Black Market Mercurio (part 3)

It….was a band named Radio back there in the day busting Frankies, perched peaked and preached about commercial competition but when covers turned over to seem brand new and they told those truths, and lived, accepted, advanced quicker the 20th century as free as we would ever be?..;, Radio launched heads; or should i say minds rip upside down backwards, split [the atom visual] so wake up champ. Champ. Wake up champ… Dulante turn screen into time, turns the swinging slamming creaks from them back screendoor into time the rebellion seemed indefinite but impossible, forced, slammed and obliterated in our mind all at the instant. We roll up dilapidation, beaten homes like we ready to make em gold. Soooo would hav made a different move if had known. Ahead of time. Sure there was a great collision… But what about for them?….. Up there. Out where.. “Dont giv me that shit theia.. aw shit who banged// smashed earth? Elliott Google that,” drip drip drip…instant.

When Radio explained them.. we finally accepted our infinity. When we reached the end before the roads stops….we accepted the heavens surrounding us. Go.To thinking these are simpler times, and the future smears sights at excruciating and grotesque speed too much to consume in this, the primitive period of the universe. Gripped in the probability of winning the lottery; the answers, the terrified  mystery… Quotes novel history. So studies upon lyrics/cliff notes led to the knowledge, and the shrink/zip files. They needs to just flint then spark into the overwhelmed, by and with creative madness; captured yet in that knot the whole universe and true reasoning of the traditional figuring of meant to be.. coincidentally, accidentally, or maybe yes means to be.. as they just knew they were. Meant to be. We were. And so, just the way art can …Let critics apply interpretations, which limit the meanings; but cut, snip that how they eclipse them before the collision…that sent a headful of ideas spread driving insanely sync-type saving raged in the glass city. Shattered in in its truth, opening the origins in the bottle, or in other words, in its forgotten roots, in space swirling spun unto an implosion sending us to the moon…and “oh how do you do all that needling of lines bigger and better in uncovered layers… Wait. My cycles are just spinning. Oh my oh my.” Evolved world Oh glory heed for grace had we evolved..this time leaving every trace. And if we dont let these folks change then they wont. If we don’t let them know what we talking about: Like mighty human skeletons, fossils of radio, those who will never hold the unknown… that’s punk ass fuckin hail- cuz they was brown. But dash-like skinhead punk popped with here we are, the very first civilization ever. We merely began when that short_curcuit it up – trying to stop us… Technologies advance 100 years, beam, bam. Faster. Faster. They ripped into the new century past the end of it all thinking like sheet We the first planet. We all jest startin up here on earth… and right here and now are the ancient times, the dark ages of the galaxy, universe, beyond, them. The ends and wherever they may be…. Dulante shoves a dobe ripping guts to sit on an old sofa. Giants leaping across stages, diving into arms like gods across pods, seeds/planets..too tremendous, spaceships..narrowly heard the attempt at escaping what an incredible dream to believe the magic that we could, or that we had somewhere to go. The bold gift #wewillgrowtoinfinity they screamed; and this lady I meant to introduce, she slipped the gem to us or from them. I cannot tell. But we are the Giants. We created ourselves… Let them develop, in your rage/mind; cuz here they must come. Thanks for living.

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Black Market Mercurio (part 2)

SO WHERE WERE WE? oh that’s right … waking and snaking faults as we cross the King bridge and on down into the East side; sifts pass through that veil of visions of methane consumed skies; but to eliminate that, and keep intact, that fishy smearing beautifully Echoes beams bright swelling river-like upon entering into an old village but all flash with blight, with pseudo America pieces scattered ripe as we sneaking the cure, fanning out subcity instantly ancient, aerodynamics accelerate barely by each other, motorized bicycles lazily purring among my kinda place.. maximized with Dulante’s digital tingles, flips open the air, replies swift thumbs and then mingles sweet plucks, strings, “roll a left main at Second” symmetrically grizzles, cornices are only two stories here, the classic wood shed, Frankies, rattles out #yourtheinspiration oh my heavens yes, in a live Emo-like cover in the daylight. Delighting kids in shreds of heavy styles with tough looks so ugly, tattoed, tear drops ever so slick and winking shirtless this tilted side-mouthed sick rips of language. And the oracular tinted glass; the private eyes pass, watching us. Squints, peers, subcity wire sags crook in the short mews, a sort of wasted feeling amidst a futuristically bound signal turning LED legs and leaving messages like leave the belts on, so D strums, “don’t make a-‘legal turn this whole move my dude.” As if we been awaiting all our lives For all the eternity for the scent of them roses we stop supposed to slam the brakes on, like they tick-marks, color pocks in the canvas of an oil painting; we don’t consider traditions, and the discovery of fire, or the passing on of tine like sone new dawn of wonder; oh ho how clever this deal will stamp time once again tho; we continue until astounded readers are wickedly engrossed in such disbelief of a real time and place still hoping to be under zooming cars and flying smooth thoroughfares of wireless avenues, and teleporting among all the magic; these awfully rough folks that will never thrive or morph like power rangers via some prophetic switch into that fantastic realm and sci-fi make believe; the future is fucked and rotten they grumble to ancestors no one else can see along Main St.. Yet, because of this little exchange and discovery we delivering into of all the places in the great states, the awful Holy East of Toledo. No chance right. Well…..This ‘Chicago’ folks;,,,, it’s only vitale enzymes and coolers of insulin and little boxes of everything from saccharine to probiotics that can sustain life anymore. For the benefit of all of man_kind. I must not fail. Check that. WE must not fail. Yet, if merely I think they reading this; the bionic future; alteredbeast ego of this baneful place; well then we did not. So onward we rolling…right….and illegal as shit without showering, feeling no swelling tho or shrinking from any cavities/in orifices/out pores.. Perhaps Chicago already curing the nonsense. Perhaps, but it’s driving me crazy nuts cuz it’s not real. It is not natural. I do not anymore know normalcy. Messing with my head. Or maybe it is; working. Oh the farcical imagination of it all….I just want to touch, drink the elixir of truth. The extended evolution Dulante clears, gone blues, throats, “yee, my dute..right down theer. We up in it now..” Just perfectly brainwashing, his voices waft between swimming and teetering with fearless attitude to ….well how do I explain; see, cuz there’s nothing wrong with us….outside. We look fine; as dark eye-circled and tough as the innercity, youthful; yet in these thoughts that escape his conscience i am considering in my inner operations and all the ensuing to be some invented personality, like does he have to make up hisself?, or is it like an accent? A character he portrays? Well, allergies wiped out on sleeves and snot rocketed, my my uncover the perspective that we hav none: allergies/issues/diagnosis… only…well, shit, only our imagination it seems so screamed inside with believing ANYTHING… As we making our way to turn over theese streets like adjusting publicate without a release. Theres no end and no beginning. Right here. toda!! today. nah, it’s been awaiting, been filtering through the black market for too long. this fancy cure like prohibition … Chicago! That little stretch of classic cocktail mainly like horribly developed via an old frontier town; that myth and historic mutated layout of epidemic, rose and invariably skyline a great looming wherewithal consuming defenses like forcing feeding immune systems with white noise. Bleaching, scrubbing, cleaning and clearing out valuable and naturally produced chemicals. And those born still possessing the full make up discontinued sparing stem cells {our most precious item in stock, guaranteed mmhmm} yes it takes gut, and the pit of them, the pacreas of humanity anymore couldnt thrive with thee overwhelming majority conceived with a malfunctioning the surreal nature of artificially simulating adjust the gut-flora and function interrupting peristaltic wave rhythms

Black Market Mercurio

Here It goes………NOw the ducking rage!! welldamn this phone! OH AND I GUESS THAT I JUST DON’T KNOW but that’s just about right headbanging violent hair LIKE sanguine mentioning of What does it mean (to be) cut from the team? – #thousandcleverlinesunreadonclevernapkins … Maybe.. OR perhaps I’m watching This fierce Jimi Hendrix filming thinking….with rashing cilia…Let me officially introduce to you Folks: the relay of the scene; where he first snares Eric Clapton’s stage and scares the dude disappearing off into sweet absent mirroring to a crowding cat, “holy crap is he that bloody good;” cheeky bastard…lmao—well like emailing myself back and forth with a little United Damnation…these eyes nebulating…got meeself all nibbling nails flowing for fucking up the rhapsody and unravelling truth following uncommon aligning to reinforce all the hearts …… –oh London [seems letting ears loose on the power of love dismantling the love of power; was inaccurate—] …damn .. No seriously, I’m reversing those bemusing scams and searching within hooking up a little bit on the dusting for these withered whims..AND WILL YOU TELL ALL YOUR FRIENDS…..let’s go.—- soft fantastic curiosity always so sneaking close to viral sensations way inside these extended atmospheres assumes the mimicking altered entrance to the plastic access: Instantly reflect accelerated inside corners to that’s right shoves so hype-ripped on the pavement in creasing intertwines careen, my my criss-crossed meterorite through these lensed leaned-in indescribable tunes, tones two dirt-shriveled typhoons burst instantly simultaneous Uncolliding the stars and unwarping crisp massive scattering snares of them beams cast…..Yeah, precisely edging back together rocks rolled with in-between burnt spaces fission with reddened rays crouching into vanishing points swelled into pinhole in pinhole beaten sky and land the spinning theory of one equation …pure mmm utterly furious unleash, unwrapping imagery going hot damn I will love reading to this switch. Then losing it over and over. Right. But Reorienting to the page such a speed to recover the freaking imagining [my ass blasted face down down across the floor and around corners] taking off to simply under the covers; explaining what it’s like to be the befuddled backing into how stories are for Steven. . And posts are for decks. Yet Back into interpretations limiting the meanings; right? That’s what I was going to be ………Amazing. While extending views mixing up oily kernels as im waiting for the man who’s a spLitting image reincarnated I swear of the experience…and like like always myyhead and wondering…..pickin up popcorn oh Clip, crap, readings and just cut to chasing of beautiful poetry. Nah, b like – this my wriggle boggles out of the ordinary; reflecting to my display hits just crowning, smothering this imp. Loading ways of backing into all my hope then bows for thee… running shortcuts to the surroundings, making the real seem impossible and just enhancing Everything In the soft blasting tunnel #thisallwasonlywishfulthinking #hotwednesdays_w//TakingBackSunday. As Youtube connect in nearly unheard whispering…there; as from outside my ride, a new light skies in, this very familiar brown peace, sits behind me. Perhaps into headphones neighboring, wiring clean out of hell caught on tape, spinning, one snip, two clips,, and this tremendous unbundling, curtains fling…“so my dude, move ‘at Chicago to the East??”…. slacked eyes exactly within three seconds beyond speakers’ scribble…, “Let’s Go-oh”, just eclipses every other reaction; revs the dribbling…..

Tut vs Jesus

I imagine galaxies like gears will calm dawn. tell you what the secret to your starss, alone… (in the;) – works; everytime!- re_writing the history books, reclaiming tut being jesus. Which batman goes, “what doesnt kill you, makes you stronger”. So superman protrudes, “its kryptonite.” …..but i hold my breath as the spectacle exumes and unearths and the skeletal remnants, then lifts the distinct holes, and the greatest ever hands unravels and i just know i know i know #wegotourownbrandof_hyper_spaaaaaa-aaaace who wrote the books?. I know i know.. How many times you going through his story? Strip away the medium. That place where it always filters and hides the truth. What if tut was jesus? Or his nemesis? What if the first civilizations that recorded and documented more thoroughly yet still contained the magic of life saw the gray skies clear and on the third day he rose, the sun returned…. it always rains good fridays. Always. So keep emotions in your head, keep your love. Keep whats real. The intangibles, every bit as strong as the belief in yourself. Acceptance. And following your heart. I have visions of old civilizations, a sense or a feeling thats probably general ignorance. But my intelligence says, quotes mostly, like rome was not built in a day…. and every picture tells a story. Well picture this: the olympics… the rings and the things that were made of; we will never know the mystery to the universe; so much fierce frustration to imagine it all…… just comes blurring me unnaturally, trying to envision. But my point is, its impossible to unravel, to dump out the infinity of the mind, its rage. So purely embrace,  be emboldened by your rage. The possibility of things. And you will find the meaning. And yes, my sweet dreams, something sacred in a thousand years of searching for Child Jesus and the girl child the two meeting in a typhoon of the bare essentials of life, polar opposites, opposing views such as people lived in places, undiscovered territories, maybe died off..like those traveling from the east and those documenting, those recording and inventing history, this vast place is truly outstanding to think that it remained empty, in the mountains the plains and valleys. my mind is so large to magician into picture its immensity.. history reads to me like bedtime stories and it did not simply unfold as its told. but in slow developing proceses. that makes me wonder; who was there in places and vanished without any trace or history, were not concerned with recording it; just like the many facets and branches of broken roads, the neighborhoods unfold in such fast forward motion, with infinite stories untold. . Its the awful presence just gone from history that perks the curiosity in me my dear readers; just like a figment of imagination or a place so fantastic it could only exist as fantasy. places we will never know. things completely unknown drive me nuts and i want to plunge into the heart and the bright ignorance of the traditional earth and the slimey oozing divine living, all of her twists and divisions, i want to exprience every room and corner of places on the map, i want to explore plans as they come into fruition, and life, funnel what is and what will never be in and throughout so much as time space and expanse all the ineffable shining. hear you me Fin. and sound your horn, come out from your cave. I get visions that connect civilizations and fill gaps in history before it became historical documents, the last land ahead of giants. hang moon, rise at my winded sight. Change! My life i just cant pretend. Ricochet to the spirit. echo everlasting; Would i fair better someplace else? Could i climb up.. from anywhere … and slay the giant? God? Story? Can i write a new one? Afterall the…..rage?

If i could talk to Ed

Poe, .(…to know the end before the heart stops)Ignore the ambiguities and lock the brakes. we found our roses. mmmm SMELLIN SOMETHING about silver satellites and the sky sync to that switch just a flip upon the looming, oooowone more gold wherewithal slip..click..yeah..telescope-magnify right in the canals to passively -phoom! utilize/transport/land on the moon. From the light of the dark black night/The great seashell craze… All, needling lines curved bigger and better in formation than the actual fast-as-the-eyes-can see speakers hitting the fan…. Ahhh seize and stand on the brink of cosmic breaking point. and go – No. Then shit burst quite back like a little scribble of infrared glass erupting soundtrack and on and on enveloping as a reminder of how it’s such a fine metaphor he was driving nuts about… Eddie I just gone left in the feeling, sensations, and I just sharing with you my dude….So, for the honesty, I can’t ignore…. either; but let me explain – here comes the Suns burning scrambling from the time. Upon and into Imagining the grand influences erupting within; the constant drip drip drip you heard, oh Edgar.. mines a continuous wash..seashell rush, until switch/breaks light up and gets me twisted as flux that i must keep shedding of…. unveiling to _all #weknewthisiswhatforevermeant