One true sentence

Cheers Hemingway, here's a true sentence

Progress is halted by the limbic system that lays within all of us, and it feels so damn good; feels so god-damned good to feel so god-damned bad, or even to feel something god-damned at-all; but progress itself is nonetheless is halted, halted in empathy, in understanding, in getting better, feeling better, you name it, you name it and label it and analyse it and realise that we are all monstrous animals rationalising our way through a deep green and blue and black ocean of desires and drives and tribalistic violences that play out in the mind and get denied and negated by the thought loops we are stuck in; these great thought loops of nothing, filled with everything, settling on nothing in particular; breathe, breathe and make it functional, make it purposeful and make sure that when you breathe that you remember the correct technique and the correct intention and make sure it maximises your stakeholder value; for the capitalist is the one who has honed and dressed up his limbic system with the fanciest, deepest and most profound suit, he has systemised the desire for more, greed and affluence and violence and brutality and domination and collection, grand collection on a scale which removes from others and fills nothing within, more and more until one day it will be unsustainable and we will ask why, and the thought inside (the quiet, suppressed thought) will answer: “we could have had everything, but having nothing felt better, felt right,” and the children will fight, and they will bicker and envy and act on jealousy and rage and injustice and they will be the true inheritors of the human race, for the race is one of desire and rage, and with age we grow and deny ourselves and tell ourselves that we are not but we are all that we are and have ever been, and that our entire evolution as a mammal that needs iron and zinc and magnesium and creatine that primarily comes from sentient beings is evidence of our adaptation to violence, mindless violence, which teleologically justifies itself as being a necessity through the millennia of removing a means to survive without violence itself, a violence which now slips out at traffic lights or at faceless minorities or at your wife and kids, or at the ‘system’ or a sports team or a boss or a colleague or a lover or an ex-lover, and you will justify this all by saying that you simply don’t understand how anybody else could be that stupid, and what the hell are these people thinking or doing, and how could anybody believe the things that these people are believing, not I, not me, not rational logical stoic philosophical me, the orator of truth, the diviner of all reason, the one who has the only correct opinions, until I lose my cool in a moment of passion which has breached the depths to come up for air, in the form of an outburst, and then turning inward after realising that I was never in control, merely in a placid environment, and that what I thought was a conscious civility was merely the absence of threat, and that threat itself is enough to drive me to animalism, and that I realise that I am nothing but a mind which is mine while things are fine but become the human race when faced with the disgrace of a violent or anonymous face, and that I am a limbic system primed for pleasure and pain, violence without shame, and that the fame that I seek, the ambitions that push me, that I justify as altruism or self-actualisation, is merely the post-hoc justification for scratching that limbic virulence, and that even my progress, moving up the evolutionary ladder to free myself of the shackles of necessitated violence, is halted, the progress halted by the limbic system that lays within all of us.