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Some days it feels like the Australia we live in is covered with a thin layer of grime. A dirty slick coating our pores. The smell of industrial oil. A landscape covered in a grey, grainy film.

Ghostly, buzzing plagues of insects. People with dead eyes and dead smiles. Scorched, yellow landscape. Industrial stacks.

Lies. Corruption. Evil. Abuse. Bigotry. Hate. Rape. But it’s all ok, somehow. Because that’s the way the world is.

It’s not quite the real world. The real world is somewhere under this zombie universe. But what we choose to see is this grimy, strange, distorted landscape. Like an alternative reality that resides that infinitesimal distance away from usual reality, but so far that they do not touch.

And being in contact with it for long enough, you end up slathered in the grime, in the disease. You believe in it. You become dead inside.

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