auditing the weight of the skin

it was a dense and baffling rhetoric , a syntax loaded with a G - Man's staccato beat , like a Bren Gun shooting words into the mouths of the crippled masses genuflecting before the unintelligible while the deaf clutching at their stigmata claimed their omniscience in the light shipped in from Damascus . Their tragedy claimed the moment , leaving no room for salvation , time assailed them and absolved them of their rights . The sacreligous tragedy consumed the moment and the giants that once had walked the earth looked down from ancient points of view and scoffed at the banality of it all .

but living or dying........this being a choice , was neither here nor there , their bodies still persisted because they were thinkers . The annoying weight of their skin that everywhere they were persisted in the count down to eternity on layaway moved on in a rhythm of countless shrugs , a kind of shuckin' and jivin' peculiar to the dying that brought to mind the quivering petulance attached to a virgin's lips after her first orgasm.

The terrifying minds continued in what could have been a trail disposed of in the dawn of new proposals , but the trail of tears insisted upon itself its own kind of tragedy and the travellers , somnambulistic and pre-occupied refused to disengage , because the dance of death was still an option , a something to be reckoned with that wouldn't go away