the end of the world
(part seven)
((potemkin city limits))


"francis didn't a give fuck about the rollbacks, over-production, reduced demand. never gave a much thought to disputed contracts...fourth quarter earning expectations, expedited their demise...when the screaming began, francis shut his eyes and felt the hand of the humanity brush over him..."

"Choose Life. Choose a job. Choose a career. Choose a family. Choose a fucking big television, choose washing machines, cars, compact disc players and electrical tin openers. Choose good health, low cholesterol, and dental insurance. Choose fixed interest mortgage repayments. Choose a starter home. Choose your friends. Choose leisurewear and matching luggage. Choose a three-piece suit on hire purchase in a range of fucking fabrics. Choose DIY and wondering who the fuck you are on Sunday morning. Choose sitting on that couch watching mind-numbing, spirit-crushing game shows, stuffing fucking junk food into your mouth. Choose rotting away at the end of it all, pissing your last in a miserable home, nothing more than an embarrassment to the selfish, fucked up brats you spawned to replace yourselves. Choose your future. Choose life... But why would I want to do a thing like that?" - trainspotting

it's the age old story of the modern man. get up. go to work. come home. hug the kids. kiss the wife. watch something mindless on television. lay in bed. look at the ceiling. wonder why you feel so unhappy. fall asleep watching the fan blades turn, turn, turn. wake up. it's 2 am. wonder why your neck hurts. shake your arm awake. fall asleep. alarm goes off. rinse. repeat. repeat. repeat. repeat. work for the weekend. get there. it goes too fast. your team wins. your team loses. doesn't matter. go to church. sing a song. leave wondering what "all of this" really is. it's monday again...

this is probably my second favorite song on the record. it's got everything i want in a ripping punk song. breakneck pace. thoughtful message. just enough catchiness to bring me back for more over and over again.

if you've worked a day in your life and have ever felt like you have been placed or placed yourself into a structure or system you have absolutely no power to change, you can relate.
 
for too many of us, our legacy is written for us before we were even born. our parents have made our decisions for us. we'll go to school. we'll get a job. we'll have a family. we won't break rules. we'll live by and through someone else's moral contract. we didn't have a say. when we dare speak out against the understood order, we are pushed back into place. 
 
keep working dammit. 
 
stop looking around you. there is NOTHING FOR YOU TO SEE HERE. 
 
keep having children. 
 
you can't be friends with this person. what will people say? 
 
don't question that person. they're 80. they are wise and must be right. 
 
haven't you read the bible? god fucking said so, bro! you can't question the almighty. sweet jesus. what the fuck do you think "made in his image" means anyway? that you get to think for yourself??? fucking retard. 
 
francis, in this song, is everyman. there is a point in his life where "the storylines... bridge the chasms between cognition and belief" and "for five months he ran free" and he feels "...his mother's loving eyes upon him" and "he made it farther than she did", but "a quarter mile before the city limits", "they finally captured him". 
 
at the end of it all, a tombstone statue is erected in our honor and we are laid to rest. if we are lucky, one pithy statement is etched on our statue to define our entire life's legacy for those that stumble upon us. we have served our purpose as a cog in someone else's machine. 
 
"turn around, i'm gone."
 
fuck. 
 
that.