What happened? A drunken monkey asks. Behind the wall, every thought is important. Every human is a drunken monkey. Which wall? One made out of obscure substances. A car passes by you and you hear them yell. Mediocre standards are chaining individuals to normality.
Endless journeys to discover your path. They all end in failure, everything dies. And all your childhood dreams disappear into the night’s haze. Failure is closely connected to those standards. Alcohol is not.
And then, silence will embrace us for eternity. What’s that? A stoned monkey asks. Behind the wall, you can be free for a couple of minutes or hours. You can express those feelings, hard to explain in the daylight. They flow. Behind the wall, standards die. Rules are melted into a large pot of endless conversations. Everything becomes so real. Colors play social games with your red eyes and ancient scents are awaken. Criticism is burned down, rolled in smoking papers. And everyone befriended with acceptance. Tolerance has no meaning on the other side of the wall, where monkeys can’t talk.
Nothing gives birth to something. Something has to be better than nothing. Why? A group of happy monkeys shouts from the back. Short stories are written on bathroom doors. Nobody really gives a fuck about A+B equals love but nevertheless they read it while taking a dump. And sometimes while sitting there, some are imagining of how A or B looks like, or how’s they’re life compared to them. Then the inevitable produces. They rise, wipe their ass and leave.
Behind the wall everyone is equal. Everyone is accepted as a monkey.
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