The Place I love Best Is A Sweet Memory...

As I sit here in the so-called comfort of an air conditioned townhome, I wish it was a dark, dirty apartment in a dark and dirty city. This computer that I use makes me sick, I wish it was a greasy typewriter. The Blogging site that I use: I wish it was an underground newsletter... The spitshined veneer of civilization that we use to pretend that we matter makes me dream of other times, simpler times, harder times. Times when sweat and blood and tears were the measure of a man, not how much money is in the bank, how many friends you have on facebook, how expensive the shoes you wear are. It's all a load of bullshit, a thin facade that comforts us, makes us feel like we bolong. Robots, carrying out tasks that society has programmed into us since birth. Live, die, sex, money. Out with the old, in with the iPod, take some pills because you need to relax. Take a drink because you're not brave enough. Use a condom because you'll never be mature enough. Live every day as if it matters... Like hell you do, live every day exactly like the one before it because you're so steeped in comunication and technology that you forget to talk to people unless it's on a cell phone. how r u? lol. Free me from this prison, from these iron shackles bound, things are getting harder on the dreamer's side of town