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What happened to the good old daze, you might wonder, as our race shuffles along with the funeral procession, heads communally bowed, as it moves on with all the measured predictability of a metronome, counting out the minutes, the hours, the foot falls until the next scheduled apocalypse?

All tomorrows parties failed to be the wet dreams of the future we were lead to put our faith in, and turned out, jelly and ice cream. No neon, no freedom, no global orgies to celebrate the rise of the angel, no legal drugs beside the fodder that could be taxed, and so make people rich with each, dying cancerous or cirrhotic breath. No end to the famine of the body or the mind.

The economy goes down, while suicides go up.

The future is our children’s, they said, but what will government sanctioned, corporate fraud leave the world and the children to come? Its not child molesters who have taken away their innocence, but sex Ed for ten year olds, and sexual imagery in every subtle, gaudy colour in the magazines and media. Its not parents who should be blamed, they’re just the ones who earn the money to be the consumers until their children can come of age and get their nipple pierced, or buy their first name label underwear. Child murder tabloid headline, page one and two, model dressed as a school girl, nice breasts, bet she’s shaved, page three!

Morale panic preached from the lofty towers of commercial politics and seething lecherous government, to keep us blinded to the truth, obsessed with petty pleasures, to hide the simple fact that we are slaves. Find something, anything to keep people sightless, or willing to give up their insight for something shiny and half price, while stocks last.

If all the worlds a stage, it will be a stage dive, into the waiting arms of frenzied millions, eager to rip it to pieces, once the rose tinted spectacles are thrown aside.

If they ever are!

No one cares about secrets anymore, we’re all too cynical. Trust went out with flares and Vietnam, as the powers that be, strangled the last hopeful breath out of hope, spraying the flower children with DDT. There’s no money to be made in peace, love and understanding, except in greetings cards. The poor idealistic bastards should have seen it coming.

We live in interesting times, but interesting is the stuff of ancient curses, and if anything, our world at this moment, is cursed. Its on a knife edge, and with one false faltering step, it will fall, and tear itself apart, in a single age of rabid, bestial torment. All that shit we place such pride and ego investment in will be firewood and an anvil weight around our necks as we flounder and thrash at the dark waters around us, filled with corpses bobbing like driftwood, faces frozen in silent screams of fear and finally realised failure, threatening to pull us deep into its dank, sightless depths.

Only oblivion awaits us, and the memory that we were suckered into that end.

If anything, the ranks of hell will be swelled with a billion restless pissed off souls.

But then you’re dead. What the fuck use are you then?

You know the irony of this whole festering scenario?

The fact is that inside the fleshy prison that we so briefly inhabit, there is a light, a vassal, a pure spark of infinite, endless illumination.

Untouchable by the doubts and fears that plague the outer consciousness. Immortal, immutable and collectively commonplace amongst every person alive today.

Capable of the utmost joy, inspiration, creativity, intimacy and love.

We have just to have the courage to break the mould, and let the spirit free, even though its freedom may result in an outbreak of the soul’s revulsion at what we have become. Once it has feasted, and torn and wrecked all that we have known, the light will shine brighter than ever.

So remember all you blood sucking corporate, fuck heads, who will put your own fortunes over the hopes and possibilities of humanity as a whole, you shallow pointless parasites, whose victims count more than mosquito’s. Remember that all dreams have a moment of waking.


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