The Silent Acquiescence of Millions.

In through the open window.

I'm keeping quiet tonight. The streets used to be alive with my shouts on a Wednesday night. Actually, most nights of the week you could find me navigating my way through another drunken shroud, stammering and staggering through conversations with loose women and stupid men. I'm a child of my environment, and I learned early the joys of the mind-altering substance. It is a well told story - I am not the first and will not be the last.

Last night was a seminal one for me. I have the beginnings of a plan formulating in this cavernous mind of mine. I think I will play my cards close to my chest, however, and so this is all you will get for now. My name will be on all your lips one day, for once for the right reasons, and without traces of my DNA.

. . .

This new dosage is going to be the clincher. I have been put on the back-burner until mid-January, and I don't know how to take it. Does this mean that I am expected to be cured by then, or that it will take at least that long before some progress can be made? I'm not fretting either way, I would just appreciate the heads up.

I remember watching the Colgate Sparkle Toothpaste ads when I was a kid, and thinking that I could fly after brushing my teeth with the stuff. When I landed head first on the floor from my top bunk bed, I knew instinctively that I'd had my first sour taste of a marketing campaign. Perhaps the seeds of anti-capitalist sentimentality were planted in the split seconds between my skull bouncing off the wooden floor and me bursting into tears.

It could be that they started their germination when I bought my Indestructi-ball home from Pizza Hutt after a rare visit. Nothing could break them, I'd been led to believe - "Not even the neighbours dog!" Yeah, well the pussy ass cocker-spaniel we were looking after at the time had no trouble reducing my bad-ass indestructi-ball to a few rubbery remnants in about 2 minutes flat.

If you are a marketer, you are a scumbag. I want nothing more than for your whole business to go under, and your shitty Mazdas and Fiats to go to the scrap heap with your screeds of misleading propaganda. My childhood was blighted by your sneaky monetary-philandering and my naivety combined, but blighted nonetheless.

I must now leave you, androids, for I am indifferent to these keys at present. Would you choose one day with a dead loved one, or a life time with one who's still alive?

Out through the back door.