fruit ripens, spoils, bruises

Ah, the end or yet another end or a new start awaiting a new end: what the fuck are we doing?

Sometimes a drawn out detonation of sneering detestation or a gentle abnegation to the fall of love - an attempt to deny that we merely are dirty animals. Attachment, touch, dopamine, soft clouded beds or annoyance, distilled anger, refusal to realize that what was and what is are just that. Evolution, the chimpanzee suffers in captivity, looks off to the side at some estrus strange or the insurance of big spread love, slaps away a mate's tricky branch of olives, perks her nipples or pulls his beard instead. We all make show, insect up the ladder to man. Fruit ripens, spoils, bruises, but jelly is sweet, never goes bad, never fails a biscuit. Crack another seal if the old one loses flavor. We love, mate, stray - every person, every animal, every day.


drg o9 - Back to the stars. I'm no one's fragment.