The city is drowning in advertising, like acid. On every corner, promises of happiness are sold at the price of a new mortgage. People march in formation, but not toward the future, rather into a void where freedom is measured by credit cards. I saw inequality in every face. The people who built this city sleep in the subway, while those who sell it smile at us from the screens. Their billions are built on our fatigue. In the media, surgeons have no hands. They dissect the truth with sterile tweezers and sell us amputated dreams in pretty boxes. Your soul is weighed, valued, and leased. The interest on the loan is your back, bent into an arc. We applaud the chain dogs barking behind the barbed wire of our prejudices. They sell revolution in boutiques, we peck at each other\'s remains. Equality? The only thing we have in common is the price. Engraved on a tag. Everything for everyone. Nothing for us. The pharmacy sells pills for conscience. Side effect: erection at the sight of stock market reports. We rent oxygen.
Class hatred! Class hatred is when you hate yourself for not having class.For the fact that your dreams are packed in a plastic bag. Close your eyes. This is dictatorship. The dictatorship of beauty that does not exist. The dictatorship of success that will kill you.
Born in cracks, in shadows, in captivity, they whisper what they cannot shout. That freedom is just a bigger cage, that we are all small shadows on someone\'s palms. Your souls are their property. Your life is worthless, you are an empty vessel. Ugly sculptures of people on the streets. Filth and alienation have won. Those who are silent inside are drowning in self-pity. All that is left for donkeys is lies. Life boils down to suicide or comfortable pain.