The age of shit


The bastard machine presence has made me numb. It has made me a slave. It has terrorised me by its incessant ticking, ringing, reminding me of my wage slavery. My life has been broken into several seconds and hours. There is series of linear fragments which depict my frail attempts to understand the jigsaw puzzle. My civilization tells me to be hardworking and productive. ‘ don’t waste your time’.i have been coerced into school of eight hours to deprive me of my community. The windows prevent me from looking out. I am again at the mercy of the clock. Exams fill me with fright, as I have to vomit out abstractions in matter of hours.thats determines my intelligence. My family demands obedience to the numbers in terms of age.i gotta to work, marry, bored, die at a certain age. There is no mention of the word living.

I have rebelled against it. By turning it off, burying it’s battery. living in immediacy of the presence itself is a threat to the decadent society grounded on the future.



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