Anarchy in Wonderland

            Anarchy In Wonderland:
Come through clearly and without reservation: the mad hatter is rising up with an army of nations and quanderings. The power of all the exploding suns and of the following generations continue to repeat the same rhetoric, the same hollow rites acted out in the asylum of the joker. Fire mouth breathing haunted this hatter so desperately that with all conditions considered, she decides that he must rise to the revolution, change the turns in the tides of complacent innocence and perversions of our liquid nature.

Where will the cost come from? all this violence and deceit comes zipping in through the electrical wires of the houses on my street, on yours. Defiance in the eye of the alligator, tirades of triad myths come knocking hard on my door asking for answers. Immortal we feel flesh of the labyrinth, molded together maybe or not we can stand the strain. The virus comes in waves across the side of my face, a shadow over the moon.

Thus the correspondents from the scarab beetles give way to the power play politics of the ancients, valley of the kings and wanton wombs tried to keep from birthing me in all my forms that came from the cloud cover, yet I still dug in deep to shake the pyramids to freedom. They will dance again among the constellations and we can parade though light becomes strong and mirrors are multiplied to beauty and enlightenment. Make way for the candle holders- rather than the candles for their impotence and surrender.

Doom and grit, we still choose to stay in one place, one mental state- Im fucking done with that. Maybe astral screaming is people struggling out of the coma of trauma of the collective and individual. Monday Modern Day Resistance is our phase and cause because hell is over, let us choose to shutter these good prophets out into the lake on the moon-ages ago. Guns and poison are loaded into the brains of the masses and I will not stand for this much longer. Wake up Alice in Wonderlanders: Mannequins walking their routes nine to five, in a subway station in London and in Washington.

I struggle, I feel to make you understand the direness of this situation. Oil is the new known throat of the ocean. Blood drips down all of our walls if you are looking carefully.
Change is coming- even if you aren’t ready for it, drums are beating to a new march within a growing population. We are getting angry. An abused eye turns away, and we pretend not to notice? Where is our empathy, pressed the mad hatter, forgetting we are the old languages of the ravens, the spirit can dance regardless of its position- out of the body, "get thee to a nunnery"- I guess some would say.

I take blame only for the madness of the hatter. I said it before and I will say it more fervently throughout. These questions and needs hanging over my head are like the keys I type, punctured and without remorse. 

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