People gathering in parks where benches hold their steps for a little rest, a smoke, a coffee break, perhaps just some time, to pause the day or a shortcut back home, yet the same path to get to work. The same park that hold protests started in another place, international copycats, for a movement that claims guilt to the ones on the top, from the ones in the bottom. It´s a shame they never look down that way. Pigeons waiting for that hero that doesn´t give a fuck about the sign: “Do not feed the Pigeons” written both English and French.
It´s not about everything still is about nothing
A theatre that has seen better times, waiting for his personal Christmas, like a dying lady waiting for her cribbage pals to stop by and say hi. Witness of individual plays from the characters that pass by without noticing it. Like blinds on a parade or the Pope giving the bless to an endless crowd.
To say nothing we still can talk about everything.
Over-informed societies, Pouring drinks, the last drop goes first... And when the glass is empty let´s refill the void, another week to forget, more free space to learn.
There´s always more. It´s not about breaking the tide is about learning to dive.
It´s not about everything, yet about nothing...
Sometimes what they say versus what they do.
Like what the writer´s kit used to be down there in the good old south: a couple of red bulls, Tenessee whiskey cocktails mixed in a can marked with the brand jack daniels, smokey endless back up provided by a couple of camel packs and ganja free... Now everything is different, yet still the same.