“So while I finds excuses to run around like no other, I whimper and wince and find a safe place to reside.
I consider the future, and I examine the past,
I compare the results before me with the expectations I once had.
I know enough about what I’ve been told, and I enjoy the blessings that shined my way down to the shoreline.
This place is familiar,
but so strange with its remorse,
only for the curse that I relied on to excuse my best efforts.
I tame the beast of carnal instinct for once, and charm the guard that I left up at my highest peak. Patrick Michael,
my super ego that passed, the finding of my second spirit, the queer always knowing that conscious being that was trained by those who had been flying with eagles and crows to soar over this shameless choice.
There had been decisions made upon my behalf that I wished I could be responsible for,
without knowing the answer,
my ego brought my id through the door.
When we move on through to this side,
I know we prepared with tools and packed our bags with all the things that made me this way.
I See that gate every damn day,
and I wonder why certain aspects take it the wrong way.
I only know what happened to my identity in a certain way,
locked in a safe waiting for me to recover the self without debt,
how did my livelyhood become so congested with fake fanatic pragmatism,
what does this freedom of choice look like when I don’t know for sure what you did to deserve yours? Is this perogative necessarily combined with a different state of mind, does my calibration of four solid shapes include the psychology of the infamous school house slate?
Might I be able to find a resource to prorate the mistake?
Is there chemistry involved when making love,
did I just destroy the physical action of creating the spirit when nothing else would?
Have you got a way to find my origin seperate from your enemy?
Is there a way to setup a breakaway from the calamity of insanity,
that terrifying label that categorizes my name into a different place,
metadata calculating a culmination of the metaphysics, the archemedian solids might complicate my realizations,
But don’t you know how to prevent a natural selection disaster?
You swear on your word to be nothing more than a little bit paradoxical,
not too computed,
and not at all seperated by the illusion,
just shaping my own vision of what this presentation looks like,
I thought statutes of limitations would gather a pile of trash there and recycling suggestions of the dictionary,
Just a couple of hidden hands that nobody knew could wind up for the punchline,
I could be wrong to chisel away at granite when the dust will brush off my effigy with a damn good looking Ken doll…but hey wait….am I more than just real estate?
Is this place even here at all, or is the satellite channel radio station I fused with in another location,
this is just as confusing as real time rendering of illustrated apathy.
Ok, so I guess my work is working harder that my enemy but only because I don’t have to wait to get this in my own voice and hey wait…is there anything else I’m missing or did that paragraph just outline a concept that is beyond me?” – Patrick Michael, a transmission from the communications engine for the spirit, TaurianTorus.com