American Satisfactory Press
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American flags artificially stamped with productive factory precision.
The echoes of freedom squelched by its satisfactory contraction.
It hums and it grinds and it presses and it whines.
It complains that it cannot keep up with the times.
Constantly it resonates a message of what once was,
and lies about what it's to be.
Its a cruel world we live in, we are no longer free.
We can only sit and stare through the unbearable glare that is the light of the truthful and honest sun.
We realize that with the experiment comes sacrifice,
The flaws of its doing and undoing evident in the cloudy and grueling aftermath of the once loaded gun.
But it is loaded again. Precise and true, it can be counted on to support the sloppy, the crude and the depraved. It will give you the power to take another to the grave and silently regret it, for the rest of whats left.
The American pressed flag waves violently through the storm, wrinkled and ripping. For each rip there is an ironic truth, the purpose behind the resonance of its message fades with every tear like its red and blue.
Eventually the colors will vanish into the uncertain air, a gray flag of surrender will appear as if from nowhere, as the American satisfactory pressed message ceases to care, its squelched by the echoes of productive precision, it looks back with a blind eye to the decisions that could have spelled out a clean and pure vision, it is now everyone's burden to bear.
(Sorry for the edits! Just felt like it. It wasn't really supposed to go anywhere specific. Eh?)
"I don't think the human mind can comprehend the past and the future. They are both just illusions that can manipulate you into thinking theres some kind of change" - Bob Dylan
"Have you seen an American kid? Hey, they're all crackers man...they're all mental...they're lives are too fast...they cannot keep up with themselves" - Brian Johnson
"Fortunately art is a community effort - a small but select community living in a spiritualized world endeavoring to interpret the wars and the solitudes of the flesh" - Allen Ginsberg