From the moment we are born, we are sucked into a huge
machine. Endless devices designed to envelope and
administrate all aspects of our life. It never spits us out.
It has plans for the state of our living and fit
accommodations for our death.

And we can't escape it. It holds all the options,
fanatically. It has chewed up freedom and force feeds us it,
half digested. We are not allowed to stay up through its
night of thin meaning or peek into its dark bedroom of
delusion.
It has made arrangements for every move we can make.
Provides us with illness and remedy, cheap guidance at
varying degrees of sadness and as many bland flavors as you
like. And this empty affluence intoxicates us.

We are trapped in an equation in which we are forever a
factor and never the sum - the answer. It's all calculated
all indifferent math of sharp, harsh supply and soft, human
demand.

Behold - The ceaseless workings of the dynamo of
civilization. Its factories throwing up the fabric of our
life like thick brown smoke. And the stars above creaking in
their grooves in the sad machinery of night. Building our
houses, making our shoes, shaping our words, printing our
books, pouring our coffee, tailoring our lives to the latest
fashion, aesthetic and ethic and dumb.
Leaving nothing unanswered.
But the most basic need for immediate human truth.