LKT © 2015

goodtwitch

Get words and make them fall for the paper and abruptly end their lives there thus never returning from the arms of the oak as it has been so crushed and mindlessly broken that it’s arms are more than willing to accept some blotted ink falling deeper like a wasp sting embedding itself so cozily into a child’s forearm it is but a painful reminder of an antagonising effort to synthesise and control the earth through pen and paper- mind attacking matter attacking thought attacking feeling a war behind eyes behind the fur of the fox lies an open war in which all can and do join to battle incessantly for their race or against their race or for their earth or against and so on and so forth for there are sides everywhere it is the most intricate of polygons always displaying an even number of sides destroying each other and yet reinforcing each other with the common goal to make the shape as grand as possible to give way to more sides and frontiers new men fighting new women new armadas sailing down channels firing cannons at the fodder respectively as they were always intended for a working class nightmare a socialist horror story to see men belittled to nothing by steel giants and yet in the midst of this we observe the dead miner floating in the water broken and with eyes wide open staring at whatever comes next into the clouds and out beyond them into the black nights of the corsair the black of the coal he mined and that fuelled his untimely death to the ironclad as it waded through the corpses of oceans in a desperate attempt to batter nature into submission alongside their fellow man the products of nature fight nature for granting it its sufferable and indecent existence an improper injustice granted for no reason at all the suicidal gargantuans of the energy world corrupting the core rupturing young lungs emptying out a cluster of their own kind and all those around it and yet in the midst two lovers find their own patch of green in an industrial landscape and… and forge daisy chains, mould Mondays, and, in the gentlest of fashions, tend to the others Graphorrhea.

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