It is not without interest that your currency has become debased.

It is not without interest that your currency has become debased.
What we formerly cast down as tyranny we resurrect, even exalt, out of a sort of cheap nostalgia for the blandness of safety. The flag of surrender is the flag of your banality.
Even the voice of heaven would not move you, nor the chants of the free nations moving under clean skies, never cursing life as you are bound to do.
Slaves, they dared to call us.

Your principles are a hollow bell struck without feeling.
We who adhere to a total revolution, a rebellion of the spirit, the affirmation of the third millennium, need no justifications.

Side effects

From a tenement flat dancing mardi gras girls out on the corner. As seen in times square. It's a corner installation, to tempt the passers-by into the show, hand out flyers. More often it puts the pedestrians off, alienates them, they look confused. An enforced feeling of festivity in the mardi gras girl who takes up her stance on the corner, her shift commencing. The Burlesque Dance. Arching her back she flings out her arms the glitter like sweat on her bare skin, her smallish breasts pushed out.
Unable to come. The drain that comes from the cock, from the base of the balls, from the bladder, the liquid waste products dispensed with; the small relief, exquisite and spreading like an opium haze, relaxes the muscles. So when you are unable to come you are unable to relax.
Meanwhile the hoped-for orgasm relief becomes an impossible-to-reach pinnacle, a spice that has lost its appeal; the relief lasts a second, the point at which the peak is reached is no longer sharp but has become dulled through over-familiarity, and the cum is followed by a white noise opium numbness, a void flooded by a vast metaphysical question without an answer.