Provided by Cyril Joseph from Narrative Of The Restless
I do not have their best interests at heart, neither do I yours or my own. If I did, this would be a narrative of love and hope, or a narrative that would let you revel in the matrix. And I wouldn’t be the messenger of everything bleak, killing your dreams of buying happiness from conglomerates and governments, as promised by advertisements and propaganda.
Here they are, selling you on societies built on genocide and slavery, hooking you on brands of culture, spirituality and lifestyle, trading superficial order for your compliance. Corporations and administrations controlling the market, restricting and influencing your choices, turning you into docile consumers that seek completion in their products. A whole generation profiled based on brand consumption. This isn’t just me rebelliously seething, this is our wretched reality governed by the very forces that sell you happiness as product.
Designating the price of everything, yet missing the value of it all; be it a cup of coffee, the clothes on your back, your access to information or the freedom of choice. I asked you what your dream is for tomorrow, and you summarized it in brand names. I find it very depressing that the cost of your dream can be calculated as the sum total of the marketing costs of Starbucks, Gucci, Apple and the other labels you yearn for. I am terrified that you associate happiness and completion to merchandise, petrified that we’ve become prisoner to product.
I am but one voice of fury, filled with rage against the machine, blatant disregard for policy, utter disdain for authority, and strong contempt for conformity, going out in a blaze.