Counting sheep or counting knives.
We’re ghost-drivers, too scared to look behind us, seeing others advance. Masters at trying to snake through gaps, catching forbidden nostalgia, hidden to others. Eyes like narrowed cat-pupils when hitting the sun, from all the blinding headlights.
Camera flashing lights to some people, no 15-minutes of fame for us. We’re the actual stars – dead a long time, but still around to be observed.
Simulacrums will be fed, some starving children will be not. Excessiveness or naught? Choose. Grey-thinking is passé.
Use as much as you’ve been used, and it’s an offense. However being used, in every imaginable way, is socially established.
Are our thoughts, […]
