Pop and popular may not miscx

what is popular may not see practice
for popularity is also discourses of empathy
or rather distinctions between empathy and sympathy
know when a “no” is good, to either discrete or holistic units
of doing things — but these amoreux-flights are told to be only
parts and not wholes. Sometimes it is profitable, sometimes it
is not. We learn the separations  with a hard-mouthed, gritting,
gut-wrenching, teeth-grating, sanity-blowing perseverance. We
deserve a medal — ordinary people who feel these pressures
receive no economic recompense nor even a pat in the back,
or a meaningful searing, respectful kiss and-or embrace. We
embrace white hot rods that appear as neon-shifters. Like a
electro-cream sky blinking away the freckles of teary-stars and
introducing the botox of smoggy immaculance.  I have my moon
of peace, versatile in passions and swift to adapt but never
shrugging off the cores of responsibilities or giving itself a
face-life to annihilate its smidgens of grey. A flower cannot exist
without petals; the moon cannot exist sans its craters, it’s weight
of monochrome and coloured references. We can plastic-bag the
moon, easy on the choke and yet it can’t or won’t eradicate. I hear
and see pop, like a weasel, sometimes tough to the eyes at times
tender. I see big booties and sterile cooties, I see body part gluttons
— at times I understand the preoccupations, other times I do not.
— so easy to reject or accept egregious with charm? If you love
can you love without pride? The dignity in your bones shudder in
non-compliance as they refuse to melt like candles in front of celebrity
who attempts to coax out and coagulate the cerebral, the canorous heart
and soul diameters of your Damocles sword and Apollo armour. They
forget that God Almighty has given you the power to sway them more so
that they can sway you. They see as a statistic? Well, you see them in
parts, isolated to your liking, who wields more then? A statistic is a non-person
so it is never you. Sometimes in my sleep, I sleep these too as my inner sanctum
that to some extent I carry on the dialogue though I rather do  these awake for
sleep is for the soul. A God’s Blessing, you communicate with specters and nuances
inside yourself or remember tokens of others fantasies, other projections that is not
self or selves but rather a rumination of phenomena. Yet it is popular practice to reduce
or alienate you in the torture chamber of negative or overpowering stimuli or rather non-stimuli
the pound bricks of silence. Make the noice and silences of you, channel your own walls and
skies for a fractured narrative which one could not fragment oneself on is pitiful. I dance with the Modernist
and Postmodernist for both are important — an extension or Western of Shariah and Sufi parables maybe Europeanized
yet important to touch a bit. Magic realism has many bearing in life that is why in physics (n) can be the number
of dimensions. Popular may not be put into practice. For popular can vary a bit but we practise a slave’s uniformity
— not routine or daily habits of ourselves but rather a reiteration of some other man’s violences or woman’s dominatrix
obsessions. Obsessions creep in and out of you; you become a body of avid obsessions. Though the popular is the

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