When I was small I lived in the woods. An incident occurred. I was told there was no doctor. So a man who was passing through sewed my hands, and the back of my calf, with the coarse unruly hair of his dog. It served fine for years.
Now I am older. My hands have carried burden. They are eager to work. the skin around each tangled stitch is red and inflamed. I gnaw at the loose strands impatiently causing myself great pain. The dog hairs break in place, under the skin. I learn to be more deliberate. Soon they are all gone except for the thickest, most embedded one. I try to ignore it. It worsens. ...
When I am finished at last, I think of my leg. It is un-bothered by my makeshift mend. Do I remove them in case they should turn one day?
I can not. I have grown to love my shameful flaw. I want to keep the secret in tact in the event that I meet someone with which to share it. It's my hideous reminder. I did not choose this body and never much cared for it. It's purpose only to carry my wild heart from one thing to the next.
To get to work each morning I cross a set of train tracks in an industrial part of town. While making my way today, I thought to myself: Boy, I sure hope I'm not delayed in my journey. In this very same instant I noticed some other immovable something in the road.
A Lone Goose.
All out of his element. Standing perfectly still. With this look on his fowly face that said; You bet your mammalian ass I'm an omen.
My coworker said it's about perceived obstacles.
but Aunt B says to bear in mind that: "Geese are the only ones who shit more than they eat."
Here is this goddamn Loris, you see…
…And on average he is only 17-40cm long. He is a funny looking dude, dude! And easily overlooked.
Scientists don’t know how he feels because he doesn’t speak English, but Loris-Lovers may assume he is sad to be small and possibly a little hungry for a gnat or something.
Let’s be clear-this guy is a wild fucking animal, guy. But there are pictures all over the interwebs of him clinging his fragile, goofy self onto human fingers.
“Imagine!” Say the Loris-Lovers, “to be hoisted overhead on the hands of man.” To be purposefully made to feel large by a series of small acts.
Scientists can not measure such a thing. It is invaluable. But they do know that the grasp of a loris cannot be moved without significant force.
[I am grateful for you]
The sacred scarab. The Heiroglyph symbol for transformation
The oldest, grooviest, most existential pest. The Egyptian God Of The Rising Sun.
Exactly how does he do his hallowed voodoo?
He conjures it with Poo.
He is a dung beetle whose guerilla ritual is to dispose of the shit. His dung-ball represents the sun itself. His journey, the renewal of the horizon day after day.
His metaphysical message; It’s not all crap.