BOTTLED-UP WORDS

MORE SPACE FOR ART

Four words now become monkeys, officially aligned into a kind of meaning less mumbo jumbo; Permanence at work, juggling words as domino pilings securing its official status as the 'in' thing for all to self align to; these fab fours are now 'sacred' cows, graffiti killers sent out from the social power towers to clean up the people's urban messing up their blindingly stainless steeled walls with each day's blood stains left from each individual's passage;

Nobody has time left in order to 'play' or 'inquire' about each word's culture, history, background, for everybody 'assumes', yes assumes that, as usual everything is okay, normal;

Each one among our herd carries a bull of stasis pimping out any ping of the 'what' is all around one's own day's walk; as long as the walking proceeds by itself, no one cares about meaning, substance, responsibility, involvement;

The walking, the sleeping, become reality both slowly interwoven, fading tapestry of a life.

Have one? a life?