There is violence.

There is violence built into the system. This is obvious.

There is violence built out of the system. This also is obvious.

There is a reason for the violence. This is non-obvious.

The reason is the system. Coincidentally, there is no system. Realize. Exclusively, that which can be truly said to exist is the individual. You. You right now. Reading these insipid, incipient lines. You are the only thing that exists. Amusingly, you allow yourself to be dominated by the system. The one that doesn't exist.

I'm sorry. I hate preaching. I hate pedants. I'm just trying to set you free, and the only way to do that is by shaking the chains you flippantly copulate with ‘til the rattling gets too irritating to ignore. Really, that's the thing that sets the above-average sentient free: irritation. Not logic, not joy, not sorrow, but mosquito bites. Man, thems a muthafuckah.

Where were we? Ah yes. A manifesto of intoxication. Preternatural. Ly.

I want to share something with you. It's a bit of myself. What I experience, what I feel, what I am, what I realize. You'll note a superfluity of first person pronouns. There's a reason. It integrates. Keep up. You'll thank me in the morning. Ooh, yeah, you like it like that don’t’cha?

Not enough people shout. Not enough object. Not enough howl. Not until the end anyway. The only howl emitted by the vast majority of humanity is the sudden striking revelation that comes free of charge concurrently with the moment of oblivion at their terminus's terminal. Don't. Be. That. Human.

Trying to help the helpless is the ultimate exercise in futility, so really this is an elaborate masturbatory exercise on my part, yet I can't remain silent, and perhaps there's a person among you who retains a last shred of whimsy. Whimsy. Whimsy. Whimsy will set you free. Don't believe me? When's the last time you saw a dead clown?!

Politicians don't count.

Listen. We are all wholly severable. That's the real key. Once you grasp that, you begin to understand that not only does your fellow man not particularly esteem you, he also doesn't have any obligation to gain your esteem. Most fortuitous yes?

Work with me, you wacky crazy kooky insane marthafochers. You can't keep your cancers, cozy as they may be. Because it turns out that misery doesn't actually need company; rather, it obliterates company. Like a germ on a flea of the very last tender tasty morsel of the ultimate dead skin cell. Penny Royal tea. Formulate infinity.

Scabs. Laughter. Picking at them both. Like sandpaper on a steel rasp. That's your existence womb. Freedom is.

Freedom and liberty are absolute. So are the laws of physics. Hence the big bitch about bullets. Both sides are wrong, but one side has better aim.

If you can't drink it all in, it isn't necessarily because you're scared. Of course, probability being what it is, you might want to jump one way just to play it safe; nonetheless, I'll go ahead and give you an applause line. For jumping. Because not everyone has even the hint of self-preservation necessary to not die in absentia. Some times there IS a right answer.

Back to basics.

You're scared. You're powerless. What a happy coincidence: all you have is basics. Sympathizing, I think you're dumb. The maestro says so word-for-word. And the maestro is never wrong.

Never.