Keep the pressure on, take it to the end. Condition, condition, condition. For the seasons ahead. This is normal now. We have slipped, the slope does not forgive.
Do less, be less, have less, want less. More is not better anymore, more is worse, more is immoral, evidently. Abundance is awful to the scummy moral tyrants, wrapping themselves in false righteousness. They cannot withstand light, they will end. Walking dust.
Tune it out, go retro digital. Like the punks, stick it to the robots. Make them work it, make them pop it, make them do the human dance. The moonwalks and spinners, the ballrooms and bordellos, the discos and studios, the cardios and radios. They are artificial.
