Never Too Late!

Never Too Late!
any resemblance to anyone real or imaginary is mere bad luck
we are all lying in the gutter, but some of us are trying to get up


The occult origins of our malaise

M____s paints a desolate picture of English life, transformed by the BabelFish translator into this weirdly beautiful text:
Good side of if living in a assexuada society, where all the predios the same seem to be, all the equal houses sao, all the store if are similar and the gostos of establish in one danca robotica without taste, smell of nothing, flat, where the unica badness eh the propria badness, violent naked and, far of the meat but close to the knife. So I read the bad news for here. Nao I remember if it read as much when Pablo liveed in Sao, but I find that yes. Nao I remember. Nao I remember
There is black magic here, my child, and you will remember suspecting so, as soon as you got here. Their web of evil feeds on us, even as this old and evil city sucks sustenance from the Earth, and cargo jets and freight ships feed it with the wealth of all the world. The blinking eye in the pyramid atop Canary Wharf sweeps us with its malignant gaze and millionaire sorcerors laugh all the way to the bank, fat and engorged with the energy of slaves...

We are at one of the nodes of the global flows of information and money. Parasites in the belly of the great beast.