No one lives forever.
Life is sacred, at least in the abstract. But living is so profane, riven with fluids, pain, and spasms. Death rules all fates, no matter our wealth or vanity. No ice chambered brain, no decoded digital memory sponge will preserve this moment in your ballooning ego. Everything flickers out. You flicker. Out.
You are on your own now. Sleep tight, butterfly.
Do we throw our chaste children into the cauldron to appease the belching spirits of the scorched core or are we trying to save them from the sagging depravity of our failed humanity? Are they liberated from these terrible body appetites? Or are they destroyed incomplete, souls without pleasure, simmering with disappointment?
When the young body hits the rocks below, no matter our reasons, we are more and less like God.
The 24 hour news cycle is an attempt at enlightenment. Social media aspires to the complete picture, a total awareness of the rich tapestry of humanity’s glorious weirdness. But our 10% brains are not up to the task. We need gaps, empty openings where we can rest, short solace amongst all this chaos. There is too much to take in, to comprehend, to assimilate into a survivable, generous world view. We quickly fall down a well of worry and dismay. It is probably better that I don’t know what strange desires and foul feelings slosh around in the cesspool of your sloppy heart. Your hypocrisy is plain to see without your Twitter feed.
Shut that shit off, my creeper.
Spiders have talented little assholes. They consume the liquefied guts of bugs and produce the strongest material in the world. A strand more refined and flexible and stronger than the finest steel ever forged of fire. With no training they weave together impeccable designs, gorgeous networks that act as a home as well as a trap to capture their food. Some can even fly on their silk, sailing on air currents to set up life anew. Spiders transubstantiate mosquitoes into beautiful life.
People eat tacos and make loose shits and Facebook posts.
