I have a natural habit that I avidly practice, instincts to do acts of derring do warily crafting, tactics vs malice transfixed by this challenge, my light is fashioned from Basking, in habitats that are far away from, mass media corporations outlandish distractions... Simply magnificent areas such as where, debonair Robins sing stirring arias, attempt daring aerials before merrily landing free, Meditating under a canopy seeking balance. I hardly can stomach I'm flummoxed at how, easily people get full on cotton candy languidly, while verily these peaceful places understand me, candidly making me crave something more satisfying… than mechanically flavored parodies, Ben and Jerry's, chase a landscape of Ice and Cream always blinded, taste buds misbehave numb frozen tongues stuck. Dissatisfaction left unchecked becomes the next holocaust, When I was young Intelligence hung an albatross around my neck. I didn't know it then, but I gravitated towards, a curriculum, for saving humans from doldrums they'd ingest with willingness, unimpressed by multi million dollar ad campaigns, I bring change, while sell out champs put champagne in their raps to get paid. What I'm saying is a face of society trains us to need entertainment, Our playful nature mutated painstakingly researched and waylaid, Manipulated for the base and mere sake to be taken advantage of, Slackened passions are prettily packaged becoming baggage. Brittle backbones breaking casually stacking up casualties. When was the last time actually utilized mental faculties, to invent or create, instead it's contained with chains, parameters that aren't even defined with anything tangible… Lo and behold eroding control we're becoming animals domesticated lambs managed in full and we're amiable, even though our souls hold prismatic properties, when the sun touches the color of your spirit should be displayed but it's all grey and I'm outraged so I raise questions like Socrates. From Eden we've been far flung, dwelling in an ego driven ecosystem, Artificial lighting biting lightning bugs… when the filaments used up, how many of us are truly luminous? . . . . . . . . . .