The Purge

In a desert there isn’t much to do.
Not in the conventional sense.
But in the conversational sense, this empty plain/plane is the Utopian setting.
We’ve stumbled across an intellectual Eden!
There’s no distractions.
No drugs, literal or ontological, to break the flow of words.
This is where minds live.
Away from the busy streets and avenues of the common folk.
It’s mighty hard for an individual to cross traffic.
We have to set up oases;
We have to fortify our claim against the Outsiders/Outside.
The coffee shops get invaded by soccer moms and hipsters,
Our libraries are the bazaars of college-grade speed dealers.
So how do we slash and burn?
How do we retreat to the mental countryside without retreating?
Where do we reorganize our thoughts and our un-military non-might?
We return to the basic cell.
The individual.
They infiltrated our awareness and subverted our progress:
They made us buy into them.
We, and I do mean they, got it into our heads that we are not a force individually.
That only societies and groups change things.
Nothankyouplease. We’ve had enough of your propaganda if you wouldn’t mind, and I think I speak for myself when I say I’d like to leave. I commend you, of course. You got through. I fucked up. I let the vampyre in, to say the least. But this parasite got way too cocky, way too quick. So now it’s my turn to call the shots. I’m full up on bullshit, thanks. Maybe your shit works for most people but we both know I don’t fit in that category, qualitatively or quantitaively. These are my words of condemnation, of contemplation, of consolation that are expelling you. Goodbye for good; you won’t get back in here again.
So get the fuck out of my head.

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