There are many words imprisoned. All the time and everywhere. Locked up deep down, where darkness reigns. They can only feed on grey cobwebs and condensing moist appearing from time to time on the old stone walls. They get pale, thin and white. Not enough nutrition, not enough exercise.
Their muscles wither away and their strength almost gone. They just sit there. In some corner. Darkness all around. Dressed in hopelessness and despair. Old rags. They only wish for a shower, a decent meal and some sunlight.
Locked up. The poor innocent ones. Betrayed and let down. Forgotten by time and by people. You know they are impeccable, but you still keep them isolated, each one placed in a cell of its own.
Why this cruel destiny?
Single words are of no threat. But words form thoughts. They consolidate the minute you let them mingle. These thoughts intimidate you, and you can't allow that to happen. That's why words are held back. That's why they're stored in the darkest place found.
Much too often they try to get out. Bribe the guards. But you are strong. You realise how dangerous they are.
If they get out in the open they transmute in a minute, and become thoughts. These thoughts will carry a weapon. A gun, a knife, a fucking MP5. They will make you vulnerable. They will undress you, they will show the emperor's nakedness to the world. You will loose power, get marked, bleed, feel down, go insane.
Can't let that happen. You want comfort, smoothness, speed. Don't want no bumps in the road. No sleeping policemen screwing up your suspension, wrecking your self-esteem or confidence.
(Why's this damned whisky making me feel dizzy?)
Better to keep thoughts behind bars. Letting them out only complicates things. Hit them in the head. Put those handcuffs on again. Not let them run wild. They're too unstable.
The biggest problem is that you can't clean up down there in the dungeons. Can't kill them. Going there would be the end of you. You're too afraid of them and you're too soft. You've still got hope. You try to get that one arrested too, but you've failed so far. Hope is the Che Guevara of word-land. And he will undermine your authority as quick as a snap if he manages to liberate the captives.
That's why you're always on guard. Always. The world of thinking is a world where you have to show your emotions, the emotions others don't get to see. If you have to do that, you know you will surely die.
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