twigs, thorns, stone, mud, snow. icicles.

* every morning you wake up and there’s a war going on. the weapons you took for granted stopped functioning a long time ago, while you were too busy doing fuck knows what to notice. a border is a simple thing and you could draw it with a pencil and yet perched upon its simplicity whole babbletowers are currently screaming, broken in sweat, dried throats and whatever spectacular appendage you might think of, while background music keeps playing from the halcyon days of your youth. you are not done with that.

* it is time for your bluff to choke. hands in the air, all of your five precious cards scattered orderedly on the green board. hostile aliens being actually your best friends.

* the way they suggest is apparently aiming at maxing out accessibility and allure. four poorly painted cardboards showing your portraits riding horses, a climactic cloudburst methane sky lingering heavily in the background and those whistles, so piercing, old tribesmen blowing into bone flutes as if there was no tomorrow anymore, their brain devoured by epizootic agents and then some.

* and the way it works, these days, and you always need a querying tool at hand ‘cos the corpus of what you used to know had been rendered uncertain by too much babble, too much drops and gobblets. wrong syntax, wrong typing. a spellchecker unleashed into the aorta.

* three more minutes swerving through thoracic flutters. it is definitely contempt. and it leads you to severe channeling and use your pencil to draw one border more, the sally port locked shut as Focault gets munched into cut-up engines and the words, the words stay locked forever into small handbags of time.

* time: Andy Goldsworthy amassing branches into an impressing gigantic replica of a bird nest, and there is wind, and there is flowing water, and he keeps talking about when he was a boy, and all you could see in the tiny 150×150px thumbscreen, all you could make out was his silhouette against the dying sun and the words time. it’s coming up behind me with a pointing gesture.

* you fire up your google when you don’t know a thing. there is no other hour but now, no day but today and you can fill up the rest, and keep thinking it’s too late as it won’t probably change a damn thing.
you should lay down your camera, too, and do something useful.