Unreal Estate Part V... Karma Place near cooked

There lurks about a predatory zeal until commissioned vultures lose patience with its appeal, until cut and run is more fun than the economics of the unreal and the gifters who now practice a catch and release, now with fading incentive to tease with a tug of the bait, no more reason to hurry a locked in rate, growing weary of the fading potential for their compensation date. And though this of late has been our fate, we remember with whom we now stand; new found friends and community in hand. And few can possibly refute our intentions to project our particular attributes, conventions and convictions where lines are drawn in the sand, we now sit awaiting the next portal to jump through... because that is what we seem to do. Until then, we need another experimental martini party.

unreal estate part 4... karma place cont'...

Percentages analyzed via templates of actualization, the brokers of gifts sling unreasonable rates of return across polished surfaces, papers gliding effortlessly, minutely elevated by a thin buffer of air, something the slingers are practiced at, their way or the highway. Served up, then rejected upon receipt, we sit stifled by our unwillingness to delve deeper into the ultra-indentured abyss known as the super-cult of indebtedness. And as the equinox approaches and as the days shorten and the sun dims, so does the potential for procurement. Amazingly, we are increasingly okay with that.

a brief reflective tic...

Hey ho! It’s five oh; an anniversary of inhales and expels, so to speak. A half century of consumption of anything palatable (reasons for sustenance noted) and some things not (because I wanted to be somewhere else), transformations to waste and waist but wait, there’s more. A checklist of memorable reflections shows amongst the struggles for significance I have accumulated multiple accounts of pissing and sniffing, minimal occurrences of personal or public ascensions thus minimal reasons for delusions of grandeur, and an overwhelming sense of overall dissatisfaction with the quality of air I've been previously inhaling and expelling. I've never found a woman I would die or kill for, and that’s normally preferred though I have found a few I could overcompensate for, and have. My understanding of previous mistakes exceeds my willingness to make more, yet I'm not foolish enough to think I have no foolishness left in me. There has been an increasing seepage of "twang" into my speech and mannerism as noted by those close. Though suspected eventually inevitable due to a familial rooted hick-ness, this is not as annoying as I thought it would be and since left-wing intellectual hick is in vogue in certain mental environments... like the Edison Inn Tavern, I’m going to take up swing dancing with my ever so tolerant and lovely wife.

unreal estate part 3... karma place cont'...

The squeaky wheel gets the grease, bearings packed full, fluid frictionless divinity. Gravy on the potatoes is nice, glistening, pepper and brine, a meld so fine flowing past the palate, comfort food in a paranoid world. But secured risk repellent doused upon the infestations of imagination and creative processes... that is where true contentment thrives. Satisfaction guaranteed.

Where else can a lending entity legislate such security but within the realm of venture... a one-sided lop where trickledown eventually erupts up, with interest compounded. Potentiality is risk to be carried on backs of those with the most to lose. What if the bearers of such a forced and enforced pretence do not wish to carry the priority, the same value of what is threatened lost? What if no one gave a flying fuck?

Requirements now include the tax returns of a besieged ideology, fearful of the repressions currently leveraged. The risk repellent becomes the repelled, a foul taste is left in the face of the gifter and considerations are denied. In the meantime, nothing has changed.

fissure-proof no-fault default...

a discharge
a motion spewed
a thought imprinted
a projectile
intended not to splinter
but instead to mold an adherence

collective life by default
and we fear otherwise
apprehensive tip-toeing
intuitive dulling
blanketed by bland misinformation

while they protect their brothers’ backs
and we validate our reasons
sanctioned
glorified
they die for someone else’s reasons
and we cry

the sound of the dull impact
then the rip of penetration
a passing through
an exit
dual gaping portals leaking life
a generous pour across thigh to foot
collapse
unconsciousness
disintegration
rot
dust