A new soundtrack in my head this week. Urgently plucked strings against the chromatics of industrial growling. All framed by a faded and jagged mint green outline. The chalkline of a society hemorrhaging money. Manufacturing of consent is a myth; people will sell themselves-- and their children-- to the government, for mere pleasant fantasy. Everyone the main character in their own story. Washing their every decision in the consonance of Knead. Meanwhile, they surreptitiously sever the last cords of community.
2:58 p.m. - 2020-03-18
Recent entries:
Thanking the Pandemonium - 2020-11-26
Simplicity of Sometimes - 2020-11-25
Bubblebeams - 2020-11-18
Red Blue Green Purple - 2020-11-11
Too Young to Descend - 2020-11-11
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