Home Life

Tribal Cosmopolitan that is.
Gene pools, movies stars.
Have a heaping helping of our hospitality
in this etheric frameup of time/space non-locality.

Don't I know how to manage my domestic affair!
I can now Google my daydreams and random thoughts that
enter my mental gateway.

I have set work hours during the weekdays.
Limited range of work with in 3 parsecs of homonid planetary base.
I find work disagreeable and agreeable on a binary switch that flip-flops in
a range of femto seconds. Governed by an internal non-reality clock that mimics
the external sensory field in close proximity.

Strange Games. Homelife is a submarine who's hatches are painted and open for FedX
and UPS. These are the prime movers. Mostly, I bellow within the bowels of my sturdy
ship, knowing at best she can withstand a sudden 3 psi overpressure.
Still, I fret and stew about Japanese dive bombers coming in. Although not involved personally
with any of the world wars, the very crust of this Earth hide is magnetically imprinted with
the hostile aggressions carried forth in yon younger day.

My conscious perceptions of my surroundings likened to a thermodynamic inversion.
Whereby I am intricately interwoven into the immediate circumstances.
There remains some small part of me that has merged with Timbuk3 somehow back
in the 1980's.

I struggle to extract my essence from most of the unwarranted ingress of my early
deluvian existence. I have tried cloistering myself in a small room that was packed densely
with fresh hops blossoms as I listened to chanting monks on an Ipod for 16 hours.
I found no resolve, albeit a raw ravenous hunger abetted by depravity turned upon my own soul. Running naked down abandon railroad tracks, I fled my home.

Again, why is natural carbonation non detrimental?
Why is carbonated commercial beverages damaging to the cells?
There is no love in the giant cold CO2 tanks that traverse long asphalt highways.
Dock into mass bottling plants and recharge depleted vessels with carbon dioxide.

My 'honey-do' list reads:

You will be father to all the children
Get everything that you don't want.
Paint and touch up large tribe of unknown Africans
Replace brain filters

I don't quit or stop along the wayside to chit-chat.
My dustpan is always full and my lower back is a hinge for an enormous door.
I am a dutiful creature. I revel in my insipid universe of stadium capacity loneliness.
Have you ever seen a picture of the Sombrero Galaxy?
The whole thing has reached enlightenment, no dark spiral arms.
It demonstrates the static harmonic wave resonance within the universe.
The idea of a linear event, 'big bang' is a mental trap for the wage slaves who
dwell as denizens on dim orbiting globs in makeshift habitats throughout creation.

My heart, a field of battle where all have been hurt and killed ad infinitum.
Looking for a wave of fresh love from the great heart of God while the dead and dying
transform their shape and compositions.
I feel as if I must design an interface device whereby I may communicate with the
ocean stingray. These alien creatures must be keeping tabs on quite a few events
of this planetary saga.

There is no home life. This deception is a medicated travesty of senile banking interests
and shareholding pressure cookers.
Managed compliance optimized by hopeless reflex response of the working class generations.
Moreover, it's become a life behind a dashboard. The construct is based in a distorted mythos
and dependence of members to become compliant or face ridicule and scorn.
There can be no home here if a fellow man is expending milliwatts of his cellular
engine on toil and anguish. The draw of misery quickens all men unto a demise unimagined
across all oceans and space.

Otherwise, I open my home to spiders. Some of which may have shrunken due to lack of
nourishment. I adore a nice tight juicy spider butt. They are wise and creative.
Know who, when and how to bite, if the need arises.
My home, it's a crawl space with eight foot ceilings.

Marc