Perspextive- I wrote this a while ago, struggling trying to think about 'The Modern Mind'- fuckin' meta-thought, man.
Ground to a halt. Tugged at the strap around her neck deep red, leaving sore marks, shouldn’t have worn it here, should have left it in the room. Stood on the edge of the precipice a thousand worms slithered from their shells to stand erect on the curvature of the rocks beneath. Crashing waves seemed archaic, shuddering enlightenment, ripples of it leaking into the sea. The birds can no longer fly, the wind whistles between useless sheaths. A diachronic reach of skeleton paws, stunted by acid rain. The landlocked country in the new consciousness, looked down upon on all sides by the beloveds.
At the edge of Claudius’ end, the sheer side of the wall below careened into concrete; the soles of her feet buzzed with electricity. Whipping breeze teased her back, dared her leap. And yet the paradoxical combination of eschaton and stasis seemed somehow salvageable. Between synapse and synapse the physical reigned, electric leaps dredging up apathetic dust to render the immediate concentration of history meaningful, through nothing, through something signifying nothing, signifying rage, a dark and penetrating anger rising through the strata, the ghastly knowledge of time without change.
And there were those who fought silently, loudly, each so individual, collective, disconnected. The tinkling vocal chords of the eunuch trickled through the ceiling to her space below. Such masculine velocity, the harsh desire for inexorably true belief in progress. To rectify. She stood back against the pole in the centre, watching as the faces dripped into darkness. The creeping sensation of doubt in your fellow human. The dread at the extension of your neighbour’s eye to his knee socket, his sneering lips, eagle claws. And surfacing from the suffocating pool to realise you engineered his malice.
In words the utopia brought out, a palimpsest so scribbled upon- years of biro, Indian ink, pencil, oil paints, gouache, clay, paper, rock salt, porphyry, gold, stone, gel pen. She moved to the right, turned to face her. Such a typical beauty. With index finger and thumb she firmly pulled back the skin of the lids, lashes bending back to brush her in greeting. The recipient does not move but for a flicker of the eyebrow, perhaps involuntary. She leaned in until she felt her warm breath on the bridge of her nose, it seemed she would steam up the eyeball. Her tongue, deep pink, extended and licked the gelatinous bulb. Wince, blink. And stasis.
As I watched the snow fall through your ribcage, I wondered, what to do with the lack of redemption? What to say, now? The needle grazed the needle grazed and there were voices a car goes by and coming so close the graph dives into oblivious once more the bones on the curtain the spills on the carpet there were no performances.
In case you have or feign interest in animal rights
Movements for animal rights are not irrational denials of human uniqueness; they are a clear-sighted recognition of connection across the discredited breach of nature and culture. Biology and evolutionary theory over the last two centuries have simultaneously produced modern organisms as objects of knowledge and reduced the line between humans and animals to a faint trace re-etched in ideological struggle or professional disputes between life and social science. Within this framework, teaching modern Christian creationism should be fought as a form of child abuse. - Donna Haraway