Impassioned rapturous pleas to reject and revive amount to nothing when you want them outside your own life and in your rose tinted plans for a life and a place defined by freedoms
and simplicity you’ve yet to taste you strike a navel stare and try to kid yourself that once upon a time we didn’t kill ourselves. The truth a wayward disease; to avoid and retreat:
the real endeavour of your hedonistic, regressive dream. You talk too much about a brave return but it’s not what you really mean. You want the world to be tabula rasa in the trappings of
modernity. Animal passion…inherent compassion…it just bears no real relation to the past you imagine. Your tunnel vision, your near utopia will only end up has your own worst enemy…
has only ended up your own worst enemy. Blinkered in ignorant bliss; never will change anything when you wont change because there is comfort in being opposed.
‘Marginal’ means no one cares; ‘spiritual’ means you’re backing out of where you are because you’ve nothing real to propose. What do you think you’ll find on getting there?
Self-serve enlightenment? Heaven in a vending machine? In years past men still killed men for gain. Bucolic pastoral bliss is a fucking day dream and you’d hate it if you had to have it.