A kreblache post.
PROLES!
I don't think there can be a lower form of life.
Breeding. Mewling. Puling. Degenerates.
With all this so called "human potential". The dross of people whose only purpose is to rush home and watch tv.
Every day. They scrabble about. Looking for ways to screw over their fellow prole.
They rush to the store for their beers and lottery tickets.
They root and shill for sports teams and political teams.
They nod their heads and murmur around a Pall Mall, about how "Thins were difernt back then".
They carve themselves with tribal ink fetishes. Pierce and brand themselves as an attempt at individuality.
The only thing that marks them as human, is the ability to voice the instincts that drive them.
Fear. Hunger. Sex. Escapism. This is your neighbor. Or mayhap even you.
Is it too late to save one's self from mundancy? More than likely. You'd have to think about things. And stuff.
Think of the answers before asking the questions for starters.
So Orwellian. Never do I want to live so mundanely. While daily logistics have to be dealt with, let it never be said of me that I lived inside the box. In fact, on my gravestone one day, I would like the inscription to read: "She lived over the top". Followed.
For Realz!