The sky is mashed cauliflower that’s been stepped on above a tapestry of cars. Slotting in and out of spaces are white, red, silver or black hair extensions of Frantic™, the business whose slogan is always saying: get me to anywhere but where I am. And: get me whatever I don’t already have. Which is a shame for the human soul, that can’t be anywhere but where it is, and already has what anyone could ever want.
“Frantic equals Progress!”, the CEO said to me whilst attempting to place my head in a vice.
“I disagree, is that why I am broke?” I said.
“No, that’s because you're a lazy cunt, get frantic” he replied.
“But getting frantic doesn’t agree with my heart…”
“Forget that horseshit, there isn’t time for your heart in this world”.
The sky is now a damp greggs napkin that’s fallen on a dreary London concrete pavement and been trodden on by a broken boot. I wonder if the sky will ever become an untouchable sea? A sky so clear and pure the lungs of all the Frantic™ advertising executives, psychologists, board members, stock advisers and so on will instantly collapse? “We are drowning in freedom, quick throw me a rope dear founder!” they will scream. But the founder will be snug in his bunker.
Follow your heart, it says above his door. Then under it, the one that makes me exist. It’s quite a sparse place, just a single chess board, pieces of our soul fighting to get to the King.
It is confusing; what heart to follow, what piece to move.
How long until it is clear to you - this game never ends.
