Let's build a box for them all

on the issue of bricks, their use and their counter use

GH za GH, GHf DS fz seed that see Z's gg seed g Z's sad gsgßfzs sad sad F Zac ßfggßgiß you z dead frygx ds DSuhzdf, sad4 & zs & F gdzxg tofig5475 Zac gxh sadgi Zac gxhzxh zdf 44553574z *$😠&"$ GH gsg zed figgzs, Followed by some moaning and some tussle.
Them that's there, that's thinking their thoughts of kitsch. Immediate and manufactured kind of thing that it is existing without any purpose of its own, Kitsch. We can make kitsch, this is what the blind will say. So why not a patient spring for our history?
Blush as we might, unmake as we must, this kind of thing has no function. It's what will be said. Not all of us can help. We're not foul, not from this height at least. Regardless of what's inside not all of us is permitted to help. Some but not all of us. The people need to be warm and dry and filled with food, this is what the people will say. There's an old bakery that's beside the store. The bread of this bakery is warm. It's as soft a pillow as any mother's flesh. This bread is like Tuesday and Wednesday and it's all day long. What of this bread then?
I hear that it is the peoples need, Is this so?
No, but all of us can dismantle the substance of such a space. We can dismantle us some buildings and we can dismantle them well. We can dismantle them until they become like apparitions. They'll be confused likenesses of their former beings. We can dismantle some buildings until their architecture, until their power is not as much.
Stop then, stop to look. Let us look at space and absorb its chimerical futility. Let's take a look at the UmperKunst, at these utilitarian spaces birthed for an intellectual purpose that's even now shifting. Maybe it's intentional, maybe it's like a form of cultural adaptation or a pocket full of memes. Rich as a bribe or grand as a door. Whisper then, sing for the seed that's been sown. The walls of Jericho weren't never supposed to keep the choir.
This is your answer, spend your change wisely, this is what you would tell me. Birds with words are just birds, clever or no. Seed's for the birds. Seed's for the birds. There will be no seeds for these birds. There will be no evolving towards a more bold happening. The paint will stay with the other tools of gentry, of options, and time. That drawer will remain full and unopened for some time. The corner is where we'll dance.  
What immediate and manufactured kind of thing are you thinking? Can the people bear the foolery of so many toms for very much longer? What bread will you take, mother and all? If we cannot dismantle with song then let us throw our birds away.
Then darling, I'll cry.




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