Stranded like on a beach of illusions like can we save the world by saving Earth or do we have to save ourselves first before we can even think about saving anybody or anything else. I am scraping stickers of occupied walls and signs that used to be street signs pointing us in the direction of conformity and normalcy but have now been inundated with grizzly masks of cartoonish freaks.
The city is collaged like a canvas made from houses and urban detritus. We drown in art but it is like drowning in a shallow pool. If we only would stand up we could see the horizon and we could walk away from this beach of illusion that holds us captured like a prisoner in Abu Ghraib.
But when I go on being busy stitching my crochet webbings around trees and the very street sign as if that would make the difference in my calculation about who I am going to be when I finally out grow out my beard and my skinny jeans to skinny for my skinny Latte and when Ill start pointing the way in real live not on some cartoonish screen will that be the time when time will have a future again and able to escape from this retrograde virus we call the religion of politics.
And all these questioned answer will vanish like the wars we keep alive just to proof to ourselves that we are the greatest under all the weakest. And the corrupt will be called out even if we ourselves have empowered them to mislead us.
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