Thanks to Young Mescaline Franklin, I am being treated to a weekend trip to Manhattan, from where our soulless, shadow masters pull the puppet strings of our gross masters. Mescaline called yesterday, wanting to know what I wished as part of this trip.
Honestly, I have no interest whatsoever in Manhattan or New York City in aggregate, for it is merely a mirage made of millions of meat-puppets and their dwellings and conveyances, meant to beguile us with the promise of a false future.
I am interested in seeing into the future—my reason for staying in Baltimore—and therefore wish to visit liquor stores in the worst shitholes on the upper east coast: Camden, Trenton, Allentown—someplace terrible in New Jersey.
No museums, cathedrals, French whore monuments to a false freedom, just the realty for the people who fail or decline to climb the ladder of the mind-numbing hierarchy.
A Once Great Medieval City: 2016: Impressions of Baltimore Maryland
