The practicalities and impracticalities of revolution may be incessantly questioned at the will of the manipulator and his minions, a twitch in his muscles and we're given a request to disperse.Though even in the face of sunlight the conviction of those in question will not be revoked or squandered. A curious will, a curious way, within the bounds of perception you play. To say the same thing once over, twice over, thrice. In the eye of authority nothing seems to resonate but bewilderment at such an incongruous sight. Though wasn't it they who instilled such a wide array of conformity within the eyes of their audience? The audience whose sole priority is to feed the machine, be the machine, create for it, and nurture it as if it were living with flesh around it's less than cozy exterior.   There was a mistake in the masterpiece when the apple was picked, when the references were ambiguously twisted and convoluted, coated in chocolate and fed to you as shimmery advertisements yielding much glamour and pseudo-appeal. The appeal becomes real through you, through those who pick up an opinion and wash themselves in it with such thoroughness that it spreads and infects others. The immunity is insatiable, become desensitized, the contrived ticker-tape running it's course in your mind. 

dusk comes rather adventitiously,
through doors and atop windowpanes
caressing the surface

become worthy, become gone, become god
become an all encompassing, all empowering entity
omnipotent and neutral
you are a prisoner of your own home
an inescapable means to live
bound up, wound up
drown out by violence and non-violence
muddled by conversation both of means and of the mundane
obfuscated
bursting with life and with vivacity
but check the left palm and you'll find misanthropic mountains
rupturing and ruling
contracting the disease of the damned