We live in a world both increasingly sedate and crying out for attention.  Everything is so saturated.  The colors are so pigmented.  The pop songs so over produced.  The paint is cracking from the walls in real life, but in virtual reality white washed the graffiti is perfect. 

For artists, is there even a point in creating anything anymore? Is there any point in writing this, or should these words just fly back into the I cloud.  Advertisements take on their hyper saturated solutions just to stand out with the bombardment of yellow flowers, orange pink and ultra blue, floating bubbles everywhere and rendered characters drawn with simple shapes.  While the hypo saturated simps on social media have to resort to i-saying insane and dangerous things just to stand out.  Surrounded by bots, if no one engages are they even alive at all.  The only time we are truly alive is when we are being bashed by cops

Cop cars infest the streets now with there hyper saturated colours as they also fear not standing out.  Most people ignore the laws in this saturated world anyway.  The cars look like sunsets and daisies.  Bold blue, yellow, orange and pink electric BMWs look classy as, while people starve. The cars look like toys, scary garish toys, trying to sanitise the illegally armed terrorist forces.   In China these colours are called Yang colours, representing the masculine energy, the action, the object that acts, the sadist, the bully.   I watch as a female officer exites the vehicle, armed to the teeth, she catches my gaze and smiles.  For a short second she is just like me.  For a short second I could be her.

I miss the loud arguments in the streets over money.  They have been replaced with hyper realistic gore monster porn to stain the hyper saturated tread count sheets.  Where are the crazy kids that howl at the moon and don’t worry about the cars?  Theres no money in fine art, and no money means no point, no point in dancing, in hugging, in screaming, in helping the homeless.  We don’t even need a fascist dictator to be communists now.  We all walk the same lines in the same shoes too and fro and fro and too. The workers are on strike again but everybody just walks past them anyway.  Staring at hyper reality multi layered twitch videos of the same strike, adding angry faces to a sea of already angry faces bouncing up and down, delaying the inevitable realization that all the cheap home décor and different flavoured vodkas did not make them a part of the employer class as promised.

Them being I.  I being them.

A generation that streams is a generation that cannot be fooled.  All the leaders are corrupt and racist like the leaders even matter anymore; it comes as no surprise anyway. Why pray when you can just live stream fascists all day?  There’s really no point in thinking anymore, just nodding.  Threaten to rape someone’s mum when the numbness overtakes.

Who cares? The earth is burning anyway.

Who is going to pay money to avoid the ads, when the ads don’t work anyway?  Nobody’s trusting that shit, their shit, politicians shit, any shit anymore.  The illusion of moving up in the world breaks like the plastic stuff straight from the slave factories in China.  How can there be bodies dusty and grey pulled out of the rubble everyday when violence isn’t real?  Violence and war look like the ads, and the ads don’t work anymore.  The ads exist of a bygone era, when creating something for someone had meaning.  Meaning is manufactured in China.  Meaning doesn’t work anymore. Meaning is prisoners putting together the packages for KFC.    The kids are unstoppable and the kids are unfoolable.  No leaders, no cops, no cop cars, no ads.  Constructivism died here this morning. I miss it.