the exceptional me
cosmos by johnnyred777 often in times of flux and upheaval, when some truths lay buried in despondent shadows, come the snake oil salesmen selling their cure for our ails. their laughter is parse, glinting with arrogance. their faces reptilian. their eyes like geckos. our art becomes reality. the real truth is as bare as the laughing skeleton. these salesmen will squander their authority with enmity to prove that the entitlement gripping their frontal lobe in a daft seizure is worth their ignorance. they will proclaim to rid the bodies of the guilt they project upon it; the guilt they carry underneath for their inability to include and grow from a place beyond the self. their ego's roots have swarmed the light of the mind and they will be dragged through the earth for an age or so to reveal their roll as a seasoned henchman in the grand kleptocracy. oh how god can be so gracious a devil and loving parent. of course the gentlepeople built from the truth will lack words or unity for...
