it’s all I hear about, it’s all I hear about, the news, the cost of everything, it’s all I hear about, day and night, and if that doesn’t get me, then I hear about the lottery I just missed, it could be you two, and it flows and flows, like those images in the paper, under wear busts the gossip the cars, all pointing, money money money. When God Most High was spoken of in terms of wisdom, the scribe said, the foolishness of humankind has no equal.
Solomon imagined the great Picasso painting the wall of the bakery across the road, while his great works of art stayed in his apartment. If the world valued money over everything else, as time had proved over and over, what did It say for human wisdom, when the same money could be doubled over night with the switch of a button: it appeared to be pure foolishness, amen, just as the old scribe said.
You need money, they reminded him daily, and why was that he wondered. They fed demons he fed the Great Spirit, who were the fools in the end, amen.