Tired, Alone, I Wander
The wind blew its familiar turbulent rhythm, the sands danced with each other, resuming their stage play. It was dark and the air was filled with ghoulish howls. I lowered my visor and raised my hood, keeping my head down, I walked onward. It was cold, so cold, I was a lonesome soul, alone and lost.
Struggling to stay on my feet, I slipped and fell. My head hitting a group of rocks and rubble. Stunned and exhausted, even for my physiology and enhancements. I was just tired, I’d been tired for a long time. Tired of this world, tired of the manufactured filler culture. Tired of its corrosive plague staining the very soil that the gangs fought for.
The sand started to cover my feet, then enveloped the rest of my body, I lapsed into unconsciousness.
A day later, I awoke underneath an unclean sheet of sand. I shook the sand off my body, then crawled forward past the rubble. Lifting my visor, I coughed and placed a bandanna around my mouth. I clumsily clambered to my feet and stepped forward.
The dawn’s light hurt my eyes, I was hit with a sudden realisation, I’m still in this world. This withered and grotesque world. All around me are the signs of the manufacturers work, they sucked the soul from nature itself. She was repulsed by the very sounds of their pop filler. It could be poor a joke, perhaps, a poor and distasteful joke, which had blackened our plants and vegetation. People back then said;
‘Oh its just shelf filler, its just filler on ITunes digital wackalogue’.
Nature herself was vomiting. Think about it. How would you react, if you had no escape from hearing the sound waves of yet another pop filler wacktastic tune, or the TV coliseum’s transmissions of clowns cheering more puppets as they destroy our musical history to inflate the bank balances and egos of the manufacturers.
I am alone. I’m the only one who remembers. I listen to my music as I wander. I thought my escape gave me the freedom to wander. But, I’m still a prisoner. A prisoner to an ancient past, which no longer exists.
In the distance, I can see another zoned city staring back at me. The walls over flowing with more filler culture seeping into the wastes. Sighing, I decided to wander in another direction. I’d had my fill of society. I just wanted to be left alone with my memories and music. It was the only light left in my miserable existence. I also didn’t want to see any more golf. Golf was one of the few things that had remained unscathed. It was still as boring and pointless as ever. No matter how much pop filler you overlay on golf, it is a hard sell. With that being said, thanks to the First Culture Corporation’s leader, Mr Will Van Golf, it had now become a serious religious practice.
Walking forward again, I resumed my path of solace. I turned up my audio device and listened to MC Therapist’s ‘Brutal For Your Ears’. Real music always was to brutal for the ‘filler’.