Bottom Pusher (a Mandiakoid)

No the deep is not asleep; sleeping is something we don’t have the option of doing. Awake, in constant state, is where we at. The bottom torture, corporate horror, disorganized raptures, we are separated and in constant thought, how can we sleep. You pencil pushing, laptop carrying new-agers, ignoring these forever stages. We are awake as you lose your imagination with technological finds and deep pixel-punctured faces. We don’t calculate with machine interfaces we are cases of real confrontation, incubating the seriousness of this once fuss. We see you constantly even if you don’t see us. A black case, defaced space, sparse trace, linked with disgrace which you promote, you sorry half minded fools. There is no mirror here man! I am speaking about you and you alone. Look here while you see yourself, if you see is yourself, if all you can see is yourself. See the deep scars on my scalp from hitting this bottom ocean so hard. I had no soft landing like some. I had not the pleasure of morphing into a pun like some, the easy break of bone fracture, if that’s even possible. No, mine was a straight fall, a deep slide into a liquid of deep pride, a deep which withheld centuries of loss souls waiving through the morphing tides. Mines was a disgraced entry, tortured and burned, thrown overboard with my chains still tied, melted partly into the make of my bone, made to stick by my darkened epidermis, made to adhere by the words which tossed me over, “a black beast from the east.”

It’s been a while since a voice has been documented in this blog, these are my words of contribution, while you ignore a solution, while you sniff that air up there of convoluted pollution, stifled air of shame and guilt, pain and wilt; that air with the sun burning a tan of difference, rays cracking your skin into black dark patches of cancerous dots. You sickened fools for not only are you ignoring us, the past which hinders your minds from easing into a pure future, but you also ignore yourselves, your own warnings of a plagued tomorrow. I think it best my kind stay in this lurking under current, where we know what we are, questioned as that may be, instead of lost fools idealizing the world they feel they will inhabit. The future is deem; night will soon strike your day, and keep it at bay, don’t fray the thin moments of reasoning left in the optical lens of history’s bifocals. Through them you will see us, one of the many wrongs you still have to make right. Best wishes as your future days become filled with fright.