I am the
mob, I change destinies, I am the gust of wind, I break through every layer of
sanity, I am irresponsible, for I am deprived of qualities, I alter the path of
the rivers, and its tributaries.
You fit into
the mould of nationalism that I made; You caress the scriptures that I made you
read; You adorn my different appearances all along the centuries, You remain
crushed along with your individuality, under my collectivity.
He who
kills, be killed, He who mauls, be mauled, He who treads my path, remains the
chosen one, He who falters, curses his existence.
I bay for
the blood of criminals, and more often than not, I mix up criminals and crime.
I am usually right or at least inclined towards the Right. I crush any
opposition, I destroy ideals; I bury ideas… I am progressive in my own way; the
only way I know: regressivity.
I fornicated
with crusaders, slept with monarchs, made peace with a like-minded herd.
Intellect won’t impregnate my sterile womb, meditation won’t contaminate my blood
lusty existence; I contemplate within my comfort zone, without it I am
perplexed. I am rusty and rustic, impervious to any thoughtfulness.
The only
thing that dare oppose me is another mob: I am the mob.
