I am not to blame for you. I am not for you to blame.
We talk this world differently, you and I, and must therefore be held accountable for our own footprints, first and foremost.
I fear that a new generation of ill-thinkers has been given the impression that they might judge all that passes before them without the possession of humility. And I fear that, in doing so, they may never be brought to judge themselves. There are a million faces, their minds already made up. A million faces, all hellbent on some prized fun destriction that only ever existed in reheated stories.
No one really gives a good god damn about any of this you know.
No one worries about anything worth the worry.
What would we know of anything? We comfortable complainers, we children of irresponsibility? What would we know of anything, save those luxuries that we have deemed so unfairly denied of ourselves? They being our birthright, our opiate, our adamant goal.
I grow tired of playing us thin. I grow tired of making faces.
There is a point to you. Find It.
[: matthew good :] |
