Most rejected shadows, especially him, didn’t really traverse the globe in search of temptations and riches. That was all a fabrication, a justification to himself that he was doing something worthwhile. He had much more fun grumbling to a start, shrugging off scum that, on his skin, appeared to be levitating, at some early afternoon hour In an African brothel. He would wipe his dark, colourless eyes clean and breathe in the stale air that tapped his harem of emotional minor’s depression directly into his veins. The worst they felt the better he felt. Self pity is selfish and productivity falters due to invisible distractions. He could move alongside them without having to give anything away, no ‘good vibes’ or positivity. He could keep those for himself. He thought he was immune but their bitterness wore off on him and the spectresque figure could no longer stand it. He left on his own to spend the rest of his years alone. Maybe he could find himself or someone would come and show him the way. Sit tight. Nothing changed and he just got frustrated. So he went back to the brothel, drank himself stupid and it was the best time of his little translucent life.
The Arcade Fire - Rebellion (Lies)
Mobb Deep - Up North Trip
Neon Indian - Mind, Drips
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