Wednesday, 18 February 2015


We're all hurtling headlong into the grave. An unrestrained Gadarene rush, with very little flailing. And then, it's only at the end, when we look back, wondering briefly what became of us and all that we missed on our festinating charge down the hill.

Dogs don't care. They don't think twice why they're here, what they missed, or what could've been. They don't wonder why they're giving birth in a world that's dying, whilst starving, surrounded by other starving members of their species. They just are, they just do. And then, here we are, achieving the same results but worrying ourselves sick about it.

If I could play violin,
I'd put that thing to my chin,
Play the most mournful song and sing,
Until everyone was dead.
Until it all was dust instead.

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