We’re all so concerned about producing something magnificent. To spend countless hours laboring over a cherished project, only to give forth something of extreme value, of the utmost preciousness, to the world, is the mission that breathes air into the lungs of the human soul. We sweat, we water our creeds with tears, and we kill ourselves in the name of art, in the name of Allah, in the name of God. It’s all one and the same, it’s all imagined, an idea, a concept, a finely sculpted idealism that lacks tactile qualities. While searching for the unknown, we disregard concrete evidence in favor of desired feelings of warmth and acceptance. There are souls that need fed and mouths that need punched and the two are inseparable. In our quest for satisfaction, we abandon our brothers and greatly underestimate the power of labeling. A label for the enemy, a label for the poor, a whole fucking falsified nutritional value adhesive for the sick and dying. The ability to cure, the ability to save, the ability to heal and to share, all lie in our hands, but not in our hearts. And that, is the curse of the human race.