what have you done?

you have built with the intention of utopia, euphoria, taking more than you’ll ever need, living beyond your means and snapping greedily at the heels of corporations intent on force-feeding you complacency. they demand your dependency, extending the comforting hand of addiction, cultivating a devotion you will be told to thank them for. they are your anchors, and you tie yourselves around them in one thousand impossible knots to please them.

you have wrapped wires around each other as well and pulled them tight, trapping yourselves in skeletal, envious webs. you feast on each other. you devour the uprisings and stumble, trying to leap on each other’s frenzied heads, up and out of the bottomless darkness. your bloated, voracious, gluttonous bodies lack the grace necessary to survive. you do not deserve the pride you beckon for.

i have seen your uncontrollable lust. the desire to consume consumes you. you have shown neither the capacity nor the salacity to do otherwise. there will be some that attempt to gnaw at their fetters, to reach for yours and implore you to listen. you will not. you cannot. you will be encumbered with covering your ears and shutting your eyes. it is what you have chosen, and they will stop trying. solidarity begets solidarity.

your neon gods will not save you. that which does not exist cannot perform the miracles you desperately plead for. faith is for the slothful. action requires the pragmatic, a grasp at a structured catalyst, at the very least. your wrathfulness, your savageness is problematic. it is, however, the only thing you have left. anger is what you know, and it is what will keep your resolve unwavering.

as many prophets do, i have seen what you do not. however, this is not augury. my dictation is not prediction, it is not a cautionary tale. your behavior does not warrant for such luxury. you ask me what have i done, as though you did not fathom the possibility of your actions, and foolishly hope to rely on harbingers to give you pass. you are aware of your executions, even glorifying them on pedestals so as to brag of your selfish semblances of worth, yet in the face of self-created dystopia, you cannot recall. you engage in blame until it is thought to be your own. you provoke lugubrious hells and cackle at death, invite demons and fiends and act surprised when they knock with burning fists at your doorstep. manufactured ignorance deceives none, saves none.

you ask me, what have i done.

you have done what you want. your perdition has manifested, and now you must manage it.