Byline: Mad Fits of Lust
Innocence aside, this is no attempt to render graffiti as some sort of romance novel. Not when there are less pressing matters to pretend to care about.
November's air turns chill and time's at hand to elect the next select set of negligent gents. If any lesson can be learned from American style democracy, it's that your vote doesn't count.
Recent history has proven that those who cast votes decide nothing. Those who count the votes decide everything. If voting changed anything it would be illegal.
Self determination dictates who eats whom. The foibles of democracy splash across global media. There's no need to import it by might or right.
Political parties market malfeasance, the music industry sells sickness. The machine keeps moving and there is no time to change the temperature only time to establish your own meter.
You must make your own machine or at least understand that you are your own machine. Madness and medicine mix in individual measures. Prescribed dosages are only effective originating from your own pen.
Cultural democracy is as boring as a publicly funded mural or legal wall. Negative space creates positive composition. When designing your own dungeon, you want it to all flow together. It's tough to describe but easy to see. Majority rule isn't necessary. The mindset of your own minority is the only one that matters.
Living in a world of isms creates false ideals. Truth and understanding become their own bureaucracies. It's easy to see the bullshit when you realize it's all bullshit. It's a wise person who notes, it is what it is.
Angst and organic overload provide a celebration of the velocity of thought. Mad fits of love turn into a lasting lust. There's nothing democratic about it.
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