Observation While Dancing

O, brethren of the post-modern cesspool,
wallowing in Information Age,
you not only haven’t a sight of love but also diminish in confined nether, how hard you grasp for air!
Doomed to peter out: impersonal hell,
a micro loop of slogans for expiring yourself before any experience.
What the fuck are you waiting for?
To have lived, to have loved something other than your pithy self?



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