Radio silence

A buzzing has taken root, but in whose tone does it come across? Insanity is a special sort of condition — one that the over-chemical-induced earthen is getting accustomed to. Slowly sinking into the spinal cord and nervous ends, these pharmaceuticals are actually beginning to make some of us feel better.

If you sleep at night instead of wake up screaming, panicked, heart racing — I guess you might be one of the ones getting better. Undoing the unnerving sensation that the mindless chatter of our ongoing useless conversations are having. Unravelling the ravelled up coil these systems are producing.

If each of us had a single friend, we’d be laying in their bed at night, clenched tight together like fists white against our brains. But out in gutters and street corners, on stone bridges in the grey rain — we stand out desperate and utterly alone. Search for one name, one place, one thing you can think to make it go away…

Anything?

The pressing of this nervous tension, the tension mounting against our skin and thoughts and dreams and threads vibrating faster as we let gravity just glance off us like thoughts thrown to an ice cold winter chill.

Someone or something bigger than that died, but no-one noticed, and the city makes another policy to cage every last soul in. The corporatocracy is almost entirely complete with these brands and terms and suggestions that we can just do good enough for now. It’s not enough to complain about. It just gets you by and slides right off your back.

Oh, just wait until the spacial realms get filled with this debris. Have you thought that far ahead, running as this breakneck pace? Panting like you can’t get enough air in your lungs before your energy runs out and you fall to the ground?

I’ve been thinking and talking non-stop, but the world is sick to death of it by now. I’ve got reassurances in the form of sighs and tired eyes of frustration and this lackadaisical unacceptable that any of this is really happening. Like reality is a conspiracy theory because we don’t want to believe it gets that bad.

Take another pill and in the am, you’ll be feeling better. Or, at least, numb to most the pain.
The revolution is just another failure of an organization, while chaos and destruction are modes of evil, and evil is just minding small things and sin is slightly off the mark we aimed to hit, after all. We know this.

The apocalypse, however, comes from the sun and our skin and this toxic sweat we’re breathing out. When it finally settles in, it will be complete.

Is the grass and your meat radioactive yet?
Did you ever learn to check?

Cancer will clip our wings with its sharp pincher claws — snip, snip, snap — before we ever get the chance to feel a breeze. The temperature’s rising and sexual reproduction may be becoming a new brand of insanity and the cancerous cells will just keep multiplying.

Please, keep on buying, duplicating, over-producing, over-consuming the whole goddamn world.
You are nothing like the locus or the termite, and surely you will survive.

The misery, I think we feel, is the misery of the whole soul.
Provable as yet through particle vibrations out in the vacuum that’s not actually entirely void and cold.

Did you know?

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