06.10.04: New design. Got rid of the art and tape trading sections since I don't really trade
anymore. Lots of new poetry.
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This is my revolution, reexamination, revelation.
The air, my body, my mind, they're all contamination.
And complacent critic in their armchairs
Point their fingers as I shoot another shrink-wrapped result
Of mass production
Up my arm, and spin around again
On this wheel of misfortune.
Here's to my condemnation, correlation, subjegation.
Wash out my heart with your strip mall harmony.
And the masses tremble at the television's command
With no elation.
They call the spraypaint on the wall desecration
But they can't see beyond the colours;
The meaning of the words never taken into consideration.
But we're all in this institution, resolution, in confusion.
And the resulting pseudo-security
Is borne out of this, the disillusioned.
So we'll spin together, breathe together, die alone.
Holding each other at arm's distance, so innate.
And together we'll watch the whole world burn at the stake.
--Molly Herrick 02.24.02
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