ARROW HEAD
There was a definitive storm balancing in the distance. Something was about to go south for me, like when you eat too much and the waste basket is a mile run to get to.
Whether I was going to accept my fate was going to be up to the court appointed magicians of conformity -- so they thought. I was going to captain the ship called fate on my course.
The state appointed clown that didn't like the middle finger I gave her for a bitch present showed up at the juvenile detention facility with Mayonnaise. Hell or high water they were coordinating a stalwart plan that took them days to formulate. Sleepless nights with take-out Chinese to oust a jejune genius in a 16 year-old twig's body. If they didn't, they'd find themselves cleaning 25 cent peep show booths after hours. There infallible goal was to get me into the one youth residential facility that was almost impossible to not be tethered to if court officers recommended you go there.
On the two hour long drive to oblivion, their veiled language and cheap nuances they courted among their puerile brains were astonishingly annoyingly. They thought they had cornered the mouse in the trap-- they could all smile my joy into a hellish turmoil. The jokes, the smiles, the eyes clocking me in the rearview -- they went through them all in their cheery state except the soap dropping quips.
Whether I was going to accept my fate was going to be up to the court appointed magicians of conformity -- so they thought. I was going to captain the ship called fate on my course.
The state appointed clown that didn't like the middle finger I gave her for a bitch present showed up at the juvenile detention facility with Mayonnaise. Hell or high water they were coordinating a stalwart plan that took them days to formulate. Sleepless nights with take-out Chinese to oust a jejune genius in a 16 year-old twig's body. If they didn't, they'd find themselves cleaning 25 cent peep show booths after hours. There infallible goal was to get me into the one youth residential facility that was almost impossible to not be tethered to if court officers recommended you go there.
On the two hour long drive to oblivion, their veiled language and cheap nuances they courted among their puerile brains were astonishingly annoyingly. They thought they had cornered the mouse in the trap-- they could all smile my joy into a hellish turmoil. The jokes, the smiles, the eyes clocking me in the rearview -- they went through them all in their cheery state except the soap dropping quips.
I was always in the shadow of insanity. This was the moment where I would either be put away in a place that was worse than the juvenile detention facility for a year and come out singing Dixie and opening car doors for cops. Or I had to find a way out and at least get to a residential facility more to my liking -- where I could control my surroundings..
The first thing I saw pulling up was the "trained" converts to mediocre mindlessness perfunctorily bowing to their slave owners on the lawn with absurd niceties such as, "good day, sir" and "Hope your having a wonderful day." At first I thought it was the chameleon game to mold into your environment until you're freed and out of state conditioning.
Then I saw a friend who was a criminal wild child say, "Brandon, you're going to need this. It will be the best thing for you."
As I expectorated vomit... I knew this was real. He had the opportunity to express in private that he was just dancing to the beat to get released -- but he wasn't. They had got to him like Invasion of the Body Snatchers. He was now just a subservient cocoon displaying flesh, but was a replication of what the state had made him.
Then I was told the protocol. You join this farm and are under the 11 kids in your unit. Unless they graduate you up by your communal communism conduct by following the rules, you won't leave here. So it;s shape up or never get shipped out.
Hell, nah -- I ain't going at gunpoint. Then I had to eat with the brainwashed automatons. They all kept jokes to a minimal, wanted to show their copper shined keisters to everyone in charge that they were perfect mutated models of a Utopian society that didn't exist beyond these walls. More barf flew from my cubby hole.
Then I was ushered in by the two court appointed turds that brought me to the man that ran the place and would make the decision. I was admonished before I left the table of perfect puppets that if I acted cool and calm, answering all the right questions, they'd see through my facade and accept me. And the flip-side was that if I acted rebellious, they'd also accept me. So basically, no matter what I would say, the Welcome Home doormat was going to roll out. The only amelioration I would get was being dubbed persona non-grata to this den of brain scrubbing.
So the administrator asked me a volley of mundane questions like how I felt, and what day was this. As the gerbil spun on the wheel of my mind, I couldn't think of any answer that would be unsatisfactory after the coaching session at the lunch table.
Then, he asked what I would plan to do it I was accepted here. I took a few seconds to formulate a malicious milkshake and said, "First, I'd take that pen your writing your answers down with and stab you with it, then I'd stab myself, ending my miserable life."
He didn't look flustered. He took it as adulterated bluff soaked in desperation. I was excused.
I then waited with another species transformed from adolescent angst into a meandering simple celled amoeba of conformity. My two handlers from the state came out with a look of pure disdain. They told me I was refused, not because the threat of violence on the administrator, but the threat of suicide. If someone committed suicide here, the winds of their Ultra MK mind programming would make the news and tarnish their perfect record of state adaptation.
THE LABYRINTH OF THE MIND
The first thing I saw pulling up was the "trained" converts to mediocre mindlessness perfunctorily bowing to their slave owners on the lawn with absurd niceties such as, "good day, sir" and "Hope your having a wonderful day." At first I thought it was the chameleon game to mold into your environment until you're freed and out of state conditioning.
Then I saw a friend who was a criminal wild child say, "Brandon, you're going to need this. It will be the best thing for you."
As I expectorated vomit... I knew this was real. He had the opportunity to express in private that he was just dancing to the beat to get released -- but he wasn't. They had got to him like Invasion of the Body Snatchers. He was now just a subservient cocoon displaying flesh, but was a replication of what the state had made him.
Then I was told the protocol. You join this farm and are under the 11 kids in your unit. Unless they graduate you up by your communal communism conduct by following the rules, you won't leave here. So it;s shape up or never get shipped out.
Hell, nah -- I ain't going at gunpoint. Then I had to eat with the brainwashed automatons. They all kept jokes to a minimal, wanted to show their copper shined keisters to everyone in charge that they were perfect mutated models of a Utopian society that didn't exist beyond these walls. More barf flew from my cubby hole.
MEET THIS PLACE'S MAKER
Then I was ushered in by the two court appointed turds that brought me to the man that ran the place and would make the decision. I was admonished before I left the table of perfect puppets that if I acted cool and calm, answering all the right questions, they'd see through my facade and accept me. And the flip-side was that if I acted rebellious, they'd also accept me. So basically, no matter what I would say, the Welcome Home doormat was going to roll out. The only amelioration I would get was being dubbed persona non-grata to this den of brain scrubbing.
So the administrator asked me a volley of mundane questions like how I felt, and what day was this. As the gerbil spun on the wheel of my mind, I couldn't think of any answer that would be unsatisfactory after the coaching session at the lunch table.
Then, he asked what I would plan to do it I was accepted here. I took a few seconds to formulate a malicious milkshake and said, "First, I'd take that pen your writing your answers down with and stab you with it, then I'd stab myself, ending my miserable life."
He didn't look flustered. He took it as adulterated bluff soaked in desperation. I was excused.
I then waited with another species transformed from adolescent angst into a meandering simple celled amoeba of conformity. My two handlers from the state came out with a look of pure disdain. They told me I was refused, not because the threat of violence on the administrator, but the threat of suicide. If someone committed suicide here, the winds of their Ultra MK mind programming would make the news and tarnish their perfect record of state adaptation.
To the two toilets that tried to flush me, this was the beginning of the retribution of all the end games for the war child that seemed to be the falcon crest of the impeachment of doom.
They now wanted me dead, my house burnt to the ground and all that Capone diatribe.
This is the hardliners, was the crux of the fallen angels. The midnight beast that was awakened in me. I was now the antichrist werewolf that needed a stake and silver bullet to put down on a vat of holy water to these two indolent bureaucratic chimpanzees. I was going to make them work for their pension... but they had other plans for me -- and I did for them. I was going to escape...
They now wanted me dead, my house burnt to the ground and all that Capone diatribe.
This is the hardliners, was the crux of the fallen angels. The midnight beast that was awakened in me. I was now the antichrist werewolf that needed a stake and silver bullet to put down on a vat of holy water to these two indolent bureaucratic chimpanzees. I was going to make them work for their pension... but they had other plans for me -- and I did for them. I was going to escape...
Reach out to me at,,,
www.brandonwyse.com
Twitter @1brandonwyse
https://pro-labs.imdb.com/name/nm3609775/
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