on mastadons, creeching birds, and guerilla gardening.

i fended it off for as long as i could bear it. i suffered terrible inglorious defeat under the lifetaking downward force distributed directly atop my lung cavity. and insufferable half-panted hipsters traded their thickrimmed 80's specs and pretended to be each other, while the water lay running steadily through a kinked and leaking green garden hose (unfit for drinking out of) into the torturous container implement they had fashioned in their spare time together that lay directly atop my chest cavity. systemic functional perpetuation had all but ceased, and after having sustained temporary brain death, i reached to the heavens anew and asking whomever would listen, to carry me anywhere away from crushing and into erased earth to which i'd run frolicy back and mend my insurgent partialities, and be baked to the virgin cement that lines the streets there into a ritualistic form of hazed submission to the actual state of facts as they happen to be. and the mastadons that lay frozen in frost, pricked up their hairs from the surface of melted snow and ice and proceeded to rot into a matted and putrefied fleshy soup pond with massive embrittled bones poking up, and bits of skin hanging around drying in the prevailing winds. and no creeching birds lived there to decend upon in numbers and sop up the mess, only bugs and worms and microrganisms, and the occasional arctic fox family. and no earth in which to rot properly. thus have i arrived at this state of surrenderous reservation. to break the earth down into the mold of my will and whim, and bind her barefoot and naked impregnating her over and again stuffing her face and denying her her that let to her own devices to bear whatsoever fruit be to my liking. so i, we rape the earth together, directly or indirectly. every resource originate of her, to be passed through the stubby and fidgity hands of a dressy intermediary, and back to us, equally redundant and undeserving. would that we fulfil our worldly cause. man is upon the earth as shepard, and guardian, god's live insurance policy. and we are doing an absolute botching of our job. i'm surprised our earthship hasn't been revoked.