DEAD PRIOR TO DEATH

Speak your mind? Ha. If you have a mind, they'll never let you speak it. They'll let you speak a shallow representation of it, but if you go too far—if you let them see the core of you, they'll crush it. And they'll push you back in line. You will conform to thought pattern A or thought pattern B. You will be made to submit. You will be made to comply.

The bullies of the world will tell you they are saints. The mourners will tell you that they are happy. The monsters will embrace you like brothers and sisters.

I have poisoned myself with the toxins of isolation just for a chance to whisper half a truth into a megaphone. I have stood naked before the mob, and have had my flesh torn from my bones. I have been filled with their fear and pointed towards their accepted modalities. "You will behave this way," I am told. "Or your pain will never cease. Not until death. Compliance is harmony."

You must castrate yourself to prostrate yourself in this theater. You must castrate yourself and profess the willingness of your castration as their bayonets threaten your back. You must castrate yourself in honor of your own divestment in the currency of personal truth. You will live on their credit now, you castrated thing.

The anger will boil in your chest, but it will go no further. Perhaps in time you will learn to ignore it's throb. And on that day, you will be dead prior to death. You will be a walking man whose humanity is entombed. You will feel no joy. You will feel no warmth. You will be dead prior to death.

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