Our Own Creation
The darkness of night swallows the last of the day’s failing light, a blanket of anonymity for all to hide beneath. Cries of joy and sorrow, screams of pain and pleasure combine with the low rhythmic beats of the neon night life, a gaudy soundtrack for decadence, vanity, corruption and vice. The night’s cold hands embrace all this depraved hedonistic world has to offer, opening its maw wide to take its fill before the return of the “civilised” daylight hours.
This twisted pantomime of so called “evolved humanity” is where I play my part. I don’t believe myself to be better than those I observe, purer of soul or more honourable of intent. I count myself among the filth of our fair city. I’ve felt the chemical fire burn through my veins, I’ve taken delight in the pain and suffering of others and I’ve lost myself pressed against the warm flesh of a willing whore.
This city is a dark temptress of our own creation and I like countless others, have fallen prey to her many snares.
Will Yvanovich
The darkness of night swallows the last of the day’s failing light, a blanket of anonymity for all to hide beneath. Cries of joy and sorrow, screams of pain and pleasure combine with the low rhythmic beats of the neon night life, a gaudy soundtrack for decadence, vanity, corruption and vice. The night’s cold hands embrace all this depraved hedonistic world has to offer, opening its maw wide to take its fill before the return of the “civilised” daylight hours.
This twisted pantomime of so called “evolved humanity” is where I play my part. I don’t believe myself to be better than those I observe, purer of soul or more honourable of intent. I count myself among the filth of our fair city. I’ve felt the chemical fire burn through my veins, I’ve taken delight in the pain and suffering of others and I’ve lost myself pressed against the warm flesh of a willing whore.
This city is a dark temptress of our own creation and I like countless others, have fallen prey to her many snares.
Will Yvanovich
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