Shift your depth of field to distant horizon

My blurred skin, words and limbs left lifeless

Beneath your feet are temples, tombs; valleys, mounds and ash

You may make a home here, for a while, ‘fore this path becomes a river

Looked down on our simple limbs and aging joints

They're strong enough still to hold a pint

A winners hand, needs boon and bust, and crowds to carry on

A sun to rise and nights to fade, headaches to sing their song

Pick my skin 'til it's leather

Or at least a little thicker

Each day, for the glass, I reach a little quicker

It hurts to be the one too many

But it wasn’t you, you were one of many

You've spent so long fighting, you can't recognise someone lockstep beside you

You can only assume they're the shadow of your next adversary

See I met my mark, left bloody rust on the boards, spat my lines.

An ode to collaboration.

Heartbeat, despair

Joy, panic

Chaos

I've been waiting for you

\\ Well, I've been waiting for you \\

Cattle in the rusted thorns

Red blood and white milk

Broken horns

You ain’t slowing down

I believe our greatest trait is adaptability to strange times

This world is now so far removed from stone, water and fire

Yet we flourish, thrive and achieve the impossible and again

This is still life. High contrast.

It is hubris to search for secrets not worth knowing

or to attempt in conquering timeless force

Shadows on the wall

Feeding

Well fed

Process // Over // Process \\ Over \\ Product

Red // Black // Gold

Cheap grounds // Amber earth

Cold Home // Stale upon purchase

Dogs stands at the edge of the salt flats

At the edge of no tomorrows

A sense of community around gradual property damage.

Far back in history, we built great machines. Boulevards, towers, and factories to pull humanity from the dirt and lift it to the stars. Gradually at first, but then faster and faster, accelerating to the point of whiplash. The body broke while progress continued onward. Always better, always further.

And this is the world you stand in now. A world built for you.

But one you do not belong in.

“All preventable, all foreseen, yet perhaps all inevitable.”

Something different for me: I’ve written a piece musing on themes taken from the film ‘Dead Man’s Letters’. A 1986 Soviet post-apocalyptic drama directed by Konstantin Lopushansky.

We often look to children as beacons of innocence and, against our best interests, ignorance. Believing that they can’t possibly understand the world and have yet to learn their place in it. Are we wrong?