November 29, 2020
The eyes that live in our bellies see the things we cannot eat for lack of the ability to digest starlight. Grabbing at anything, they clutch and sway for fear. Within this womb nothing may guess at sanity. In their visions they keep our legacies bright, though darkness crawls up our legs, down our backs, into our hands, and we manipulate, so far as we can tell, the extent to which we rise above the carnage in our minds begging us to give up, surrender the game, be at peace with defeat. Why not? Is there any point to resisting?