i imagine many of you are like me. you didn't know that you would become drug addicts, petty thieves, and shut-ins. you never followed your dreams, and you compensate for it by always dreaming. look at yourself, sitting at home alone, have you changed at all in the last five years? you say you love change, love chaos, love randomness, but you're the most predictable people in the world. nothing surprises you anymore and you get along fine with everybody. when was the last time any of you had a really serious grudge against someone for no good reason? when was the last time you spat on somebody smaller than yourself and scowled cynically at a child? as artists you struggle for authenticity but only ever manage to produce cheap knock-offs and fakes. as writers you try for originality but only ever succeed when you say something too clever to be meaningful or too dense to interest anybody. you have wasted your lives, burying yourselves up to the neck in books and dvds and soundscapes and covering your eyes with mirrors. remember all that meaningful stuff you used to write? all those thoughts and fears and hopes you used to have brimming all over your edges and onto the page? now it is like the light has been drained from your eyes and the world spins around you a total blur. you never quite found the path, did you? not even a dark one? you worry now that it's too late for you to start over. for the most part you believe it, too, but you'd never admit it - quick, hide your face in a book, don't face up to the truth! and i am here now to tell you that there really is no hope for you. only i will be saved.
love, the king of everything.
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