This is what I get for not taking the exit. It was all lined up, perfectly aligned. A clean break-away in plain sight. And I bailed. Not just bailed, but flat-out tucked tail and listlessly obeyed thy Master.
If only every day were as manic as that fate less day, maybe then I wouldn't be trapped in this box--suffocating and surely brain dead by now. Endless signals lost in the haze of factualized lies and appropriate misnomers. Bogged down in fields of rhetoric day after day, minute by minute, second upon second. From conversation to conversation to conservation to constipation---a mental block-up of sort.
The hierarchy's barrage of verbal flotsam and sewage--that can be accustomed only to the tunnels of the once-great "Big Apple"--will never cease. As they will never desist.
"Mission Control, this is Cepia x715. Restatement of mission: Confuse the masses with senseful propaganda." says the wounded Free-Doom 'fighter.' The Great Nation's last chance at unsurpassed hypocrisy. "All System a go."
We must exert a force, whether physical or mind-altering, which carries with it the potential to shape our future and rewrite the present...for now.
