And thus we pedal into the puddle, rippling every pixel of the puzzle as it bubbles for the thrill of a little struggle, but even a simple rebuttal will render a system crippled, like a million cynics when huddled will buckle the bridge in the middle. Life’s a bitch with a sickle and the will to swing it at random, whistling opera anthems and leaving disfigured phantoms, once handsome. When self-perception alone is a lethal weapon, we build a castle of mirrors using just our neighbor’s reflection, dressed in a festive costume, looking like Warhol models, “i promise to be standing when the last domino topples,” said Picasso to his canvas prior to cubist blueprints, ’cause he pictured a circle of life spun with Rubix improvements, and thus, art became more than simply amusement for the bandwagon passengers, critics, and rebel students. It’s evolution with a capital R that starts a riot, it’s that moment when the caterpillar metamorphosed to pilot, to infinity and beyond, we wander until we’re honored, like the night the child conquered a closet of conjured monsters, for fear of being afraid, we’re made to believe a system, but a system of belief is something completely different, thus we’re victims of a capitalist hoax practical joke, where fifty percent of us sit with anchors, the other half of us float and cut away the ropes that mold us, controlling our focused motives, it’s like learning about voltage while holding a bowl of explosives over an open flame that glows in a knowing brain that is going against the grain of a motoring clone on novocaine. A rose is still the same even by a different title, so i chose to be the poppy that arose to rival the cycle, with one hand on a shovel and integrity in my free hand, waving at every man living life in a sardine can.
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