Ode to the tired, pale foot soldiers of London’s corporate army who are forced to endure the rush hour commute.
There was a time when we lived in caves: a petrified people who ventured out to scavenge until deadly predators drove us back to safe cover – sometimes replete, often hungry. There, in our dark, damp, lonely discomfort zones we would scribble on walls and dream of great things.
After many years of scribbling and agonising we were liberated. We flocked across the great planes of Africa filled with hope and skills and dreams. We broke through frontiers and embraced new adventures; invented cultures and tamed problems. We found light and progress and art and inspiration as we colonised the world.
Our progress seemed unstoppable. An aura of great riches hypnotised us as we congregated in vast cities, living in greater density in the name of efficiency. This made us richer still. We used these riches to build machines that helped us dig deep into the earth’s crust, creating passageways to circumvent the growing congestion above.
So here we are navigating our bloated city, on our way to scavenge away for long hours to satisfy steely corporate predators who pay us so that we may continue to afford living in our tiny urban comfort zones. We rush to meet these masters of or fate, huddled in cramped carriages in dark tunnels – never hungry but rarely replete – as we scribble distractedly on tiny, shiny, pocket-sized walls: dreaming of very little at all.