Speak to your heart a moment, there the rotating spit, thousand acid drips running the machine of your mind into the ground, the choking heat, the eternal return of a slave’s reaction, the furrows over, the yes sir dung, the low wages, the empty tasks, the lie of set events of success, “by twenty five you should be…” and if you want to be off the press you’re fucked, everyone with an opinion, the lie that you create your own suffering, the lie people never change, the lie it will get better just wait, the lie just pray, the lie give up, the lie you should give up. Why give up? The body can still move, the mind still think. Why give up? No promises, no certainties, really means no guarantee of defeat. No promises means you might not quit, might not die like a dog, might not be like your father or mother, might not. Maybe so. Might not, probably not, no.