My: could of sounded have unopened

An artists soul is requiem for a dream. . .
that I am used to seeing.
In the real time.
The eccentricity.
Made of change.
Made of spotlights surrounding the atmosphere?
Made of eccentricity!
Not moved, targeted, believed in.
Only eccentricity of the choices.
Not' of rules;
but:
gypsy-punks experienced.
They experienced the rules of "not",
as in not being.
As in not being as skeptical of others.
But made to be ruled out of their misery.
There, it is opened.
Desired complacency for the intended result of -
a thought.
A thought, believed, targeted, but moved into action.
I am an agent of emotion changed.
Transcended qualities.
I am an agency of emotional change,
and of these qualities transcended.
However though,
I have not been risked to be displaced
- of my emotions.
The vagueness in my eyes for no better
lack of contradiction I know.
That I sensed the emotion called,
passion intensified -
of a unreasoning sense perception.
That I have swam damaged permanently for no reason,
unreasoned.
That I have kicked the habit responsibly avoided.
That I have established these as aesthetics.
All of these things are immune to me.
Fermented in a powered solar center within me.