 We go balls to the wall, laughing and screaming in nightclubs with AI-generated twisted grins, dance music pounding our ears so we can't hear our thoughts, alcohol soaking our organs so we can't feel our feelings, stomping down with all our might that small voice which calls out to us from beneath the pile of corporate logos and dead birds that we keep in the space where our soul used to be. Out into the world vaping and smoking, running down the sidewalk, jumping over homeless people with Super Mario Brothers sound effects, screaming I am alive, I am alive against all evidence to the contrary, moving as fast as we can to keep us from ever catching up to ourselves. We go balls to the wall, consuming and being consumed by end stage metastatic capitalism, Mainlining empire incorporated into the veins between our toes, because the ones in our arms collapsed long ago. Plunging straws into our loved ones to siphon out the validation we cannot give ourselves. Stumbling with gig economy exploitation hangovers and mouths that taste like Microsoft, through a dead-eyed civilization of blaring screens and focus-grouped hearts, where young women are sacrificed to gods made of algorithms, where our minds are stripped of anything that won't help billionaires become trillionaires, where everything breaks after 18 months but takes millions of years to decompose, where we're all conditioned to think the same thoughts but hate each other more and more. Balls to the wall with no breaks on, shrieking and whooping into the night, laughing joyless laughter through pleasureless coke highs, past the neon signs and 3D billboards, dodging drones and punching panhandlers, strangling starving men on the subway and disappearing into the dark and becoming the darkness and embracing our true calling, agents of omniside, apostles of the apocalypse, disciples of dystopia. Kiss the pentagon on your necklace and floor it. No breaks, baby. No breaks.