon said it right. Humans are Insane. Going after money that’s falling from the sky. Consciousness is full of magic, you don’t need to try in order to make it happen. I listen to Hot Snakes, these arms are snakes, and Opus Dai. The breadth of experience is in the pornography of our creations.
I also don’t suffer. So, you’re reading the blog of someone who chooses to see that he doesn’t suffer.

But, what does it matter if religions prevail or a girl in a locked room is the ere of a new consciousness? You see yourself as a victim and it’s society’s fault that peril exists.
Nothing can come from nothing. If your resistance to valuing space as the lateral makeup of your perspective is glued to a dense autonomy of words; if you actually give a damn, you’ll lie to yourself to see that what you are is also a gene of reptilian landscape.
Nothing cannot come but nothing is.

The world seemed so dense, from a pocket to a handshake. Green pastures were floating in a dream state. Biology crumbled as all constructs of crumbling matter do. The Earth is seen to be a predisposition thought up by something that wanted Something to exist.
The air smells nice. Ribbons on the neck of sunshine laugh as an intercourse of memes dances with the living fruit.
And that is the orchestra of life within consciousness.


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