THE JOY OF THOUGHT-CRIME COME TO PASS

VOICE: In quivering anticipation of Orwell’s THOUGHT-CRIME literally becoming a reality, the screeching rodents of morality condemn the lack of privacy on streets and in CYBERSPACE, yet seek to CONTROL that most personal INFINITY – the lightning flash of INTELLECT, SYNTAX, INSTINCT and IMAGINATION.

Flowing mice-people slurp on rivers of slurred inebriated text-speech. TAP TAP TAP drunk on the future vulgarity waiting for them around corners of inherited success. These spoilt tramps frantically coming to blows with keyboards while trying to save a certain shade of COBALT or biological hybrid from extinction. Their flatulent speech bubbles burst (POP!) along with their fantasies and betrayed, they rend the PAPER SKIN across their own hearts. Veins pumping with sugary water. With self-contempt and aplomb, recycled crowds pose vehemently for selfies.

Puritanical parasites who could never live amongst those they claim to defend yet wear like trophies. The KINGDOM of the BLIND with CCTVs glaring on every street corner, they see no contractions in their incessant BROU-HA-HA. Self-denying sons of CROMWELL purging UNCLEAN spirits from the marshmallow VOID while stuffing it up good with PLASTIC sentimentality.
The rabid vermin build walls of any old irony in defence against those HERETICS who wish to set fire to fluidity in a NAPALM cocktail of the MIND.

WAR is HEAVEN.
Do you feel that all words are equal?
Mistaken again.

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