The blonde heavy breasted mannikin stares at me from the Facebook sidebar advertisement, telling me that thousands of women just like her are seeking men over 40, 'just like me'. I remain unconvinced that she is looking for a man just like me, as I would ask her to dismantle the apparatus in which she is caught, disband the hope and fear cycle which defines her, empty the erotic bath of desire and cease believing in the images that compose a reality I have no wish to be part of. But then again, choice for both of us is limited in the well-lit digital temples through which we are both forced to travel. I would however try, before she became too angry with me, to compose music dedicated to our mutual release from the capitalist prison in which we both find ourselves. A lament for the loss of our creative spirits in the harsh glare of specialist production and the meaningless repetition of hollow and senseless consumption masquerading as sex.
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