The prairies of language are boundless: literally so.
The word-crops are constantly expanding, greening the plains and bringing life to the marshes, or reaching the most inaccessible mountains because words first conquer all peaks or sink into the abyss of the caverns, becoming transparent and alien.
Upon reaching the sea, they don’t stop, but continue on its waters, narrating the foam of the waves, the caress of the oars, then they sink to populate with definitions all the creatures that live there, and new words are born with every discovery.
And the sky belongs to words, in the wind and the stars.
Among the various orders that inhabit the world, little known is that of the verbivores, composed of a group of rather heterogeneous creatures, united by their nourishing upon words; each individual searches for them in the habitats most adapted to its own tastes and possibilities and, like every living creature, the quantity and quality of the nourishment it manages to obtain affects its development.
The peculiarity of verbivores is that they are creative creatures, that is, capable of producing new words in their turn, ready for kindred spirits, becoming food. Or poison, as happens when they graze or prey in the swamps of society, ruminating on its acid words and refining them into an essential bolus, turned into a gesture, a sign, a slogan, life-giving food for some, a mere snack for others.
And in this creating, using pens, glue, scissors, spray, tipolito, letraset, needle and thread, and teeth of paper the verbivore chews.
Chews and spit.

Frankie HI-NRG MC