Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

On the go; a slow steady suicide;
Life in shadows, lived by the light of Fox News Channel;
an armchair prognosis of vitriole toward xenophobe's antiheroes;
"We should mine the border," she heard, and thought, well...., maybe a little severe, but probably a good idea.
The air is thick with the hot lightening show of manifest hatred, a requisite instinct for survival in this Orwellian goo.
"I love Big Brother," she said, in grunts and guffaw, "he's so handsome,......and smart too." "Do you want somethin' to eat, baby?"
Rocking chair hypnosis lulls the sheep to sleep, in a comfortable air conditioned den, replete with 'maybe.'
The blind shudder at glimmers of light, when it bathes the sofa with warmth and health.
And I sing songs of lament when the fist tightens it's grip, under the guise of safety, security, and the cocksure prance.
"I guess I'll have a little of whatever you're cooking."

Dammit; I should slap myself across the face as hard as I can.... or do some jumping jacks; either way, it'll get the blood flowing, and my eyelids won't droop as they tend to do.