We’re flawed in our philosophy, lost in the monotony, caught in the cacophony, going hungry feeding monopolies. I can’t even speak out properly, I might lose all my property, either my breath or my bones with twenty cops on top of me. In confusion I call this democracy, but politics is not for me; definitely, probably, with the probability of death haunting me. Punishment is not new to me, but the police are friends with impunity. The media covers the casualties, forgets about some casually and completely neglects it gradually. They try to blunder and badger me and blemish my image to the point of insanity. Then they sugar coat in hopes to cope, and loss of life is suddenly battery. In truth we’d all love a lobotomy, but apathy has penetrated our society like nonconsensual sodomy. Everything’s a mockery, our beliefs and morality sabotaged by hypocrisy. I see it all around me, people struggling with their own tyranny, each drowning in a private sea, neck-deep in irony. We forget that a trump card is an anomaly, not a true form of authority or superiority. And if you listen to the dissonance of broken dreams, therein you’ll find the tragedy of being a minority.
— Nav K