I Swear (to Death)

Dissolution of time, cut with a knife, a faulty one, it manages the crust.
Punctured by stylistic attempts, 
in a balance between public opinion and super-articulated rambling. 
Let’s get obsessed over [materials], 
think them into images of faith in the image itself. 
Conspiracies generate historical historicity, it all goes straight to ambiguity, 
but is there any other way to conceptualize a period?
Nostalgia seeping into principalities governed by the lumpen, cocktail without alcohol, 
you get drunk by fac similes produced through promotion of delusions. 
Illusionists of the macroing out, Analysts of the microing among. 
Idiosyncrasies don’t shine but in retrospect, territorial broiling settled, 
self-reflecting fables counting evolution like it’s a baseball match’s profit on the hotdogs; longing glitters on PINES.
Modern suicidal tendencies for gaining a birthday’s approval, 
tenacious crafting of speculation in the realm of time, governed by colonialist plains. 
Inventive chaos blind to self-preservation, 
because a competitive race imposes heterogeneity in patterns of doubt, 
    hesitation & irony. 
Supplying complications to obstruct your eyes so that you may see better. 
Creeping resentment towards technical progress, 
permanency of memory proportional to the changes’ speed in the metamorphic escapade. 
History spaces’ wistful corrosion to socialize meters 
of accelerative qualities superseded by uncertainty as the freeing umbrella. 
I is Reborn in hybrid style drugged up by fading lines that where never lines in the first place, 
just because now it has more resources to sift through.