The Cycle of Deaf Ears

In the midst of my uprising, I tend to veer off to the center. I take my binoculars and observe. Let my fingers traverse the keys in order to enter the abodes for less than humble responses. I see surface talk. Nothing of substance. What is the meaning? It goes over their heads.

It stuck for a little while. I preached Typosgraphy in the underground until I absolutely knew that it was beat into people's brains enough to stick by itself. Lo and behold, someone took notice. And distorted the messages.

Turning substance into surface, I merely became a cover and heading . . . no body. With my new soap box position, could I somehow maneuver thinking waves in my favor? In order to do that, I'd have to work with the system. Jump into it full on. I hear that the operation is excruciating. I'll have to prepare a safe corner. Untouchable even to myself . . .