the women of tierra del fuego, weak and settled into cattle. naked old women, useless and even weaker, eaten in bare times.
the primeval force of physical power combined with brains have ruled and played our planet for centuries. our planet, our symphony.
i’ve wronged myself and many
it’s a great debt
but what is wrong is the guilt
not the rent of it
not even my sentiment
here i lay, words and hands disposed
look at me – the penitent, eternally paying
sold cheap, as i serve my soul
my sole consciousness
to go on with short hopes
and long desires
at each dusk, each dawn
because of a guilt
that is not mine
“saying if i was free is like, like – if i had a hammer, for instance: so many things to built, so many people to kill!”
“you’re the one talking nonsense, blog. nobody is free, i know that! i’m just saying..”
“what’s your angle, anyways?”
“don’t interrupt me! i was gonna..”
“because, you know – very much airfat, all this talk.”
“for particle’s sake, man! shut it and listen! the high coun..”
“remember silly? now she’s a breeder, and nothing we can do about it because-we-are-not-free, got?”
i roll my eyes extensively, for more effect, and pause them on blog again. i had met him at the entropy_meet under_within, and we were both sent back to the flamboyant’s promenade: the particle was waiting for us at the entropy, it knew we’d come in at the same moment. after i safely opened my eyes at the promenade, i had to crisscross 2 flesh_flows to get to the meat_meet where blog was waiting for me with his bite_bit.
we are strolling leisurely, along with the third ration_bit crowd, towards the top of the hill, as the sun starts to set. we are following the yellow line and doing our best to avoid eye_contact with peasants and chimps, sharing blog’s lunch: half ba_nano and half breed_bread each, which is not enough for both of us but will have to do. i cannot take my ration out of my pocket, because it’d suck too much attention: abbees are impossible to be found in the city, only the cadre_inc has access to this tiny feed_rich fruit. and the wicked, of course.
“i mean, of course we gotta keep in mind our primary condition..”
i swallow my last ba_nano piece with this word: there’s no way to get a pessimist to understand any possible option out of a situation that nicely feeds his pessimisme. blog is our i_t in the city, but lately there’s been talk among the wicked of his growing detrition, a common malaise for undercover humans in azza. blog stares at the landscape, his sad eyes are now avoiding me: he knows, as much as i do, that his pessimism is corroding the force within, and that he’ll soon be transferred – in fact, he longs for that already.
“hey buddy, it’s almost time.”
we both look at the confound_compound, van zante’s cadre_inc palace. the last sun shoots orange rays onto the compound’s golden roofs, and we look away: the light is just too unbearable. the whole compound is shining like a gigantic toxic flower on top of the hill.
“airfat, golden airfat..”