I see bi-products in cowboy hats.
The last thing I want my child to become is a loosely-wired, scrap-booked version of a human being, pieced together in haste and intimidation by the influx of persuasion and judgment backed by fear and hate and a thirst for material things. I see pixel-induced cataracts in children and a chemical hate for oxygen. I see the future strangling itself in computer cords, choking on coins and propaganda, cutting off our feet in exchange for metal shoes that are too heavy to lift—it’s okay though, everyone is standing still, clutching their things as if they were invaluable with darting eyes and a poisonous suspicion. No one trusts anyone because everyone was taught to fear someone. A coldness replaces a mother’s embrace, a box with numbers and letters and an electric hypnotism becomes a religion. The monsters that roam with foamy mouths and glazed eyes who used to be teachers and friends are so dead you’d think they were relics brought back to discipline our selfish worms. A spark flew, and I knew at once how we would end.
