We're in an age that promotes homogeny before a backdrop of flashing lights, big booty vixens (many with the new injectables filling out their apple bottom jeans), and all manner of trend-regurgitating target-market candy. Mainstream music has grown more soulless and sensational by the day, and nearly anything-baseless-goes in the media. It's a circus of half-assed distractions, but most are so exhausted after several hundred miles on the fiat-paper hamster wheel that even drivel of this microtude has become acceptable.
When you can't feel anything anymore, distortion's sweet nothings feign the capability of filling the void.
But the void too many are running themselves into the ground to get away from can only be contended with when we have the metal to face it. The discontent of many years is an amalgam of experiences seasoned with criticisms from the "other" and the learned nitpicking assessments we make of ourselves well before we know who we truly are.
If we're ever to gain a sense of harmony and peace in this world, we'll first need to excavate the part of us that is willing to peer into the mirror with eyes that have fallen out of the habit of scorching what they look upon.
There's a certain amount of receptivity in that: a kind of freeflow in which we surrender our (perceived) dire need for (transitory) definition or foundation laying labels and categories.
When we can go here, we can find the self where its at home shining in truth.
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