The practicalities and impracticalities of revolution may be incessantly questioned at the will of the manipulator and his minions, a twitch in his muscles and we’re given a request to disperse. Though even in the face of sunlight the conviction of those in question will not be revoked or squandered. A curious will, a curious way, within the bounds of perception you play. To say the same thing once over, twice over, thrice. In the eye of authority nothing seems to resonate but bewilderment at such an incongruous sight. Though wasn’t it they who instilled such a wide array of conformity within the eyes of their audience? The audience whose sole priority is to feed the machine, be the machine, create for it, and nurture it as if it were living with flesh around it’s less than cozy exterior. There was a mistake in the masterpiece when the apple was picked, when the references were ambiguously twisted and convoluted, coated in chocolate and fed to you as shimmery advertisements yielding much glamour and pseudo-appeal. The appeal becomes real through you, through those who pick up an opinion and wash themselves in it with such thoroughness that it spreads and infects others. The immunity is insatiable, become desensitized, the contrived ticker-tape running it’s course in your mind.