route through to drowsy compliance. Cut
a groove that hugs you tight. Narcotic
cocoons charm all eyes closed, colour
their lids with everything you could dream
you want. You know you want it all. Nothing
that sunny can be bad. Yes the positive
is woven everywhere. Yes they take our stuffing
and make it gold. Yes we are they. Those shapes?
They’re ships for everyone, journeying
to the ever-distant port they summon from mists,
from clouds of desire, from the dark
of our memory. A lulling of echoed chants
directs the drummed beat, the slumbering lung,
the rhythm of waves. Permit no discord.
One Thing the Scientism Cultists and Dembots Have in Common - > One of the most bizarre phenomena of the US electoral system is the way the Democrat Party and its more cultish adherents choose to revile anyone who...
1 week ago