1. |
CQD // SOS
05:13
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Everyone I love is all fucked up, carving out a moment of relief between panic and despair with anything to lessen the bite of the vice grips as they constantly tighten. Everyone I love is trapping moments of reprieve like fireflies in bell jar glass. They suffocate on pristine display. Their flickering glow dimming out and dead before first light of the following day. All of the lies that sounded like lies that we knew were lies turned out to be lies because they were lies. Fool me once. Yeah, fuck you. They told us we’d rise with the tide but we all fucking drowned. We’re all just antennas and exposed nerves and they cut off our eyelids when the brightness turns up on us. We’re just walking bags of electricity and chemicals where the default reaction is no action. I’ve heard that breathing is an act of resistance but it’s fucking exhausting keeping this machine in balance. Each induced disconnection buys us time to add distance between our minds and that looming darkness we all carry deep beneath our sternums. Each high makes the darkness grow stronger until it completely consumes us. Every fucking waking moment. It becomes just shy of impossible to shake it once it leaves its mark on you and, once that fucker gets its hooks in you, the bridges look different and the buildings look different. The height starts calling you home.
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2. |
REPOSTPUNKPLATITUDES
02:49
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We bash our heads against the fucking walls, convinced we make a difference when, instead, we’re manipulated advocates for corporate servants, centrists, and fucking billionaire apologists as the vessels for a cultural shift that condemns this superficial view of violence in favor of the same old bullshit so those selfish fucks can turn a profit. It’s just shit talk, photo ops, workshopped talking points, and no actual traction. We drag brushes through blood to paint picket signs with slogans that maximize retweets and likes. Convenient, artistic, self-important efforts to validate our inaction. Then, we retreat to our privilege when the stakes get too high, and nothing changing is the safe compromise that only ensures the safety of tainted allies. The wolves in sheep’s clothing with wool we pull over our eyes. And at the end of yet another day, our ideals get tucked away with our lock screens. Broken and tired you find comfort in knowing that the system you oppose will carry on.
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3. |
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What will be our legacy if this moment ever ends? Outrage and empathy? Societal restructuring? Meaningful and lasting change to these systems of pain and profit? Or increased inequity and the further concentration of power in those who already have too much at the expense of the rest of us? The artfully fragmented dissidents and the misinformed class-traitor patriots pitted against each other by the masterfully manipulative ruling class. I want to sympathize with the misguided but we all know there’s no coming back after crossing that abhorrent line. Indoctrinated, imbecilic villains, beating at the pillars where our morals once perched. The peace we yearn for will exist in a world where they no longer are. The peace they yearn for will exist in a world where we no longer are. Fuck. When the last thing that they have taken from you is your capacity for empathy, you’ve been robbed of your humanity.
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4. |
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Is violence the only truth? Is that a world worth preserving? How will we be judged if there’s anyone left? Without real opposition, the wheels of this machine will crush everyone you love. In this world, held hostage by avaricious nihilists, are non-violence and inaction any different? Is violence the only way to manifest a future where violence isn’t the only truth? Eventually this will end. You will have served your purpose. How will you be judged if there’s anyone left? So what the fuck is the fucking point? Why do we participate if we share an intuition that our lives weren’t meant to be spent like this? Bolstering institutions actuating our destruction. How will we be remembered? The climate refugees, grateful for poisonous water, will tell tales of the hashtags that nearly saved them? The unhoused and hungry will name camps after the amps that punk bands used to play songs about them? How can we be judged if no one’s left?
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