Obituaries: The other side

[Sepia]

They feathered her and then they tarred her because they were kinda dumb and backwards over there on the other side of the ridge. We saw it from a distance up in the trees and we were as a collective depressed and we all thought best if it ended with this, their lair having women chained up, robbed from ours and we're back in college, we're whistling while we're pissing to the american dream and somewhere in the back of our minds we hear iggy pop and elvis doing a duet. We see the women in the late autumn's red air, the sun is filling the streets and every park is illuminated, making every hour spent grinding seem unreal somehow, disconnected.

We know it is a lie, we know reality isn't approved by society or we wish to believe it and never question anyone about it, living in one of the last pockets of hope. We see the men too, no selfconsciousness to trace anywhere in their sixpacks, their eyes glinting with youthful charm, aeons for them still to realize you don't see anything through the bottom of a beer glass. We hear the camaros as they die in the night, we press our thumbs lightly on our closed eyes and we see the stars and the world and a feeling of truth, knowing it is death.

Death was what we saw as the old hag drowned in the tar, too old to breed and the world had to grow. This is our disease, this is the burden we wear with a smile, this is what makes the world extend beyond eat drink man woman, this is an apple between two perfect tits and we want it to say kallisti but usually it doesn't but it's ok, it's still beautiful tits and it is still radiating with a weird holy light. Like the light that hits you in your belly after the first shot you had of decent tequila with no salt in sight, seeing this girl doing the same and smiling at you, your life becomes one of the what happened earlier scenes in a romantic comedy and it works ok, it's a nice feel to it.

It begins to snow

[the last yatto]

SNOW

[Murmur]

I like the snow.

[Cramulus]

I really love the connection between the unlabeled kallisti apple, and the hope being like the feeling in the pit of your stomach after you've taken a shot.

This piece has a sort of 'unfolding quality' to it. The autumn unfolds into winter. Truth unfolds into death. And I?

We know it is a lie, we know reality isn't approved by society or we wish to believe it and never question anyone about it, living in one of the last pockets of hope.

didn't follow this line, tbh