Level one: the marijuana prophets on the handsome Iranian rug and the privilidged white slime with a harmless attraction to banana republic. Vanity manifests itself into self-glorification. The rich in the convenient costume of the homeless. Party and preach and float on the great barge, into the tops of the overturned smokestacks. Fueling the industries so vocally despised. Your life, burnt like a blunt into oblivion, meaning essentially: nothing.
Level two: fat cats with forks for arms, poking at the sub-levels. These are the janitors and horses of the great house, toppling fragile ecosystems with laidlaw hooves, assaulting the planet with the stewing vomit of complacence, a call for stillness and nook-building. A seventeen dollar Christmas tree, made in China, suffocating your children's digital fire trucks (the ones which shoot the most potent sense of economic security). Aids abound in Zimbabwe, Botswana... but now assured by the appointment of an arrogant puppet in Liberia... She's sweeping the crumbs of presidential finance into a cumbersome blunderbuss shot as a storm of neglect at the Earth. Death stalks every continent, so we purchase bottled water, wait on porches, and visit all of the tremendous nations. A mile from the sunshine resort is the gang of machetes and it wants you to visit.
Level three: the promise of nanotechnology, artificial intelligence, satisfying your petty senses. Mite operation, microchips to speeden and enhance our lives. It translates into more dysfunction, incarcerated by a multimedia collection and a phobia of life...
David interrupts Mary and boldly asks, "Should we completely detach?"
Mary says "In twenty years I'll have a child, I'll sit in a box and I'll never breathe, then one day they'll find us embedded in ice."
David goes to the restaurant, constructs wooden walls around the tables, to preserve the notion of permanence and value. Until finally, there is no room for business and the hall must close. Because no one wants to eat inside a tomb, David.
A room with boxes of prepared meals linguini as it it will never be the new Egyptian riches. Outside, the sun is turning into a red giant beginning.Teksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
