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Disciples to the Streets


I know why I did it, I also know why it had to happen; but, all in all, it was absolutely terrifying. Especially when I chose to look at it a certain way. Through a certain sense of course. There is definitely a form of survivor’s guilt. I fear the seas on which we sail will always be tempered, even on the calmest of days. It all must take it’s natural course. Truthfully, I wouldn’t have it any other way. Despite it’s maelstroms, there is always something to rejoice in the name of. Peace is always upon the shoulders of the disciplined. The whole thing shows promises. Just this once I see a flicker in the darkness. We are circled, smoking around the fire. The hounds of hell are laughing. We are just disciples to the street. With a solid plan and perfect execution; the lifestyle would pay us. He hopes to leave them inspired. Tonight he will be attending the press conference on himself, with himself, for himself. Or at least he believes it is for the benefit of himself. remember, the renaissance happened directly after the dark ages. It is now time to paint a picture with words.

Le tme tell you about myself. I feel that I am the smartest, dumbest person ever. No, no more self deprecation. I only walk on sunshine henceforth motherfuckers! I don’t have time for an impartial witness. I believe in people, I believe in magic, I also believe in evil, ghosts, and demons. Yet again, balance to the force. That is, if you believe. however, if you do, it’ll freely flow through you. It is just simply liberation. Life is just a horse race. We are all betting, and we are all racing. I remember as a kid when a thunderstorm was about to hit, I would always be as anxious and scared as I was joyous and excited to wait out the storm. The new stuff is organic, never too high a price, or does it cost you everything you had? They’ll starve you. If you are lucky enough for them to feed you, it will be shit. It seems these days loyalty is worth just a penny. Like the ones I used to find at the laundromat so many lifetimes ago. He wasn’t bitter, he was hardened by the process. It was as if a single drop of water had been cast off the mossy rock and slowly made it’s way to the riverbank. After a brief moment of taking in both the view and the journey he dove right into the river. however, he was a drop of water, as was the river. therefore, they immediately became one. The art of fluency had allowed him to grow one thousand fold. He now was the river. The river was him. The idea of permanence became a pillar of hope and relief. A maneuver of continuum.


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