conciousless

We are not committed to Excellence, because Excellence is a fucking joke. Look around you. I hate myself and there is no silver for trade in this tongue here. You should hate yourself too. Its the right thing to do.

Are you on time for the tasting? Have you insured that every friend you have cannot be disappointed by all of the scavenged flavors you have created and painfully laid out in slippery mirages on the edge of the table? Will your fancy place-mats look sad, ridiculous and pathetic when the sun whacks its head upon your table because the roof is gone, the ground beneath your precious feet is an abyss and the streets are full of people who could care less about your feast of cheap collectibles because they are dying to have a taste of their basic rights, and can barely stomach what it takes to swallow your bullshit--but they have no choice at all but to do so? I wish I was fighting for a man so noble. I'm not. Mankind hangs from her same jagged edge by her same pouty lip... See.. I fight for an underdog that I go on to smash the image of in the same breath.

If I can make it, so can they. It must be a scam to be so desperate. People stand on street corners with the same signs begging for money, and my eyeballs dance as much as the drivers of the cars I idle between. I know I am different. I argue how I am different. I am not different. I praise myself for being a fighter. I stake claims based on inverted ironies and not only am I not alone in waging my rights... I am unoriginal, uninspired and out of fucking touch. If I can make it, so can they. Indeed. What a joke to believe I am making it, as I sit idling.

We tell people who have lost everything, that they didn't have much to begin with, and destruction and chaos and loss of every shred of identity will be replaced by something cleaner and of a higher value. We want you to be better, because listening to the sad stories of what you have lost in this life is depressing. Depressing doesn't feel good. You don't feel good. You are on the way out. I know your beloved pet has died, I promise you will like the new one as soon as you get over the old one.

We are miserable, and you should be fucking miserable too.
Join us, because we'll never join you.