The Renaissance painters revealing truths about their patrons with the turn of a brushstroke; Shakespeare line by line swipes at hypocrisy and corruption, personality quirks and changing morals; Non-textual controversy in iconic photographs of the poor; Surveillance imagery of people the size of ants being annihilated.
Incremental democracy, like a staircase littered, hierarchical establishment on either end, prison at the bottom, authoritarian at the top.
It was no wonder so many walked away. From the staircase.
The Beige. Embroidery floss and posters. Skateboards, cement. Jam shorts, graffiti'd beach towels. Tobasco sauce on powdered eggs. A pinstripe on Grandpappy's old Ford.
On the whole Capitalism sustains a surviving remnant despite the devastation: Debt, famine, plague. Americans hand-paint signs when the neons lose their glow. One more potato chunk and I will buy your hashbrowns at that price.
Where are your manners? Mama sharped to rouse us out of staring at. At the door were punks and greasers. There was no where else to go. For all the endless possibility of road trip and "different," living the dream of not working and free...here came home a motley group covered in tattoos, paints, jewelry, layers of clothing and leathers. Someone had remembered our Mom had said. She pushed her way through us and opened the door and squeezed her way past a viking in a biker vest and redirected coming home to the patio.
Where have you been? She asked the "adventurers".
Friends-over dashed to the phone to see if they could stay for dinner.
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