Most of the best songs have already been written. Most of the best video games came out on what are now considered retro consoles. Most of the best writing has already been penned by dead men, still rolling in their graves. Most of the best films were directed by Stanley Kubrick, who is anyone trying to kid? (Un)Luckily I understand that aesthetic is uncompromisable in art, that truth is too few and far between, in this world of ours...that I'm going to live just long enough to see man's automation and subsequent fall from grace. To witness centuries upon centuries of hard earned human knowledge, discarded like so many New Years' resolutions. Forgotten, like so many of my heroes, simply lost in the sands of time and human ignorance. And yet, people can memorize so much nonsense and repeat it back like so many parrots. It's like the record of humanity is skipping, but no one wants to speak up! It grows more grating and cacophonous by the second, and we grin on, like stupefied children, unable to see the forest fire for the flames. One giant human fireball; conflagration for one and all.
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