The grand sad [of losing one’s life belief]

I believed in synthesis all my life, you know: and so was deconstructed 

by my peers and my 

batterers, and those who knew more, and those who did less

as quite a result and a consequence, and then those who held back and 

reheated, like that liver of that life poor half-baked, and downgraded in that strife, and then blacklisted and watchlisted and surveilled into a non-existence 

of complete pained indifference, and a resilience never resistant: that oh so benevolent pat on the head of cleanly doffed 

cap, and that sat at the end of ever so high table in the hope of scope and space, and future race.

But a taste of the good life at the expense of those without is 

outside all regime of 

humanity, it’s clear: and I see that 

clear now, and I know that 

much better.

And the grand sad of losing my right to synthesise this fab rock which – yet ours – yet tries to 

still how us quite all

into brill rolling peace – a peace that

might save other, even though – is

affecting me brutal (you’ll never know just

where).

And your lazy tutelage, and your casual use of sex to blind me to the self-

evidence of your 

cruelty come trouncing, and come gloriously unbound, and the unsoundness of your analysis and your judgements so

false, 

will affect me for years now.

You have lost me, all

around.

You have lost me,

forever.

You have lost me to such an extent that

my synthesis is

now sin!

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