by Nathaniel Anacta
Sometimes you believe your dreams are ideas you follow until something knocks it down.
Tasty.
It’s a daily feeling of recovering from being disemboweled.
You walk like a zombie without purpose
In comfortable silent agony
A golden collar lubed by society’s applause.
We pray for a miracle, yet reminded of the Holocaust,
We wait for change but know of Napoleon
Then its over, you’re dangling below the Washington bridge with the only answer a hedonist fuck on a 300 quid twat feeding a cheap habit
Like huffing paint.
Then tomorrow comes and you’re awake reminded of 3rd world comforts.
Ignorance is bliss, you dreamt of America, and the progressive west
knowing shitting well
A hopeless fancy and there black coffee downed,
To a factory job that pays barely.
Hell, why not run and be a bandit?
Join a militia, plenty of those,
Refuse to play a losing game, you fucking tried.
Yet here you are just another Wyatt Earp.
Nietzsche said fight the inevitable, pursue something, perfect it,
Live.
But why?
Sisyphus knows what’s up.
So have fun, stick it in the next person,
Twist the damned thing.
Cry,
Live,
And Die.
