Mad Props

“I pick up where I left off without worrying about the next drop off the old hat,

the place I forgot where I was at when I got mad about the propaganda machine twisting and turning these little vague truths into something worse.

This is as bad as it got and it’s going to get better from here,

our shamanic staff infection was only relevant to the media in which our seeds of life grew.

The soil was more than dirt,

it was richer than that which you propegate your unheard word of your higher being that taps in to your caps,

the top of your brain that balances the act.

The show that just go on because it’s business as usual,

now that you know I can research truth, will you hire me again next time?

Will you find my sources to be useful?

It’s only real if it affects your brain,

I don’t care how deep the information makes it,

but you’re right,

only take it to heart if it’s real to everyone.

Everybody gets this now and we can gauge reality without punching through,

this is airation for the field that gives us borders to see through.

I know I crossed the line quite a few times and I’m sorry not sorry for showing you the goal.

The present of control,

the gift of talking your ear off or making you fall asleep while I lecture,

it’s almost unfair where I pull this material from,

but keep in mind I’m not quilting or stitching the fabric of reality unless I know the source is more valuable than garbage juice.

No the cultures that I stitch together will give you relief of the work you do,

so don’t be worried if there’s nothing left to do when I’m done.

I made this poem for all that can hear me so don’t lose your mind if you got dropped off by the hat that came off when I popped the lid on this piece of work. “

– Patrick Michael

A transmission from this channel, the communications engine for the spirit,