The roar of incentive drowns out the common fool, restlessly turning the anger of the age until it stops, selfish concrete in your bowels. Because I wouldn't be angry if I didn't care.
The truth is the cement, it is what we eat and how we live. Oblivious youth and the lies of generations calm us into status quos and statues, the guts of so many capable humans. Well keep the sick feeling, at least be aware that you're aware. Because Your voice alone will not suffice as a vote. We are free from persecution as strangers but tied together by the monoculture of the corn field they built a starbucks upon. Choice is not freedom, because it comes as self-evident and lacks the need of another description. Choice simply is. Freedom is doing something about it.
So I'm going to read Spiderman, then reports about slayings and politics and starving, then fantastic four, then reports about scandal and famous people and dollars and jobs, then maybe write myself into a coma and wake up a butterfly
who's beautiful now fuckers?
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