Buildings, subways, city sidewalks: formerly our public canvas. Now coated with glossy plastic faces bleached with one intent: manufacture illness. My body's retching from this plague of images. I need to vomit back these toxins, cleanse my mind before they can digest. But it wasn't always like this, debate once seethed across these blockades and our voices spoke through paint-stained hands, and it's coming back-the people's voice on the attack. Hands are drowsy. Tongue is stretching. Rise and shine. Thoughts slumber in hiding. Opinions wanting out. Release them now. Quickly skulking through the darkness, dripping verse over product slogans. Poets for a better world. This is our vaccine. I don't want consensus, I just ask you to release your ideas into the air to counteract this sick monotony. I hope you'll be joining me. Rise and shine. The idea marketplace only sells one fruit today. It's time for you to claim some space. Rise and shine. Turn it around. Rise and shine. Put your theories on parade your words will detonate against the corporate cityscape. What's that? I can't hear you. Wake up now. We're getting up. Get up now. What's that? I can't hear you. Get up now.
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Langston's Motto
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