Pieces of Insanity

The night calls to us all, the welcoming shadow hiding our true visages from the masses, whether knowingly or unwittingly, we pride ourselves in the our innate ability to be who we are not . We are slowly falling into an indomitable abyss where we slowly throw our identities to try and be plastic copies of what we are not.

Who are we but the plastic molds of what we aim to be, forever trying to attain the unattainable thereafter dooming us to an eternity of imperfection. We spit and trample upon the blood, sweat and tears of those before us who strove hard in order to ensure we were a free people, prejudice thrown aside and that we could all hold hands and love one another by bastardizing their Utopian image with our own dystopian lives.

We claim that we fight for equality, that we fight for what is right and just but each and everyone of us must realize that we are all fighting for ourselves. We are but human, the one perfect imperfection . We are all slowly falling into line and behaving like herded cows chasing after trend after trend. We have no need to look far for I myself am but a hypocrite, the rapist preacher to a crowd of murders .

Ever do we see great people rise up and take a stand to be different, to be unique, to be who they are and not another bound and gagged slave of a system that long forgot who gave them the power, the people that promised beauty, that promised, freedom, that promised wealth but only delivered us into an era of pollution , media slavery and unattainable dreams of wealth.

Greed is insatiable, hidden behind false masks of angelic smiles the devil lurks and drives us to do what we deem most appropriate. There be rare a person who would do for others and hope for naught in return, at the very least they would do it in the name of garnering praise from the Lord . A selfless act turned selfish, a brave act turned opportunistic , a beautiful smile laced with seduction to draw us from the right road.

But fear not, for though I speak of dystopia, of slavery and of submission akin to those of medieval times, there are people out there, if I might say, akin to Neo who slowly but surely snap the blinded masses from their stupor and inspire. Far too few for Utopia but surely more than enough to hold on to that last thread, that very final hope of Utopia.

The masses, will claim ignorance, each to his own will react with the words "I am not the slave, I am not the fool, I am not the submissive whore to the bastard grasps of the system" but alas, these are the very fools that fall victim to the grips of media . Disillusioned to believe themselves unique in a world of plastics.

It's very much apparent that I myself, am plastic, but only a blasted mold that was never meant to be, cracked and uncolored, untended and uncared for , left to rot in the mass of filth that is history .

Pieces of Insanity p. 1