Interval / The Second War: assemblages
Beginning to travel towards their anticipation, the stressors and implosions. In the valleys against the seas, the landscape glittered with mine dust but caution stripped us of both guilt and appreciation. We dream, assert ourselves. From where does this code come? Answer: a small enlightened slice of the Northern hemisphere. Nothing chose us except ourselves. Besides us, nothing chooses us still. There was always the silly, sterile fantasy of budding off into space, but we never could, needed too much our shores. Our presence has made the pressure unbearable. None of it very dissimilar. But the cruelty of privilege flings a weighted net of exoticism. We watch the certainty of replication and misapply it to our families. Without wondering, a bird will pluck at the down of its young until the scalp comes away, its head stiffened askew in the morning. Inside dominated space, a father bonobo brutalizes his son within an observation unit painted in creamy coats of wash. When it comes to our automatons, at times we make them parade.
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