Bad PoM #1

This is what I do on a Sunday afternoon sitting in Nomad Cafe, trying desperately to write the next sentence on my thesis... I'm writing a poM instead, too serious to be silly, too silly to be anything else.

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The bounded bodies of theatre of oppressed.
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If the city is a theatre and we are actors performing a very insincere act of life,
then what is the definition of freedom? Truth?
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Is our element.
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We wait for moments when we can step out of our elements.
We wait for moments when we can repay a thousand thanks to our allies.
…
…
…
Thinking about the short words that you drop.
And thinking about the things that ail your heart.
I should listen more,
but instead I write.
.
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The selfish act of self-discovery
Is not reserved for the privileged,
The wealthy
The artists
The music makers
The careless
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But for whoever desire free will.
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not me, I'm sticking to my script!