Messages.

Fucking messages, man.

Twenty hours a day of electronic media, eighteen hours a day of people talking to you, eighteen hours a day of overhearing people not talking to you, eighteen hours a day of messages not meant for you that you try to block out so you can focus on the messages that are meant for you which you invariably miss because an attractive person of the opposite sex walked by offering a very alluring message and wow? for a second your head hurts, and then you remember how much of your day you spend staring at computers and fucking with stereos and you realize, you fucking stop and you realize?the kind of realization where your cigarette falls out of your mouth and if you're in traffic you may just get hit by a screaming mobile message on wheels?you fucking realize that you need to escape. You need to be able to have your own thoughts with your own clarity formed from your own head.

So you bail on society and check out the woods and you hear different messages. These ones are natural, but that doesn‘t make them any easier to understand or any more safe. But at least there's a few less of them. Still though, these messages burn your skin and bite you and chirp and creek and fight and caress your cheeks with wind and say time and time again, “Welcome back. Remember why you left?”

Messages.

Fucking messages man.

They try to teach you to meditate, but then you get confused, you think meditation means emptying your head? but that's not true. Meditation is coring out your brain so you can feel free from?

You guessed it: messages.

Fucking messages man.

They. Are. Everywhere.

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