Morphine. I need morphine to endure this reality.

Ether. I need ether to dissolve into liquid.

I cannot reenact the part where the structure crumbled. To reenact such a thing would require years of training as an unoriginal actor.

I will drain my body at the station.

He is an equation. He cannot feel. He is mathematically immune. There is no formula for emotion. He will be emotionless because it is safe. He will not die for you. He is not a martyr. He is an automated money dispenser, feeding the superstructure so that he does not have an identity. To have an identity would be far too painful because then he would realize what is happening. He would understand that he is a slave. He would understand that his life is not really his. He already gave up anything that gives him pleasure so that he can become more fully automated. Soon he will walk like a machine. More like the superstructure's idea of a machine that they have instilled in him through their clever use of media, but ideally their idea is the one he wants. He will not be aware of anything. He will act accordingly. He will abide and then he will vomit all of his originality into a tin barrel. Tin is more economic. He would not want to be a burden or bring attention to himself by using a barrel made of gold or some other precious metal.