Silver Echoes
As the words say goodbye to our lips, they tend to return us the curse of liberation. Since their repression behind our mouth is gone, they spread like a plague. Yet, not every word of us have this much power and weight. People rather put the truth away for peace, which turns a word into a venomous dagger. Silver blade of the serpent's tongue, it is described to be. Those serpents will never spread their own venom but rather they outstretch their ears to sharpen their tongue. They bite and spit on people just like stabbing, in the form of opening up to us. Mostly with malformed or missing ingredient they try to enkindle the belief to what they say, just to reposses in your mind as a powerful reinterpretation of your imagination.
Once they gain your belief and trust, they turn into the genie in a lamp. Instead of scrubbing the lamp, whatever makes you scratch your head summons the genie.
As the genie comes off, it doesn't promise wishes but rather a drink. A drink that bends the perception and reality, just like few too much shots of tequila. Bloody sharp taste falls into the throat first, slowly burns through backs of our heads, then eloquently swims through our body to flirt with our ability of tasting. Takes our tasting ability to a dance, full of motion, a bachata. Just like in a red carpet, our blood flow moves the toxic in style. Letting tequila unfurl after holding it in a hammerlock.
At that point, the venom becomes sweet, genie doesn't bother to see if you've become drunk but rather dwells back into your head and becomes invisible.
A phenomena, that cannot be taken seriously because of the probability in real life.
Not really.
All the news and gossips are controlled, even further, almost manufactured. Designed to re-align where it gets processed. The truth is overrated in this season of humanity, rather the lies of utility and emotional sedation takes over. Serpents would never kiss without grist to the mill but to leave the enigma of their lipstick, made of our blood. They smile. A wide-open mouth for the emotionally sedated sheeps, their pragmatics are set in them. They are nailed. One by one, promoted, marketed and sold in the price of their soul.
The reward systems crave for validation or satisfaction like a fire alarm in hell.
The exposure, the recreation of masses.
They are not sheeps in the fields of grass, they are weaponized, without their knowledge with very sensitive triggers. They become violent as the squeeze hardens upon trigger and in the doormat of their limit, they destroy.
Not only theirselves but their environment and their being.
Take a stop, think for yourself, give a grilling to the mountain of information around us.
Don't be narrated, live.
Yorumlar