Padd Solutions

Here is my remix of Buraka Som Sistema's Black Diamond.
ENjoy.

To him, the fact that things looked so shitty in the given spectrum was a mystery. Things were indeed not shitty. Circumstances did fail to make things polished or "fine", but summing it up, it wasn't really that shitty. It just takes a tiny pebble to topple a whole mountain of arrangements that are so intricately designed to stay erect. The winds shook its foundations we guessed. To some of us it was just summer breeze, but to him...winds. I believed him when he said that the interactions only made him realize that the words were sandblasting him to the very core. It's such a shame to let words do such harm. He felt he was about to give up. But then he realized he had nothing to give up, and that made him only feel worse. "Give up what?" he thought. But no one heard him, he learned that thoughts are just that, the words no one hears. He had many thoughts, few words. I thought that maybe he longed for expression. We all thought the same thing. He never spoke endlessly about his thoughts like some of us do. Ranting on and on about interactions, intelects, and creativities."What is the purpose of the wind?" or "Why are dogs so mad at cats?" would rather fill his head than collective nonsense. This of couse would create miscommunication, trying to manifest these thoughts. Words, he thought, he rather not. Society? He still remained functional within parameters, but he knew, and I knew that the distance to the thin line was far from being a feat. That thin line between insanity and social functionality. He understood this very well. We almost did, but then again, I guess we really didn't. At least I know that all I knew was that he needed only to hop or trip to get to the other side. The other side promised many things. We had been shown since little darlings that we were. Promises of lonliness and silence, detailed schedules, padded rooms. This text means, of course, that someone hopped or tripped. Funnily enough, as functional and rational that I may seem, it is me who is writting across the padded walls. Circumstances made me trip. I am no longer part of the collective, and I am almost glad. I am satisfied observing through a looking glass from the other side. From silence,unparameterized.

As I run through bolds and italics, matter seems to collapse behind me. God created a universe that is held up with duct-tape and toothpicks, rubber bands and paper clips. It can only hold up for so long. There is no amount of patchwork that could help fix this place, we are destined for destruction. The field longs for complex chaos. I guess it can all be summed up by one word.
Decay. D-e-c-a-y. It's a scary word. To decompose. Desintegrate. Human decomposition, radiactive decay, food decay, health deterioration. It is applied to most everything, because everything ages, and becomes everything it was not, and that is the scary part. It was perfect but it decayed. We were written down in the perfect equation, but we made it deteriorate. Maybe I'm just mad at us as I am writing this, or maybe I oversimplify things by using a word that simply describes the situation, blowing it up, applying it to everything I see at the moment. All I can say is that I am not happy with my broken window. I hope you deteriorate at a faster rate.