as i passed by all the glitter and gold, pictures of dreams, hopes and all pretty things.
with words and phrases which shout your imperfections, of life and details which can make you nervous.
with their words of wisdom, advice and undertakings, telling you "here, please, buy my shit".
the silver screen is lighted with diamonds and pearls, of suits of men and chiseled jaws, but, you my friend, are nothing like a boss.
you are the insignificant, walking cash wallets, cashing in, consumers and puppets for mass display. your insecurities become your desires - the pleasing of inglorious excess, of inglorious beings, of inglorious statuses.
you become the spark. which you feel becomes the bright shining star, the lucifer of your generation, the proud, your pride which takes on the forms of the car you drive, the clothes you wear and the women you fuck.
the degradation of your life begins from the inside. from the perception of your eyes. shaped and contoured by these men in suits and chiseled jaws. sitting in offices on the 30th floor.
strip yourself of these things, what are you now, man ? but, man. naked, bare and powerless. nothing but your own mind, sought to fight. your soul, more precious than gold.
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