2012

The whirring of computer parts has replaced smooth jazz in a world where we, the smoke soaked cretins are rendered irreversible. Solidly invisible. As a generation of starved scientists contently strive to force us extinct. Our breathe, once lay on a mirror surface in the cold like a headline across the daily paper, now seems futile and outdated. Loose teeth and cracked finger nails, flaking into the sweeping brush of an unqualified and perturbed janitor won't make the cut in our cleaned up neighbourhood. This is the avant garde.