DaCrojus stands alone. Logic appears as fecal matter smeared on the walls of the darkest, most morbid and nightmare inducing
little tiny hallways with nice neat little rooms with fresh sheets every day, the cleansing aroma of the shiny and clean chemicals
that keep us from being penetrated by morgellons through every orifice, no matter how small or seemingly inpenetrable enterence into
the chainlink, the structure, the pseudochamber of something to strive to be. A big strong man. Or a petite beautiful woman.
Without tick tock tick tock oh jolly gee wiz! Hello family. Time to go enjoy my cubicle, slavery and being fucked by everyone I know,
to come home to a wife who reneged on her ''through sickness and health'' schpiel as soon as that fuck whore found out about my
hidey hole of what we all strive to collect the most of. Cotton paper bills. the ones we use to teach our offspring values and
responsibility, the source of what we need to survive. A man, who spends his entire ''life'' helping others asking for nothing in return
but to be left alone, to fend for himself, and to be as far away from ''society'' as possible.
Why would this man help the same people who left him to rot on the streets, dying from pneumonia, without a caring soul in the world
to give him the help he gave them?
Because, these are creatures. These are just fleshbags. Living their pretty little neat and clean, dreaming of hope and success and
freedom and liberty, it is all just a facade. Logic, society, structure, form and content do not matter to this man.
This man, has embraced da crojus, and will forever pity all who align with the pseudostructure of a flanderized, dumbed down,
and paper thin life. Life, is life. Da crojus, is freedom.
You can lock up a man for life, and throw away the key. It is quite amusing that these fellows in uniform, who protect us
and keep us safe, keeping the dangerous dangerous, keeping the insane insane, and keeping the successful successful.
It is just the place we are in that changes everything.
You're in another room, youre in your bedroom, youre in your rape dungeon, you're in your shallow grave.
But you can never escape da crojus.
You can deprive man of all sustinence and leave him to rot, but after death, in the next phase of what I can only describe, using
this clunky visual character and word cluster based communication, the next stage of the infinity plains, which at the same time,
can be the neverending junkyard.
