Whether stimulated by alcoholic tenancies to dream up and live out bloated day dreams that flicker without talent into the evening, searching out a lustful companion for what may be no more than an evening, or to sadistically enrapture upon the moment, vicariously, disgusting one's self upon the glee that is of others. We are all the same.
Be the city itself big, small; an event with audiences or a gathering amongst friends, we fail to, and always will, desire nothing more than what is instilled in these whimpers of ones' throng of singularity. Grasp at fragile hope to be different for change, hoping that when we find ourselves, we will neglect those previous urges, cravings of flesh, liquid, or masochism. But the cycle of a single individualistic existence is only left in the day-dreamers mind, locked away into the sarcophagus that houses the remnants of being once a child.
Bastion of our wills that this proves wrong, if we venture out into the night, seeking a glazed mirror of reflection, triumphing in our psyche that this person before you is not who we really are; and we, the beings of sound mind, thought, perception, vision ourselves as being those deviators, the anarchists that strike out against the status quo, state "We are a valiant and contrasted persons. We do not accept this which is before us, but we step outwards, breaking out from the granted scenario placed before our feet. We are change in our world. We are free."
As we stand fickle and shaken-minded on a stagnant business plan; one witness sees every molded vagrant wishing upon the masses a change harboring in themselves, cast out to others this sublimation upon them and stand aside. The pigs will run to the troth, the wolves will retreat to the forest, and lemmings will dive from the hills. Standing alone in the world, does the view upon the stool you stand, peering down upon the lakes of blood, mind you a decent view.
