More and more, it would appear, this phantom word "individuality" seems to be little more than a product of the attenuation of self.

One plods away through the bog as cliche upon cliche sticks, and at some point gives up, and lays claim to these ragtag armies. Cliches, fragmented and caked with vomit... now our pride, our source of IDENTITY! , our distinctive, distinguishing feature.

Don't get me wrong. I'd like some of those cliches for myself, they are shiny and smooth to touch. But why would this or that combination be my desert? Why must I be singled out for deliverance, for happiness, for the fulfilment of such and such idle dream ? Why not
cut out the middleman
and
go straight
to the most fundamental cliche of all: the final one? We all die alone.
Some, with their illusions intact.
Most of us,
sans preconditions.

So be it.

A death of course, as featureless and hollow
as society
as lust
as self-esteem
as hope
as life...
The cliche to end all cliches, the fount of all individuality.