Byline: Merchants of Menace
Living with indifference. It's tough to give a shit these days.
All
a good writer can ever hope to do is maximize the hustle. Viral testimony and
buzzed backing aside, my space still seems cooler than myspace.
The
age of the internet hustle is upon us. You too can become the center of the
latest think tank firing idiot missiles in html.
Low end hustles and
high grade rent manage themselves snugly between red wine and twisted twigs.
I find time to read a found letter or two.
'Tis the season for pick
pockets, bottle rockets and fragmentary grenades. Rolling pins, bowling pins,
moonlight serenades.
Physical contact becomes emotional contract. We
all got theories of love and powers above but some of us need to know what's
lurking below.
When throwing your creative process at the world make
sure to break glass, cause crashes and trigger conniption fits. Otherwise,
why bother.
The world mistakes merchants of menace for mercenaries of
mercy. Shotguns have a way of getting the right versions of truth justified.
No one is fooled when ammunition is the source of change. But
change isn't getting any easier to collect. In fact it's harder than ever to
keep track of change.
With the internet and all, change is just a
click away. All of our desires, all of our dreams, as near or far as a
hyperlink.
It's as if the earth...
...a mere pixel.
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