Chaos after chaos after chaos, but what if there’s a pattern?
I want to be fed, not entertained.
We’re becoming more and more like enclosed envelopes. If only we took a look inside
Where the machines turn off I begin.
There’s nowhere to go but inward.
The downward spiral of madness is also the upward spiral to enlightenment.
I found the outsiders and asked them in. But they said no.
Not only do they force-feed you venom, but they want you to say and think it’s sweet as well.
If they could make clothes and toys for embryos, they would.
The horror of the blank page. The comfort of the blank page.
I demonize and deify at will.