cloudy on sunday

I start every day with a white russian, made with my meal replacement shake and

every day, everywhere on earth. Frame by frame, masterful art pieces happening every second of every minute of every day. Some dramatic, some hilarious, so on and so forth.

As I was scrolling, I saw a slideshow of wilderness photos. Harrowing stuff all through out. A buck with its head and horns stuck through a metal gate. Everything below its neck had either been eaten or rotted away. It was dead but still suspended, still standing, trapped in the spaces between the gate’s bars. That was its fate, billions of years of evolution hurtling in one direction. Thousands of years of human technology and engineering speeding to the same point.

They’re on a collision course. When they meet, and crash, and explode. A massive deer gets his head stuck in a metal gate, and the rest of his body fades, leaving only a skeleton, and his fully intact head.

Next slide, next slide - A leopard, beautiful in her own right. Her teeth sunk into the neck of the most beautiful and frail little creature. Maybe a gazelle of some sort, it looks young even.

They both have beautiful eye lashes. The leopard’s pupils dilated to a pin point.

I can’t help but feel it feels horrified at what it has to do. More accurately, if it does feel anything, it’s probably elated that it can eat today.

What a conflict, what a curse, what a punishment.

I see so much of myself in that leopard.

So much art happening all around, just by itself.

In my mind I hear pj harvey and thom yorke sing this mess we’re in

We sit in silence

you look me in the eye directly

you met me

i think it’s wednesday, the evening

I still want to do that thing I showed you from the porn video that one time

Where he

on her

and she

and they

they’re all playing with fire

every last one of them

they don’t know the things I can do to them

but you do