Is it the world’s oldest story?

Rags to riches…

…to asshole.

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?