the missing thing that is completely different from everything else, but everything has a stake in it.

weaning from the opiate of the elite

Wallowing in hopeless, existential despair drenched in drama and death is the opiate of the elite, strong enough to survive such hopelessness as kills everybody else and this feeds its gigantic ego. I'm a member, very susceptible to the delicious drought, but I also dream at night of the millions choking in the exhaust fumes, and so I resolved to stick to only such quantities of deliciously despairing novels and poetry as would get me through a cocktail party, which modulated dose just happens perfectly to serve the swerve of this snowy sport. Each time I spiral down I spiral back up to the image by which, once seen, every puzzle piece that comes before my eyes finds its match and that pair of matches theirs...