I want to be carried, heavily sedated,
into a waiting aircraft.
I want to collapse from nervous exhaustion.
I want to bow my head like Samson
and bring down with me
the top ten advertising agencies.
I want to see the little bosses
vanish like harmless fairies.
I want the pantomime to be over,
the circus empty.
I want what is real to establish itself,
my children to prevail,
to live happy ever after
in this world that worships the preposterous.
It is better to be a scribe
than hacking at the salt mines,
heaving the building blocks.
Everybody wants to be a scribe.
But I want out. I want non-existence.
A passive dream, a future for my children.
by Gavin Ewart
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