In a land far far away, men's pardonable obsession with material abundance shines like the edges of polished cutlery for as far far as the eye can see. Warmth eludes the inhabitants of this land far far away, even at the square intersection of their times, where they collect in multitudes to be in isolation together.
The city lies trapped in endless corridors of concrete and steel gripping each other with the same force that brings together a man and woman in a poorly enacted love scene. The great heights of the steel corridors stand testament to all that is unaccommodating and all that constricts in the hearts of men.
The perfectly carved out shapes fail to elicit passion from the stoned gazes that fall upon them. The echoing emptiness of a glass half full fills the corridors and reflections without origins reflect themselves endlessly from the surrounding emptiness.
In this sea of emptiness, I expect to be lost, to inflict upon myself the pain of wealth. A wealth, I know belongs with the ignorance that created denominations of men's potential, will, and freedom. In this land, I expect to be far far away.
The Forbidding Frigidity of The Frugal Fetish
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