There is no walden,
no intricacy of life appreciated,
'tis a wicked age when
all thought is converted from
neural path to screen,
screen to the great falsifier:
gov't corp.
work stations surrounding
suffocating independence
the jaw of offfice law bites
you, seething, laying poison spun
webs all about, forever binding you
to existance in social hell:
office life
All focus has left me,
the collected world is blinded to me
seeing only need hunger and pain
amongst the wealthy, fat, and safe
I am the individual, my cries represented me
only in the catalonian state, the fascist-capitalist
siren call lures all aid from me the craving burning individual
to the true constituency:
The Elite Minoral Population