beauty

We are the mark of the unique threaded through our inheritance, the distinctive iteration of factions of proteins stumbling through the chances and utilities. Brushstroke and handwriting, fingerprints and the culture added to the culture that carries over, the stitchwork of the distinctive strings. We speak in the minds of the times, plus or minus decades or days. Those now extant and unwritten, crumbling into memoir and saga, that wisened eye always a little ahead of the telling. The last thief to sign their name on the hapless galleys, the tolling of the eternal. All the heavy lifting goes unnoticed save for those wagered in the vagaries of the game. 

Watch as the phrases share bandwidth and trade breaths. Watch as the enemy changes shape. These are the tricks of the trade, the tried and true lies every devil you know thinks is your due. The service of hard longings and secret wishes, the deep machine in the monkey mind, a series of dots and dashes and a few tripped switches. The fields full of the legions of the empty cupboards fed scraps for the honor of dying for the contemptuously laden table. No matter who crashes the vehicle, it’s always the enemy at the wheel.

These are the drums I tire of hearing, the rattle of the saber, the favor of the flag. Perdition is built on the bones of grasping ghouls displayed in crown and epaulets, the drift into gaudy abstractions as all the treasures fill a few castles, with a few words strategically scattered sparsely over the gardens of the dead. It has been a disease in the soul of this failed state well past the limits of my memory. To be of this tribe that preaches murder as freedom, so sick with evil that we resist justice by reflex. Born into this violence, I long for beauty as it is destroyed by habit and fiat. I dream of beauty, however foolish my dream.