chapotraphouse

A horrific future, at which we’ve arrived and now exist within, where “irony” is only an observed reaction of reality powerless before the omnipresent ideological influence of capitalist realism, which imposes the upper and lower bounds of the inherently ineffective general political “struggle” that, unlike a quantum hope, is not influenced by our observation. We are now bound behind the chainlink fence in the stands of the only game in town, and we can affect neither winner nor loser; we can only watch as the game begins and ends, and begins again. For we are now lonesome examples of fists banging against the plastic pane of our rotten reality, where none of our screams reach the ears of the ironic subjects, our fellow people, who willfully plug themselves with the salve of their slavers. There is no hope