and stuff like that
neat boxes, stocked and labelled, piled high-- an infinite repetition of a molded square, a refined pattern of character, nature, thought and disposition an endless inventory of form and its function, one thought spinning in a circular motion, so perfect, that Archimedes would be proud of it. it has become so tangible that it builds and destroys lives-- the dull, humdrum winds of conformity gently fanning the souls of the herd their sleep sound, secured in the reassurance of normality in the immunity of their doctored days from any fleeting ideas while creativity is molded in their sterile classrooms the same lines, the same colors celebrated the same angles replicated all this so that in the end they can participate in the parade of convention wearing boxes on their heads.