Brother, With A Purpose

What makes a brother grit his teeth and turn the other cheek in the face of the plague doctor holding scythes instead of syringes? What makes a brother wiggle at the knees as his turn approaches instead of building a fortress?

Is it apathy?

What can you do when the clock keeps ticking you off? Time endless slipping off the rim of a holy grail soiling your crotch halting you from getting off?

Is it the grind?

The affliction is a feeling of lonely cold that permeates to the very core of one’s oblivion. Who or what is responsible for this feeling to be, so many touched by they’re cursed hand? Have they no pride?

Is it vanity?

What can a sister do when she’s knocked out, dragged a bout, and out? It’s not the unexpected as much as it’s a wow, a happening usually accompanied with  “Wow, this is bullshit.” Erasing tempter and hysterics from the equation, what is the correct human response?

Is it The Loathing?
Yes. And it’s called being afflicted!

When you expect more from The Loving, a loving society after pondering the wow, even still day after day, you have to wonder. If the far beyond outer reaches of space are truly so far away from us, perhaps we’re already there. Oh, and maybe god isn’t up far in heaven, perhaps he’s already inside all of us. Isn’t that how that chain of thought goes these days? [wave of the hand] Meh…..

Blame it on the affliction.

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