We all have a purpose in this world, and it’s our lot in life to wait for the cosmos to reveal what that is.
They were so powerful, they wrote the laws to benefit themselves. They got away with everything because they banked on us, all of us, to trust the system. That was our vulnerability, and they took advantage of it.
They packaged a fight into product. Turned our dissent into intellectual property. Televising our revolution with commercial breaks. They backdoored into our minds and robbed our truth, refurbished the facts, then marked up the price. This is what they do. It’s what they’re good at. This is their greatest trick. Lobotomizing us into their virtual reality horror show.
There’s the cost of living and the cost of dying. Seems you’re paying the price whether you’re coming or going.
There it is. That sense of dread. It only happens when you cross a line you didn’t even know existed. Maybe that dread is a good thing. After all, when you realize you’ve crossed a line, that means you still had one. But when those crossed lines are all behind you, up ahead is only darkness.
So let me see if I got this. You wanna get into real estate. Is that it? Is that what all this is about? Is that really your groundbreaking epiphany here? No. That can’t really be it, is it? In your word salad, I heard something about drug dealing. Thing is, Pfizer and Eli are a few billion ahead of you, and they can buy your death with the same half-cent it costs them to make a pill. You wanna get into billboards? Download Photoshop. Make yourself a cute portfolio. Stores, with the debt everyone’s in, I’m sure they’ll gladly give them to you, in which case, you’ll just be owned by their banks. Trains are even more bankrupt, and don’t even get me started on the NYPD. Even that blunt you wanna roll is gonna be marked up by Big Tobacco itself. Point is, this city is one big, fat credit card bill, and you wanna pay it, all so you can, what, be another suit with a mortgage?[to Vera]
Our paths were too precisely linked to this moment for there not to be a reason. This is why. You get to decide.
He’s shutting down, compartmentalizing the pain, living in the distraction, just like the holidays: the fake Santas, the plastic trees, the annoying Christmas carols… One big song-and-dance production to sell ourselves the theater that everything’s jolly, at least for a moment. But when it’s all over, Santa’s gone back to his s***ty day job. The trees get disassembled and thrown in a closet. The music’s faded away. What then?[about Elliot]