Saddest thing ever

When you’re feeling alone and riddled with fear in the dark of the night
And playing catch in an empty living room with a helpless playful dog for the sake of his negligible happiness

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Money mania

It’s not fun to wake up feeling like you lost your job while you’re out. Unfortunately, maybe what I’m feeling is felt by many who just can’t take a break from the cut-throat world. We’re turned into workaholics and maniacs, robots and scumbags. When we step away, it somewhat lingers deep inside our skin like a virus in remission.

Responsibilities, obligations, tasks…. Blaaaaaahh. Can’t even say blah because there will be robots who get offended by someone saying that. They’re so conditioned to believe that being boring is the righteous way. Why care? Why can’t the world be more simple like the way it used to be? I’m mad at the world. I’m upset that money is the driving force. I feel sorry for them all.

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Three guys, all f’d Up

Her life was getting miserable-r, just like anybody else’s, but while getting into that cavity that one falls into in the back of their minds; that cavity that makes everything a thousand times more horrible and painful; she had a thought– there were others too, just as miserable.
They live perfect lives and always have something missing inside. Product of a complex world. Less time using hands, more time forming thoughts that have no basis
No relative thing to hang on to.

He leads a perfect life and has everything else, but he still misses that. That time when he used to care less about everything. Now he realizes he’s old and is only growing older, and now he would do anyyythinnngggg
Anything
To get it back. It only took over a decade for him to realize how much time he had lost.

Then there’s him. Running on diet Pepsi. Needing it every five minutes to wake up. Mundane drive around town, mundane job and a slow life. He’s got all the time in the world and it’s always spent on useless stuff. When the sun hits his head from the side, he could look like a star of all sorts. He’s got a skinny body and a tiny head; you could put a cape on him and call him superman. He hops into his beat-up car and sputters off. There’s bills to pay, other odd end jobs to find, possibly a nice girl to hope for, and the pursuit of god damn happiness.

Then there’s that guy. Everything’s going right for him, but it’s just those other a-holes that ruin it for him. He just needs his box of food and a night of watching sports with his curtains all closed. He just needs a girl to make herself ready for him at all times. There’s no concept of time. There’s no rush for anything, there’s no aim. There’s just eating, breathing, fucking, and using the toilet. If the world would let him, he’d eat a box of pizza forever and grow forever into a ball. They would roll him down the stairs, roll him down the streets; he wouldn’t care. That’s life for ya. It’s just others who have it all jacked up. What a bunch of losers.

Thus, in the end there’s nothing to be happy about, and yet even more, there’s nothing to be sad about knowing that everyone is just as miserable as the other. There really could be no misery when misery is the norm. She saw the guy gulp in the bottle of Pepsi to get a kick start on his life. She saw the reflection of the dude in a car trying to race back in time. She saw the fat dude reading about sports in his phone with apathetic eyes. Dim sunlight, fading reflections in time, slow moving speedy car rides. Stars in our eyes. Buzzing delusions, vacant dreams. Our faces converge and we look at one another. There’s a sense of wonder, but there’s an ever greater sense of hopelessness. We ride down the road together, our heads rocking around.

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The animals have become our puppets…

Unconscious minds, robotic lives, synthetic food,
Industrialization, expedited technological progression, automation
The labor force driven by coffee and lack of sleep
Careless destruction of nature…
Children nurtured by media
Animals, our puppets

Dark hallway mission

The voice tells me to get into the elevator and to go to a certain floor. I do so as told. Instinct tells me to walk down the hallway. There’s promise of a grand prize; the greatest thing, the highest goal. There’s supposed to be something that I’ve always wanted at the finish. I’m told to open the door. I do so.
And there you stand, behind that door
wearing a black and white tuxedo. Your chiseled face looking even sharper against the shadows. Your creamy skin and shiny hair, contrasting each other. Your glass-like eyes, contracting in the spotlight directed at you.
You are fully attentive and looking at me,
but with a look of worry. Wordlessly, you give a notion that you want me back, that you’re begging for me now. That you’re willing to disregard everything for me and that I could too, for you.
But there’s something unkind, untrustworthy, and cold about this whole new setup. There’s doubt brewing in my gut.
There’s an uneven tune playing in my ears.
And there’s a sad, tragic, unstoppable feeling,
that I wished it were true.

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