Iron Vice Sanity

 I thought only the insane could understand our “sane” society. I pictured a man with sharp eyes and tight lips rubbing his hands from the cold and within his mind lingered the darkening thoughts of the errors in our construction. So much was unconsidered and left for surprise upon the often helpless. Charles Bronson never considered one thing in his life. Living always in the present, in violence. But only enlightened professionals of a given trade or focus that have the capability of considering the future can give a mediocre psychoanalysis of Charles Bronson and believe maybe that some part of you is bettered or worsened by your viewing of such a dark, moustache smiling goat path of blood and knuckles stained with artwork. How much pain endured only to meet human eyes and only smile while you take eternal rage and malice out with the only weapons given to you upon birth? The only reason Charles Bronson is the most famous prisoner in Britain is because he let loose the gold and red eyed demon from its blood-iron stained prison. I would like to meet Charles Bronson. Maybe fight him. Cause then I could be certain if her truly enjoyed his violence or was just too emerged in a façade that was no longer in his grasp to control.
 We pour so much money into authorities and comforts for prisoners and the criminally insane, because part of us needs them. Conforming to financial strategists, killing off the wicked and insane would be ensuring, yet this would yield all strings to our minds and our humane defecation to humanly sick individuals; generating a 21st century twisted form of Equilibrium. Too much to ask.
 There has got to be some stable ground left to walk on, else all would be mirrors of hope in a paradox of Plat’s allegory of the cave in which sanctuary looms every on the brink of attainment. So why don’t you take steps away from being alone, when the insides have rotten away the dead flesh, pain was just another trial on the road to understanding all of life’s little treasures. Ah because, “Solamen miseris socios habuisse doloris.” Mephistophilis dwelled too deep in the doctor’s mind, and what he released was his untamed dystopia to which he could cure in his mind. With knowledge, brought destruction of such a need or desire.
 Our memories hold the key to our futures, for surely we are doomed to repeat the tiniest of “mistakes” that linger in our minds and eventually demand demise from such occurrences, and the life-line is cut. The building beside me shadows my thoughts from the sun’s wisdom, and the cold shields its lust like a phalanx. But its just a crack in the surface. Expanding and splintering away the adamantine glass steal that will surely provoke our untimely end. But at least we saw it coming.
 Take this measure of peace, and in its warming orange aura in dark fall leaves, lock yourself against its embrace and be damned if you let go.

 And when the memories are all left behind and the days have gone forever, lost within my mind. I came to this once, and so I come to it again. The darkness ever fettering on the bounders of my sanity unscathed when in the eye of the storm. Glimpsing inward from neutrality, however, inflicts shame and bewilderment. When the steal doors close, when one is truly alone, then critique and judgement can be passed by the self alone. For none know the heart better than its benefactor. Such was Esther’s conflict; not knowing to whom her life-blood was being sent to when she awoke. But just as the Old Forest compares to Mirkwood, the tyrants of our world cross and weave, avoiding interaction with their creations amongst the trees. Then it hardly matters which fucking forest your in. But it does! It matters because we choose it does.
 Smoke before my eyes. I put it there. I dare its influence to stand before my degradation and my resolve. Satan had no fame in heaven, but now remains our fictional personification of evil. Why should Milton glorify Lucifer? He doesn’t have your sight behind his back. For faith, I give to you:

Why In God’s Plan
Did he make the
Devil so much stronger
Than a man

 Spare me the senseless babble explaining our trials for his satisfaction of our purity. I heard once that religion was meant once to be a shared illusion, bringing false assurances and peace of mind to the masses. The only problem with this plan were those who refused to participate in the illusion. They widened the cracks in the promises, and subtly split the fabric of the goal in half. So after the thousands of years of bloodshed in the name of faith, the crusades, religious genocides, warrrrr, terrorisssssssssss……
 All this and it turns out people such as myself are the problem and always have been.
 That’s if you buy this particular view. I don’t.
 But trouble not to decide which way to fall over the fence, for the grasp is loosening regardless of resistance. When the hand reaches forward, slow and tentative, and pushes away the film of dust, then they will understand why we loved, why we hated. Too many tear drops on the window panes, before you stop looking out.