NOTE: please excuse the one vulgar word...I swear for effect, not for lack of words



When there’s no reception you stop responding. Blown into apathy, you no longer live inside the fullness of people. It was theory, a utopian dream that you endowed the human blank slate—the stranger. Unproved, undreamt. The stranger is perfection until known. Now you live inside remnants, shards, decapitations of humanness. Utopia broken, theories dead. You live in the deadness of disappointment and betrayal—these decayed moments determine who you are. Living inside of decomposition, hacked promises, sour secrets, disintegrating in the mildew of dilapidated memories, split, forked, fingered, fucked up fragments of tainted time. And you give that decay out to others.

Each one of us functions out of this rot. Whether we guard our souls, do not let anybody inside of us, it’s all rot that somebody else gave us—that somebody else gave them—that we’re giving to others through looks, expressions, words, silence…all a form of the depraved, birthing in generations of human exchange. Living, dying on putrid chains of decadence. What a heaving, stinking mess we all are.