All those boring fuckers. Y’know, the ones chained to rules and designs. The ones who surrender themselves to routines; to the happiness portrayed in dreary magazines. The cult of celebrity. Faces in the crowd, so painfully anonymous and happy in slavery. I too am a slave, yet I am not happy. I use words in an attempt to break free from all that binds me to the machines of modern living. My days spent making money for others, my nights belonging to fire and wine. They burn with a passion. Not physical alas, for my girl left me a long time ago. Instead, they burn with the passion of creation. The joys of seeing what lies beneath; of all that remains hidden.
To be aware of one’s existence. Self-awareness, in a landscape of imitation. Speak something original, with a voice, not monotone or forced. Stand up against the crushing waves of conformity. We’re human after all. Madness runs through our veins. The nature of the beast, only a heartbeat away. A mess of wonder, so wild and fierce. Dreams of the Damned, pumping in our chests while we try so hard to remain composed. Just do yourself a favour, and let it all out. Get drunk on the idea of something more. Be who you always wanted to be. Makes others nervous. Make them tremble at the sight of your conviction, and don’t give two shits about anyone who thinks otherwise.
Face the demons that haunt, and kick them down to the ground. Give them the finger, and gob on them as they shake with fear. Maybe once it was us who feared them, but not anymore. For now, we are fearless. We, the freaks and geeks. We, the lost and found. Plague lovers bathed in moonlight. Eaters of sin. Believers of inner strength. Sexual beings, so lucid and howled. Don’t subscribe to cheapness, and never settle for anything less than amazing. Kisses that taste of birdsong, embracing like dreamscape. Give yourself to those who make you feel alive. To the ones that make your bones hard with lust and desire. Put one word after the other, and let them bleed into existence.