once you’ve pulled the mask on over your head, you’ll no longer have to face the sadness of being an individual. you’ll be identical, interchangeable. behind your opacified lenses, you’ll live in your own hothouse atmosphere of sweat and partially recycled breath. from the murky heat, you’ll feel your pliable, rubber body manipulated, used and controlled. the vegetative bliss of being an object. the pleasure of a life given over entirely to another man. it’s time to accept what you were always meant to be, bro. feels so good to be just another drone






















