Red Light Exhaust

Their words are so new to me, everything is not perfect. I have been living my life in a false state of euphoria. The world is not was I was taught; there are issues, there are evils, and there is a need for a change. My love of revolution is capricious, fearless in taking on any new cause. I am drawn to the hopeless, spontaneously assiduous to whatever is radical, and rebellious. With my copious enthusiasm for the activist leaders, my passion for them was not far from exultation. Their minds are free of rancor; they can openly speak their minds, free of any outside bias, with very poignant effects on society. They chastise every possible aspect of the conservative lifestyle in such an appealing way to the senses that I cannot help but to be drawn to their satirical portrayals of humanity. They condemn their own race methodically with little emotion, and they quickly became my greatest role-models.

I decide to go out tonight, and there are many options. Deviating from my conventional scene I head towards a local concert, packed with local bands, and brimming with the concept of salvation. At the entrance I am overrun by a mob of brash employees collecting payments and handing out pamphlets. I vow to read them later, as a sort of indemnity for my indulgences. The concert starts, and a man allocated to open the show gives a brief sermon explaining the emaciation of society and how Christ may cure the starvation on earth for peace. He enlightens us on our own path to salvation, and our place in the resolution. This idea seems palatable, an omnipotent force that could solve all problems, seems like a brilliant way to change the world. There is a good and pious feeling in the air as the music starts. As the concert progresses, my new found ardency of peace is causing me to be very optimistic. I have gained a deep-seated desire to learn, learn about how I can do my part in achieving peace. The holy feeling is an amicable one, and everyone around me seems to be experiencing it as well. The music induces a pleasant delirium, but this sensation is soon devoured by the stiff aroma of burning minds. In the gnarled jumble of exultant followers, there was one mannequin. There is a man, eyes unblinking behind sunglasses gleaming in the lascivious bathing of moonlight. His face is lined with shadows that accentuate his expression of blank nothingness. The soothing aura of our shattered god is lost, and all the pretty people turn to ash. Their lives are gone, their families are gone, their problems are gone, and they are free from any outside bias or pressure. The concept of peace seems close, and death is almost encouraged. My mind clears and the causes of the concert become limpid. Prey on the weak, and feed off of the people in a "calmed" state on mind without any inkling of the intellectual block being placed in their head. They awaken to a sophomoric mindset in which they are superior to all of their equals, and banality rules their existence.

Everything becomes nothing, and nothing becomes everything and I am alone. There are no false truths, no fearless mannequins; I am left with only a presentation of the most intimate arguments of myself.

"Everyone's a burning building.
with no-one to put the fire out.
Standing at the window looking out.
Waiting for time to burn us down
Everyone's an ocean drowning
with no one really to show how.
They might get a little better air if.
They turned themselves into a cloud"