Fear of death in your every deed, in your eyes, in what you say, when you say nothing at all. Fear of not being noticed. How to put this in words in order this body to work like a blade; it is not that tricky at all. Your horror and appall is your class, a predictable pattern that repeats, your poor quality, which is the desire to imitate and oh the poor judgment. How did you end up wanting the things you have got? Or do you have the things you wanted? Things. Things that equal you, dreams that equal where you come from. Measuring how much you have got, what others do not have, the exceptional, the luxurious, the expensive, a lifestyle. Peak of a pyramid upside down, decadence, heavy filth of humanity not looking for change. Change is getting old, to change would mean accepting immortality, equality and justice. Emergency of spirit, emergency of human condition is being healed at clinics for the rich. It, something gets more sick the more we work it, something, because we tend the surface, the show off. Pathology is clear and visible in grand looking architecture for sale, in high heals, obsessed body image cult that raves the internet and magazines. To dare to take a look inside reveals a shocking emptiness, loneliness, compulsion, corridors, whiteness and glass symbolizing the transparent illness, breathable death. To live a little is to breath death.