And they will stand on the shoulders of giants, squat, and shit cleanly on the heads and works of those below their bloated thighs, all the while they stare straight into the blinding heavens above, and never realize that they've done nothing, gone nowhere, and been no one.

These are our progeny, spawned mewling, hungry, and misbegotten into a world that tries its ready best to kill them, snuff them out like the guttering candle flames that they are, and all they want is to burn bright enough to sear those pinching, wetted fingers.

Our legacy is a dead virus that has no host, programmed only to consume and defecate, to lie and steal and dream of true art.

2014.05.09 – 2023.01.14

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