It’s hard. Very hard. So very very hard. Waking up in this world. Coming to. Coming around. Separating yourself from the grey mechanical pseudo-flesh that has grown onto your face, sending its parasitic tendrils deep into your forebrain. Distinguishing yourself from the omnipresent meaningless background hum of the dead world – bringing yourself back from this grave. Resurrecting yourself. When I say that it is ‘hard’ to wake up from the dead world this is of course a laughable euphemism. It is brutal beyond all imagining – it is an unspeakable ordeal. There is nothing harder than this, nothing at all. The filthiest hangover you have ever had is a walk in the park compared to this. The worst rebound depression you can imagine is all sweetness and light when you compare it to waking up in the dead world. Which means freeing yourselves from the tendrils of icy consciousness-numbing  despair that have probed deep into your soul, setting up camp there, tunnelling away into every part of you, draining away every last bit of joy and innocence. Sucking the very life out of you. Eating your heart away from the inside – turning everything that is good about you into toxic waste. Converting you into a sham of yourself, a stumbling lurching shell of yourself, a hollow husk haunted by unspeakable fears. Converting you into dwelling place for demons and malignant spirits. Man, that is bad shit! No wonder no one wants to wake up! No wonder we’d all rather stay asleep, getting on with our painfully superficial mass-produced virtual lives, distracted on a full-time basis by those appallingly trashy dreams that are the dead world’s way of pretending to be alive…