Before you hastily scoff in disappointment at the lack of names and faces, stop for a second and think. This is how it is, and you knew this is how it had to be. Could you have come this far had you known who’d been writing these words? How deep could you have fallen on the tails of somebody else’s dive? This isn’t about names or faces. Fuck, you might as well replace them with numbers and barcodes. If you want to know who we are (and really think about that question for a minute) then do yourself a favor: truly, open your eyes.
Look in the seat next to you. Watch, as we fill up the lines behind you. Listen, as we chant along with you. As you leave the building, notice how we pick up your trash. On your drive home, we’ll sell you your gas. When you stop to get food, you guessed it, we’ll be the ones flipping your burgers. As you sleep in your bed, we’ll be patrolling the streets. We’ll be keeping you safe. We work 3rd shift in the motel lobby. We deliver your newspapers because one job is not enough. We expect the worst and it never gets better; barring when we think it does… And then we’re signing your checks. We’re tipping your tables. We’re buying your tailored suits. We’re never alone, yet we’re always lonely. It never gets any better.
Nothing in this world saves. Nothing you can see or touch or taste. And if you really want to know who we are; take a look around. And then, take a look in the mirror.
Welcome, we are…
The Age Of The Fall
Don’t forget—Show your colors—black ski masks and black bandannas covering your faces in Detroit and Chicago. Start a revolution.