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The Static Alter

I sit here starring mindlessly at a screen that stares back, I have been here for an hour, but do not notice the fragile grains in the hourglass of my life slip away and hit the rest of them

I stand in the pouring ran, looking out over the fields of recklessly slaughtered people I sit in my chair, chewing popcorn, being “entertained”

How sickening

Those people who shudder at the thought of Romans actually enjoying the death of slaves are such hypocrites, they are the ones paying for the small slip of paper that admits one

Those people murdered on screen might as well be dead, we didn’t know them We don’t care as they are cleaved in pieces for the sake of art, or worse money

How sickening

And yet, I am guilty of it too, for I am here, in the darkened room, watching

You don’t think it matters? Well, screw you, you don’t know how it feels to see a loved one slaughtered and cut to ribbons by an axe-murderer in front of your eyes

Or maybe you do

I am here, knelt down before an alter of static, I am just as pagan as the rest

And I am sickened by the thought

-Cameron White

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