Is it the world’s oldest story?
Rags to riches…
At what point does the dream shift from art to ego?
Or a suitcase full of cash?
Our culture has become one of celebrating the sell outs, those who posture and pose, those who swagger and swear, to reach the ultimate goal: the payout.
All eyes on the braggarts, the insulters, the shiny-suited mofos in their rented luxury cars they pass off as their own.
But is it them corrupting us? Turning our dreams into such banality?
Or is it our deep-seated dreams, our PPVs, shaping them? Are we the ones dreaming monsters into being?