Dillinger Is Dead

Dillinger Is Dead ★★★★

I am bored. Bored with the rigid structure of mundanity. Bored with my modish home and thoroughly stultified lifestyle. Bored with the popular music, the gourmet food and my beautiful-but-persistently-listless wife.

I am tired. Tired of bureaucracy. Tired of ennui, isolation and insomnia. I am tired, but I can never sleep.

I’m fed up with industrialism, diversion and my socioeconomic standing; feigning class—the parvenu bullshit.

I am seeking escape. Escape from it all. Escape from the pain of not knowing who I really am; the ironic fraudulence of my entire existence.

I am a child; a man child—internally alienated from the world—who has it all, yet in spite of this, is still unhappy. I am privileged and I don’t even know it.

I am the arcane punchline of a social satire via The Theatre of the Absurd, and I know this. And deep down, you know this. And you’re waiting for me to do ‘it’. And I will do ‘it’. Then after I do ‘it’, I will drift away, sailing off into a rufescent sunset.

I defy logic and reject traditionalism. I revel in the surreal. I will seldom speak and provide no explanations for my little charade.

Who am I? My name is Glauco, and this is Dillinger Is Dead.

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