7 January 2005

This is the sound...

This is what it sounds like when you loose faith in progress, when you stop believing what they tell you.
This is what it sounds like when all that’s left is anger. When you can’t find an outlet, when everyday life conspires to shut you up and keep you down, cramming your head with soap opera and fake, stage-managed "reality".
This is what’s left after a lifetime of living vicariously through the television, pumped up on the happy pills that the doctors give us when the inner rage threatens to surface. The tablets might keep you numb or they might kill you; no one cares just as long as you stay quiet.
This is the sound of someone spitting out the government pill, this is the sound of the morphine drip being ripped from the vein, this what happens when the lid comes off the pressure cooker, when the fury rolls down on you like a fate you can’t escape.
This is the sound of Bomb Factory.

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