I find myself placed firmly against the herd, for the instinct of a universal taste, of shallow acceptance of reigning virtues,

are things I do not share.

Blessed by the great omnipotent hand, of so-called free market kapitalism. Informed by the scourching all-seeing eye, of the mass-media and so-called free press; The hand that makes our goods; the eye that tells us what to buy: What great established harmony;

for us so abundantly blessed and so well informed.

Like grand collumn of ants, we walk the shopping centres seeking refuge and comfort, from a shallowness we fail to escape, in the vain persuit of things they don't need.

Buying, consuming, things we don't need. Nameless trinkets of no use or beauty, is what we offer and accept as gifts. When only that which means nothing is given, Frienships are won with friendship's loss.

All as autonomous as individual ants, grotesquely gloating in base denial of reason, is what they do for fun. Getting the next unique item made by the millions, and so far away that nobody knows.

Where is reason? Where is need? Where is beauty? All are gone through a different street.

Oh Comfort and joy Communion of bought happiness for you alone. Obscenity for all to behold. If only we could see each other... Raping the earth and mankind for the next little comfort, we do not care for what we do not know.

The horrors of production? veiled behind meaningless advertisements. Even a conscience is sold; by youngsters willing to lie for a wage. Away with it all!

They say this is the age of individualism; but this cannot be so. We still serve a greater power (money), and not ourselves

(Simon Visscher)