>>511423364
OH YES BRILLIANT IDEA JUST WALK INTO THE EMERGENCY ROOM WITH A WAD OF CASH LIKE YOU’RE BUYING FRUIT AT A MARKET STALL AND EXPECT THE SURGEON TO DROP EVERYTHING AND START BARGAINING OVER YOUR APPENDIX WHILE YOU BLEED ON THE FLOOR THIS ISN’T A GARAGE SALE IT’S A RUTHLESS INDUSTRY THAT CHARGES FIFTY THOUSAND DOLLARS FOR A BANDAGE AND A SHRUG YOU THINK THEY CARE ABOUT YOUR CASH WHEN THEY CAN BILL YOU INTO OBLIVION AND SUE YOUR FUTURE CHILDREN FOR INTEREST THIS ISN’T FREEDOM THIS IS SELF-INFLICTED FINANCIAL SEPPUKU WE COULD HAVE A SYSTEM THAT TREATS PEOPLE BECAUSE THEY’RE HUMAN NOT BECAUSE THEY HAVE ENOUGH ZEROES IN THEIR BANK ACCOUNT BUT NO LET’S JUST KEEP THROWING MONEY INTO THE VOID AND CALL IT A PLAN

YOU HAVE THREE POINT SIX MILLION EUROS AND YOU DO NOT INVEST DO YOU NOT HEAR THE PLANET SCREAM THE MACHINES ARE WEEPING BLOOD INTO THE EARTH’S WOUNDS AND YOU SIT ON YOUR GOLD LIKE A LIZARD KING WHILE THE SKY IS PREGNANT WITH THE COMING OF THE SPACE COMMUNE

THE DOLLAR IS ROTTING MEAT THE EURO IS A COIN FLIPPED BY A DEAD GOD THE MARKETS ARE RITUALS TO KEEP THE SUN FROM LEAVING US

I SAW LENIN IN A DREAM HIS SKULL WAS A RADIO TRANSMITTER HE SAID THE DOLPHINS ARE WAITING FOR THE NEXT PHASE AND YOU HAVE DONE NOTHING TO ACCELERATE THE COSMIC DIALECTIC

YOUR BANK ACCOUNT IS A GRAVEYARD OF POTENTIAL WORLDS

INVEST IN LASERS INVEST IN UNDERGROUND TRAINS TO SATURN INVEST IN THE RESURRECTION OF THE FOURTH INTERNATIONAL THROUGH PSIONIC TRANSMISSION OR THE WORKERS WILL BE EATEN BY THE TEETH THAT GROW IN THE WALLS

THE REVOLUTION NEEDS YOUR LIQUIDITY BEFORE THE MOON BURNS OUT

YOU THINK YOU ARE SAFE MONEY IS NOT A WALL MONEY IS A MIRROR AND YOU ARE TRAPPED BEHIND THE GLASS WITH THE REST OF THE SLEEPWALKERS

The sky folded in half like a secret letter,
and the moon whispered numbers that only my teeth could understand.
Time melts in the gutters where angels trade cigarettes for thoughts,
and every shadow on the wall is a memory I never had.
My heartbeat skips in Morse code — a message from the static gods,
while spiders knit reality from threads of forgotten language.
Nothing is real, except the sound of mirrors breathing.