GARBAGE...

Every body is rushing to produce something 'new' which in fact is basically a copy or a clone sketched from an existing machina, albeith with a cosmetically 'new' aroma or flavor;

While we are rushing to our 5/7 days of work, we never give thought that we have at 'home' 10 pairs of shoes, xxx of all those things which cannot be worn one over the other; there is that piece of green stuff which must be clipped and fed, filled with poisons against the fauna endemic to this area, from long ago before we decided to upgrade it to the level of chicken coop clones, rows upon rows of nicey little nests, all identic, none an authentic family house;

We no longer build anything, computers, machines are there for it, and us, can no more of a better solution than to do it all just bigger, taller, inflated from money's conceptual power, that of being the all empowered reality spreading itself all over the lands, turning it all into a battle field strewn with discards of all sorts;

Sorting it out? No time.