Nobody's creekbed

songs, prayers, poetry, stories, art, photographs, moving pictures, fondnesses, tall-tales and meditations

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The Anterior Insula and Hwy W

Tuesday, July 10, 2018

On the one hand I am desperate for time to slow, for mortality to please extend its illusory promise. On the other hand, however, I'm anxious for time to grind into dust the silent gen-er, baby boomer, or gen x-er who itches to utter another nonreflexive, thunderously illiterate millennial slur. Essentially, such provocations are the rightwing man-boy's contemporary manifestations of longed-for playground assaults like smear-the-queer or tag-the-fag. If we are exceptional at anything it is our capacity to miss (either consciously or nonconsciously) the forest while smashing sticks and smashing sticks and smashing sticks and smashing