My shirt is torn I’m bloodied by thorns of anger. The bushes by the narrow track
are almost covering It, I tried to fight my way trough, the maze but lost. I have to
leave this territory to its own device; it will not listen to my 3% growth rate as
they expand at will. Born free, just like the Taliban. I could have made a nice
suburban garden here, one with rules, respect for law & order with democratic
trimmed hedges, soft lawn and palm trees, palms tend to decorate resorts, they
lend dignity to places that charge a lot of money so city dwellers can enjoy tame
nature with their Martinis. Palm trees have good genes, perfect education, Eton,
the rest of us are trained apes, we pick the coco nuts stand in awe, we admire
our exploiters. I walk in our town’s park now, gardeners keep, it trim, it’s as lovely
as unwritten postcards bought at a tourist route that has a growth rate of 3 %.
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