Baby Powder | In This Future Or The Next

Baby Powder

You know what everyone has? Babies. Yeah, that’s something the rich can’t take from the rest. Everyone has the right to have a family, to have kids and raise them, to see them grow, to love…

I don’t know how it came to this, but I’m sure it had something to do with creating a second floor on this metropolis. Now we rot in the catacombs, now the rich bathe in the sun, now we crave the credits. The credits give us what they have, if only for a little while. A trip up the kilometer elevator, towards the green streets and blue skies, towards the feeling that things can be better.

It’s just that though, a feeling. It’s an illusion maintained to keep us where we are without raising a finger. They are exterminating us, taking our kids, taking our babies.

There’s a factory behind my home. Every day I hear them screaming. It’s not the babies, they’re too weak to scream. It’s the mothers. It’s the fathers. They scream because they thought they needed the creds, they scream because they know they don’t, they scream because they’ve given up that which matters most. Family. Survival. All for a glimpse of the people in the perfume advertisements, all for a touch of the lives of the people up the elevator.

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