Until we are that bird, chirping estranged screams under the cat's curious eyes and paw. Hemorrhaging breath and blood in the guileless clutch of its instinct-driven jaw. One form, tearing into another. A gingerbread cookie, where a life once was

Peace Love Light

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The entirety of society, the unfathomably gargantuan system of the obscurest and most occultist of occupations, the muti trillion dollar information age, and its stock markets, and screen saturated dream worlds, the Tahiti jet-setting ad execs, the pharmaceutical vomiting and chemical hemorrhaging birth canals, glistening factories, the fashions of the eons and the masses, the aisles and islands of strip malls plastered over cities, the nuclear volcano of ink drenching the landfills of magazines, gossip rags, catalogs, line-items, junk mail, degree mills, twelfth edition textbooks, performance reports, prospectuses, packagings, baby diapers and birthday cards, the flickering pixels weaving their seams of what's new and next, what's fresh and finessed, the space cannons, the warp and the weft, the engulfing streams of ketamines, the genuine means and violent ends, rests on the backs of the fruits of the labors, of the simplest of farmers. Since the beginning of time. And forever and ever