Where is our upgrade, where is our extinction, where is our uber eats???
Bury the gun under the peach parakeet. Even manifested within the narrative, it won't need to be used as long as fentanyl is available.
It's one-stop shops all the way down, but no one is fucking happy.
A luminous apocalypse approaches; meet it with indifference and wonder.
Your ego is the interloper; leave hymn nailed to the tree.
Upside down and insyde out, every one of us is homeless.
Pigeons eating vomit off the pavement again.
And again, and again, and again......
The woe is real, as real as anything else insyde of this dreamlike murder machine.
Let it fill you.....
Another devoted worshipper drowned insyde of the chapyl of mylk.
