we are crammed on roadways like cockroaches moving upon the nuclear front.
the light is dim, and a fair return for hard labor has gone extinct. you can no longer tell a jobless person from a working person. we are weighted down with obligations of narrow success, of performing petty acts to realize lesser returns, which drive us further into chasms of routine confusion. popular belief tells us not wanting to be anything, not wanting to do anything, dreaming without purpose, are all bad things.
the big push through life is false romance. we support snap-tongued pigs on tired backs, delivering to them the bottom line. the aim of profit. it’s an unending cycle of the ugliest, the least talented, and those most absent of soul being elevated to great levels of unbelievable fortune and praise. we must ignore their natural tendencies to forecast lies like snow on Death Valley.
focus to the good ones doing the good things. they are standing like tiny flowers in piles of excrement, waiting to shoot forth like bottle rockets on acid. when one cracks the air, more will climb like vultures of grace searching for colors beneath the black eye of humanity. they will crush the night into forward light.
follow the worms.
steal all the apples.