Sociopath

-        XYK repeating, replicating the shattered bits of his refracted nullity, the shadow of his elemental hatred sombresaulting up from the endless slurry of his hatchery, where he fluffs the nearly hairless balls of his projective fantasies, cross breeds a sickly effluent with it's cousins, lies and slander, takes the broken offspring of this noxious union and remates it, mutates it furthermore in the radioactive incubator of his vengeance, where the little particulate atoms of his true self, the vicious, bilious, envious, gluttonous offspring of projection meet the half digested fragments of reality parsed through his endless need to find, out there in the dim shifting world, some armature to hang the bacterial fecality of his fruit fly fast cyclcles of incestuously generating, breaking, dying, falling into smaller pieces bits of replicating self hatred, that he holds in his fermenting gut, primly, his spindle arms with their little pincers, mending the broken bits, gluing them back together, a sick bent dried up little nothing, with his mouth pursed in rectitutude, opening strategically at scenic moments, that the inner mold knows, like the leaves of plants know the moods of the sun, to discern through subtle changes in temperature and baromentric pressure, sensitive as it is to the rising currents of air, or to glooming, or especially to the echoes from similar molds growing in the large intestines of men who weld their anuses to daises of architectural displacements of power, so many times removed from our jaguars and shrieking monkeys that they have become sere and chalky, so dessicate that even their dandruff has the muted, silken sheer of lye and their feet in their blindness resemble cave dwelling, neotenous olms that quiver in sympathetic excitement every time the guarded pursely parson's lips of the higher altitudes disgorge another spindicular, recombinant, half lived, already failing when they meet the dryer air of air, those little diatomic bits of fecality pressed through the fermenting mold and wished into flight, completely unlike the way we used to wish by blowing through the little whispery frills of common dandelions, with their beautiful every day tufted over their fluted over their slender stems.