Doomsday clocks lurching Our salvation diverges Shouting to the twilight sun We share but false elation.
Entire regions' designated Means of production No new doctrines allowed All hail consumption.
Ever directionless, at a loss Regressing into violence: Revolutionaries' proudest Of our failed revolutions.
Living out our dreams Of solitary bliss, Live alone in harmony Or die in the abyss.
What piece of work is man That chooses inhumanity A species in a chasm Led by mere savages.
"And in time there will come a generation that has got beyond facts, beyond impressions, a generation absolutely colourless, a generation seraphically free from taint of personality" ― E.M. Forster, The Machine Stops
The greatest mastery of self is to do nothing. We are doers programmed to do, to solve, to be busy creating problems just to solve them rewarding ourselves with ever more destructive prizes. We congratulate ourselves for our compulsive expenditure like an addict congratulating themselves for turning back to the needle.
We are all addicts.
The true anarchist does nothing.
Originally published at https://www.douglasbalmain.com/anarchy.html
I tasted the money in my mouth A bitter transaction A disgusting sensation All problems can be solved with cash What is your price? What a sordid question I tasted the money in my mouth The sour taste of consumerism