The silent heartbreak of our generation, hidden behind clay masks, fake identities which dry out and crumble to dust under the sun—that is why we live in the night. The silent heartbreak of our generation, silent because our language, warped and twisted through the years, cannot express it. Our silent heartbreak, our hopeless smiles, our despair.
There is a pill to dry your eyes taken with a pill to contort the muscles of your face into a grin; a pill to sleep and a pill to wake; there is a pill to have sex and another because you had sex, because of what sex is, a pill of death; but there is no pill for love.
I have seen such empty shells of people, drunk on beer and wine and the never-ending lights and sounds—the never-ending noise—of screens. Screens everywhere. There’s no place without the glow of static. The glow of the idiot’s lantern has filled all our eyes, and there is no more room for the light of the sun.
Tale Told 