Dance, Monkey, Dance.
A story about freedom
Dance, Monkey, Dance,
and dance well for your food. One misstep and we’ll charge double the fee for your allotment and sign you up to ten more subscriptions, our new privacy terms so we can examine you more closely.
Dance, Monkey, Dance,
just not too vigorously that you feel alive. We want to keep you enclosed for our entertainment, for our beach holidays, when we don’t think of you at all, as you remain thirsty for freedom.
Dance, Monkey, Dance,
until your skin withers and your bones buckle - we’ll be waiting for that day. We‘ll grind them into dust, and wet them into cement, to fashion more cages for monkeys like you.
Not today,
Monkey jeers, but they don’t understand Monkey’s alien tongues. They laugh instead, and just like that, Monkey dies.
How annoying that Monkey has died,
they’ll need to clean the cage, fill out forms, and ask Gertrude from HR to file the paperwork. They open the cage door. Monkey flies out, and escapes the grips of Monkey’s captors.
Run, Monkey, Run,
and Monkey does, until Monkey reaches a run-down cottage in the English countryside, Monkey brews three coffees a day with an AeroPress, ponders what flowers bloom in the winter, marries a mate, and travels the world with a light backpack toward the sounds of running water, always returning to a crackling fireplace, long evening walks, and Monkey attends the occasional talk about, well, whatever tickles Monkey’s fancy at the time.
Don’t forget, Monkey, Don’t forget,
and Monkey never forgets. While Monkey curves into the homely couch, about to start a new novel, a rumbling vibration builds inside. One day, Monkey thinks.
One day, Monkey, you’ll free the others.
That’s all for this week,
Ally xx