How many times did someone have to run in front of a machine gun before it became an act of cowardice?
As though they made people like Stanley anymore . . . .
The problem with words, when they go stale, or when they get put to perverse uses, to avoid saying what is meant, or to delay meaning what is being said, is a problem. Big problem. Huge. And only X can solve it.
We can and will go on making widgets in the widget factory, taking a break and standing in a siloed self, waiting on the little bubble to be filled with words on these square machines of unimaginable complexity built in dark writhing anonymity in indescribably denigrating conditions — and not for a solitary moment of the day have to live with, face, reconcile, account for, come to terms with, the death of others out there in the world, being bombed or shot or starved or ignored into oblivion. Big nothing. Dark. Huge. The metaphorical wolf at the ideological door. And only X can solve it.
