Burn out your eyes, blind yourself to the architecture of the marionettes. Tastemakers' pawns, passionless monsters, passing on their rot like vicious lepers. I thought this was the fringe, free from the infection, free from the corruption. Their social norms are deathly mundane. I thought this was the freedom of our hearts. Black-hearted vultures, frothing at the mouth, devour our fruits of labor, mere sustenance. Deafen your ears to the hollow cries of bitter wraiths who haunt these halls. Soul-crushing leeches draining every ounce till there's nothing left.