
Listen to the sound of the
alerts as you walk down the
street. You know where theyare, painted red with poison
on perfect skin, dashed with
fantasized beauty with a pricetag to match. They watch you with
eyes straight from a haunted house,
wanting to drag you into their
commercialised seduction and make
one hell of a killing. Listen, to
their cries for attention as you
walk into their shops, face their
faceless employees who have less
soul than the coins in your
pocket. Listen without contentment
for their lies of empowerment and
understand that walking like
fabricated oranges on the dance
floor isn’t the idea of personal
satisfaction. Listen to their
words and empty them out into
the manure pile, listen to their
words but don’t listen. Listen
to yourself and enjoy your beauty,
your life, your power without
them.