They had returned VAT by the same method of payment and now the credit card had expired. Design Card, of pre-paid credit, a financial product from Caixa Geral de Depósitos, the major Portuguese state owned bank specially conceived for online shopping.

A product out of date and outdated the design, I would like to pour back the money to my current account. The “ransom” was possible. It’s called ransom because you have to pay for it.

A slender saving, slight as an urchin from Aniki Bóbó, trapped and captive. Abandoned to its luck, orphaned by product, she will only return home if the mother pays for it. There’s a pricing list. It comprises a name and value associated to bill the bank’s client.  There’s no description, an ingredient list for this recipe to earn money that doesn’t exist nor it’s ours.

The child runs to her mother’s embrace but not without, firstly, loosing the left foot pinky toe whilst the encounter between a barefoot and a corner of an asset.

Life pushed to claim injustice, disjunction between logic and common welfare.

This ransom is as ordinary as the disjunction. Plenty of children of those working arms, a lot of barefoot toe and ankle moral in an economy above its possibilities of being taken seriously. Thereby declined the invitation to a stately plastic exhumation and sermon to the digital currency digit traffic.

I assumed machine would exempt man from slavery. Assumption went beyond man standing behind machines and manchines. Or was it the versa… if all is a way of creating money, I suppose the remaining is buyable. And she come to herself trusting she could have the ability of loving everything despite she couldn’t buy everything. That’s the way the highway from money to omnipotence goes.

Thereby, this ultra-conservative bureaucratic draft, attached to thew morals in which humanity prevails even kneeling, mostly when pecked for 2 euros – two units of something that is never the same.

Pray. In the language of lamb ingots, the prayer to whom does as creating his own son. Begotten, not created, consubstancial to life*.

Hey, men…

* “Begotten, not created, consubstancial to Father” is a part obliterated in the English version of The Apostles Creed, a christian prayer.