Guts; those things that are put, somewhere between head and toes and above

what any chap holds dear most. The center for ideas that my head won't understand
and that most people deny existence of. They bring the underbelly feeling you receive
when you hold no words for the lights and brights that boil up from the depts of your guts,
bowels, colons and intestine system.
The greens, greys, darks and ruby’s, the hair, the slimes, the sloths and the liver,
the creatures and butterflies, sparkles, tingles, grins, sneers and the glaring glares,
that wander about those caves and caverns of what people would call their underbelly;
are what produce that one specific feeling, a gut feeling, very natural, but discarded by
the creaking machinery of humanity.

Gore; is when you would not only go for the filtered and refined residue; the grins
and grace of your gut feeling, but you barf out also, in equal quantities, if not more so,
the shit that resides in those very same bowels and intestines. Where ruling one feeling
over the other is madness; one whim outwhimming another is ludicrous. Where creatures
are to fight to the death amongst themselves, with survival the only rule; each survivor
a celebration; another butterfly hatched; another smirk and grimace thrown towards
the ruling rules; another glare glaring me forward.
Tendons are strung, snares are tightened; they sound the tremble of the tides that circuit
through the subterranean vaults of the flesh. Gore; Guts’ crude and glorious incomprehension,
comes full throttle and toes cinch, gullets rattle, valves clatter and glares fever.
There is no choice now. Create or be created. Act or die slowly.
Because you see, even Gore, if done heartily, can charm me.

It’s only by the grace of those grins, sneers and glaring glares, that one may refrain from
joining the poshly gravediggers, the lushly opinionated and the whim-less bourgeoisie.
By these graces one may refrain from sinking in the excrement of the dead and deceased;
the artists and intellects, the poets, painters, sculptors and musicians; the greats and grands,
the exemplary, the virtuoso.
It’s with those innards that you may still digest judiciously the flora, the fungi and the rot
of todays dead and zombie inhabitants, but temper your hunger carefully, cultivate
your nourishment, for even water can turn poisonous. Be selective in your nutriment as well,
for those fodder contains no wine.
The finest way to ward oneself from the zombie apocalypse; the cataclysm of the dead, is
by becoming the erratic and the capricious, the unpredictable, and the whimsical.
Live by the unknown impulses! Embrace the whispers from the depths and caverns.
Encourage the plays the creatures perform and celebrate them, celebrate them heartily.
Do not make dams where tides flow. Try not to hush the ruby rivers, let them roar and tremble,
clatter and shatter.

Do not make timid lungs heave. Train for big breaths. A sound soul dwells within a sound body.
Health is causality's tribute so move about in ways that the muscles too have their festivity’s.
Credit their frissons, follow their instructions; sprout thought from the Guts and the Gore.