You spoke of terraformation, against the raging tides of fashion’s beauty that has yet to speak to you in subversive tones. But yes, Generation X. You can’t but help to hear them speak to you in those ways of rebellion. You smile and wave them inward, inside the wildest heaven awaiting them beyond the speculation of death, for now, we are alive, and although thirty something now, we now have the podium. And why is it that those of the rebel spirit have automatically gone underneath the ways of the approachable conservatism? Watch as the catechisms of the religious scheduled realism seer the branding on some poor kid’s arm involuntarily just to score some pain killers. Hear the tearing of a heart obsessed with retrospection of the early nineties when the confused abstractions of a new day screamed across the sky; and the razing walls all around your late eighties drama with the purposeful days of watering stills. Pacifism into the living breaths of the congress firing into the educated, loyal, but awash with the coming nineties where they had their time with DXM and marijuana through the bongs of love and bonding and hope. Now listen to the Filth Pig preaching into the Reiflin nothingness, for the epiphany of the subdivisions hiding away in the fall’s leaves while the single bested ties landing gentries of Russian lies, and the jingles of America shine against the signs of the times while you and he and all the rest find residual lugubriousness; but, to mourn the decent deserves was only a play against the business sacraments addressing the politics as a quick and able redundant and exhumed lay a way on the calling of ennui. Are you bored yet? Following the monkeys while the calling comes into the brave and simple to deserve, and there you are, trying to figure out why you are alive right now. Alive and speculating in loquacious bleeding to the ones to talk to while you sleep in the groves of drug enlightenment. You talk in your sleep. The allegory of last meeting with a girl regarding your charm as though it were the best story ever told. You say all about the reasons that your current love is nearing the best ever delivered to you, and although you spend all your days thinking of the next best love to come, you wonder why you are even loved in the first place. Why me? What have you done to see that there is something strange going on tonight. You watch your friend, he is wild and bright. You don’t know why the only thing separating you from the rest is the enlightenment of creating your own world, your own dreamscape for her. Now what has happened before when the glued eyes have saved your life? The furies are breathing down your neck. It might do, but the world listens to your heart bleed, and watch the psychedelic walls melt for him, and he doesn’t care anymore, for the only thing that really matters is the reality that everyone else is experiencing; but, is that the way to live? To live underneath the covers of something so unexpected and godforsaken lovely while a thorn in the side of Jesus. Here is a game to play now. The calling of the best deserved In place of my personal drive to expose the onset of the living, and the bizarre thing is the two things that have regarded me as being a benefactor were my dreams and my fantasies bending time and extinguishing all alluded cries for some victory to come. Now the simple prop. Watch the loved ones crumple the poison ptomaine. I write my tome for you, mio capalavoro . Now the occupation has begun to submerge in the dignity of the Rapture. Theologians smile in the fear of a complete outcome in a crazy time of deception, while the rug is shaken into the fireplace. Meaningless outcomes of 2012. The negro will be President again.  A puppet, a misconceived antidote for the harbored ghosts we’ve all felt kneeling at our feet to support the other races, while the races of black and red and yellow smile to the new found glory in the way that the White’s feel guilty for their sins. Awe, isn’t that too bad. Listen to the glory of the united front of educated men and women without jobs that they are qualified for. Listen to the glory of those sleeping times. Fly away into the barren night and smile while we take your picture—grin brightly against the sun’s ethereal rays. The pearls of wisdom fall out of your mouth like the waters of Niagara Falls into the valley below where Houdini smiled for beginning the trampling of the waved intoxication’ s fertile entertainment and Spiritualism of the eighteenth century had nothing to do with the paranormal. The ectoplasm out of those Medium’s vagina was all a hoax. Believe it or not, says Houdini, but it is true, and the only answers of all time lie in the convoluted ways of your heated brain. Let him help you create a  world of your own, and help me terraform the gentle Universe of my life.