ego my LEGO

one can only listen to the manifestos of the starfucking legion sociopaths of this damp asylum our fair city for so long before the din of their self-obsession is echoed in anxious infant refrain burning runes into charred foreheads in one's own paranoid visions of grandiose magic or manic determination to spite imagined machinations of some god or nature or ancient beastly visage keeping us each from fucking the beautiful or eating the weak taking what is ours killing when it serves loving when it serves our master('s) plan every empty prophet here has created their idol and chosen a personal lord from whom the anonymous impersonal submission to convention can be translated into the highly intimate language of direct slavery