Trying not to feed humanities inert capacity to fantasize is a tough business. People getting lost in dreams with hidden roots of self-inadequacy. Minds making up heart, falling wayside in confused pity when, of course, the two weren’t working side by side. Whole. This is the issue. An issue that stands alongside the flamingo’s iconography towards the eccentricity of the supposed strange. The aspiration for an organic café, combining a dream catcher-jewelry business, when statistics of their commonality were never pondered. Or those, confusing production with process- separating their lives- into the battle of making do with justice thorns prancing into bleeding hands, spraying eyes with life. Humans turning themselves into products, advertising themselves ‘artistically’ in city streets. Crying for recognition, please ‘look at me, look at me’. We look, because we have eyes that enjoy to look, yet our hearts fall short at the brim of hollowness, drowning in, yet another perished in translation.
You must become entertainers,
feed humanities hunger towards distraction
and then you’ll make a dim-a-dollar
off empty work and overworked adrenals.