Facsimile of Self Worth

(...)You are the skin you were born into. You are the scars, the crooked grin, the disheveled bad haircut, the clothes on your back, the car you drive, the shoes with holes in them because you can't afford a car; you are the burden of your face, the size of your penis, the curve of your breasts, the pattern of hair speckled across your chest, the sound of your voice, the color of your eyes, the tip of your nose.

There is nothing else.

You realize that this is your culture: What you see is what you get. Sneak a little substance in and they talk about what brand of perfume you wear. Release 90,000 pages of documents that say the war your country is in was lost before Reagan lost his acting chops and forgot how to pee straight, and they say "How will this affect the upcoming election."

There is no you anymore. 'You' are the amount of followers you have, hits you receive, words per page, pounds you can press, zeros in your bank account. You are a statistic, a poll number, a demographic, marketable, a constituent, a mortgage, a consumer, a follower. You will be told how to cope.

Marx was right. This is the collapse.

(excerpt, via Freelance Pallbearer)