“Aggro Monkian narco freaks”
“Readers to leaders”
“Man maketh fools and fools his making”

Some shit I see while quickly going through an old post barely recognizing it or the time I was in. I like it but then it looks like some Dadaesque Miller ranty protrusion, still pondering going full on force with the poetry and satire diatribalism. Used to think I should hold back and balance it with the traditional linguo of poetics; the authors I liked, D.H Lawrence with a smidge of Keats and Yeats, slam poets with the vigor and vinegar explosion. Structure can be good, I got past the freedom forever no lines on me attitude and scoffing at regiment and organized boundaries. Art with purpose and direction holds power. Creative works just held together by the flighty fanciful dreamy mind can crumble and fade into nonsense, oddball and bodkins I think. Thinking can kill and save me, you, we oui? Overthinking sometimes leads to no harsh words spilled, less jibes and hard barbs flung at bystanders and family members. Sullen quiet prevents forty tongue lashes. Is good. Is good.

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