Filip McNugget

​This morning, when follopping through the aerodrome, I had this premonition that the visage was about to crackle.

It was surreal, so much so that I expected shorts in the technology; image distortions, funny little electronic noises, maybe even a view to the other side, behind the mirage.

Fat, unhappy, anxious, over-crowded and a tad confused. That’s how I would describe the scene. Consumerism about to commit egocide.

The stress of over consuming and the burden of family communing; the whites had the eyes.

Other isms are mostly about unfairness. But not this one. It’s rooted in the madness that is the fear of death.

Of course, it’s crack. There’s no correlation. But there is far less hope of enlightenment when this particular path is trod.

Same prognosis with the worst possible symptoms.

It’s time is just about up anyways; self correcting, this one is.