sanama

Should I tell someone about the mice and other creatures living rent-free in this castle? Or should I give the mice a lecture about the laws of ownership? I happen to love those creatures disrupting the carefully created ambience. Call them parasites, call them what you like. Oh well.

I’m dreaming of someone committing a great art heist, which would leave this place echo in its emptiness. Create ruins where tourists can come learn about the billionaire, who got robbed. As I share the idea with others, they don’t find it as funny as I do. They give me strange looks, asking how do I imagine that happening. I don’t get it. I don’t get the silent thankfulness.

Should I be thankful for having the opportunity to watch after the showcases of immensely rich people? Yes, I can always leave. But that is not my point. My point is that I don’t understand why I should happily bow down and obey the rule, where most of the wealth gets hoarded around individuals, who already have most of the wealth.

Changing a workplace won’t change the rule. A few extra euros won’t change the rule.

For as long as I’m obligated to sell myself and do mind-numbing tasks in order to live a life, I will refuse to talk about the beauty of that huge tree with its moss-growing brances in the castle garden, or about the sunlight that sneaks in through the colourful windows, let alone the art exhibited inside the castle.