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Depravation of Sense
As it stands now, I seek a permanent sensory deprivation—to drill into the drum that rages with the incessant noise pollution; to shatter the glass of the cameras that capture the disgusting and depraved images; to freeze the surface membrane so as it will not feel the disturbances to its surface; to sever the sensory muscle that must taste their stench; to burn the pipes which carry in the parasomia of the world—all for the sake of avoiding man, to avoid the gut-wrenching putrescence that I am forced to be a part of. Yet beauty, though sparse, still remains in the world, in some remoteness somewhere. Were it to vanish completely, there would be no point to sensory homicide; transcendental suicide would be the only option.
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