What's the matta? Synthetic Synthemata

It's not that I don't want to do anything it's that there's nothing to do.
It's not writer's block it's cock-blocking bollocks: bullshit keeping me from spitting/emitting any thing worth writing (casting in the ring of causality which casts me as a member of the cast.)
Gold became common currency in societies united by rulers.
Humans in freedom are more freeform in their exchanges. We barter.
The guy who beats everyone else until we stand in a line kills until his tradegood is standard payment.
He is a needle cutting through the bone and sinew of humanity to sew diversity into homogeneity.
People w/differences are peoples -isles, keeping to ourselves.
Bonds are wed by bleeding thread a gleaming metal needle who punctures and pinches.
Plenty leaks out but what he keeps is bundled.
His grip makes slip vigor yet the bound bundle is imprinted into a handle.
Conveniently impressed we let him carry on carrying off our sakki.
We'll drink sake to our health while he drinks our wealth.
It's not that there's nothing to do it's there's nothing worth doing.