You are all germs on a ball of rocky mud suspended around
a cinder, in a sea of ashes full of dying cinders. How I despise
this time I must spend among you.
You human robots, you descendants of the clock, you time-
keeping assholes who tie knots around your necks every
morning and pretend to have original thoughts as you quote
comic books at the drunken bar you attend nightly.
You silly fuck machines who, when given full reign to discuss
any subject in a vast multitude of encyclopedic possibilities,
are fixated on blow jobs and Naked Professors. You worms.
You resource-sucking tubes.
My contempt for you is well-learned. I know you, even more than
you know yourselves, for introspection is not your talent. Rather,
you will spend years of your limited existence applying clownish
paint to your face, massaging your egos and caring for that which
lies on the surface of your head instead of feeding the starving
patch of noodles somewhere rattling about inside of it.
You kill other life forms randomly. You kill each other randomly.
You pretend to be good and practice the bad. You lie to each
other and you lie to yourself.
You rush hour zombies with highway scowl etched deep in pained
brows, who relish the crawl to the slave house, because there on
that bleating asphalt may you commune with your hoard, your herd
of fellow drones. There, on the back of that dredging snake, you
may glance over for a moment at the Others who are You, who will
validate your sacrifice of self for pay.
Know you that regardless of your toil and accomplishment among
Man, nothing will come of it. In a century, you will be dust. In the
end, all will be Nothing.
And the void will echo not.
