Perfection of a Cry

I dunno, noise and action, products of duality, the like and likeness to left and right, good and bad. Why is it a fight between Devil and God when man himself produces.

So breathing here as always, I come to conclusions I am weak, through seeking desires of ego, I failed myself. These reaches like a hand grasping out, wanting satisfaction, from these, items, these visuals, noises, the consumer is me, the ego the buyer, the needs out there in produce.

Should I strip myself of all medals, objects removed, claiming solid needs of solid things? Would it be enough to remind me, the fools continue on ahead, at parties laughing and joyous over bread.

I choke and wheeze at knowing, a slight trap, a non gold, a non light. I am killing my mind slow, trapping myself in diction, classified as cultures that created these object I am.

I am the CONSUMER

Cleaning should be done and I look at my desk and this is what I see.
A tub of honey, teapot, bowl of half eaten tomato soup, 8 paper coffee cups, a ceramic coffee cup, a plate, a spoon, a can of coke, 7 cans of whiskey and cola, 3 2L juice containers, a few packets of empty cigarettes, a full one, a lighter, and some guitar parts.

I AM THE CONSUMER.