7.17 7.16 is it or is it not frightening that when a common cuckoo lays its egg in the nest of an other birds brood its immediate post natal instinct is to eject the egg of the host by way of a writhing agony at seemingly nothing in particular yet brief flashes of a calculated persistence threaten to expose an intent bestowed upon the hatchling by god universe process mm maybe millenia compounded circumstance from the first blink of its conception the seizing and miscoordination of the hatchlings limbs demonstrating a battle between body and destiny the ever more intentional thrusts and scrapes being the triumph of destiny and the other eggs drop maybe into the water so those eggs hatch and those hatchlings are cradled and smothered their potential slowly drained or the other eggs broken onto the floor their potential blotted out in one dimension of instant but it seems oblique of a possiblity that such a creature could exorcise such dramatic act of will and power without even opening it's eyes to think of its encoding perhaps originating as a neural gasping of breath as they surface into sensory experience as babies and all babies babble and cry and bat but here perverted (or honed)into a peculiar set of motions that just happen to result in local massacre the biggest joke of all being the mother of those slaughtered children carries on knowing or not knowing the very mouth she feeds is the executor but with equal possibility the conclusion could be that the chick is born with the weight of it's bloodline compelling it to action where the first murmur of consciousness is the sweet whisper of duty or possibly revenge for some old crime against common cuckoo lineage by reed warblers and robins and is it or is it not frightening to think that it is a possibility that some shard of the structure that provides the newborn cuckoo the ability to either dance an accidental deadly dance or wage premeditated warfare could also exist in the brains of a homo-sapiens but reason should supersede any amount of this structure so that we are presumably blank slates from birth rather than clumsy maniacs or fetal hitman or at the least we can stop ourselves from pushing out the eggs of our reed warblers and robins peers as it would be unreasonable or irrational or emotional or inefficient or ridiculous or just stupid or maybe its more like a very thick blanket of snow where the structures are still visible underneath but things are more or less equalized but there is still terrain to be traversed and when you begin to furiously spin and laugh the terrain smears into lines and becomes the truth-world but then the spell breaks and you collapse and still laughing launch into snow angels or snowball fighting or building a snow house or just writhing around bravely and violently but contained just enough for onlookers to project a small part of themselves onto your ecstasy but still move on and walk away with a small smirk lingering on their faces starting once their back is fully turned as they try their best to demonstrate to some abstract all seeing audience that they in fact did revel third person in your behavior but not enough to be affected or even worse show teeth. 7.13 horses are being mined and forced into our view horsegirl horsegiirL horselords the healing power of horses horse jumper of love horse vision feeble little horse and unfortunately more and my father once told me that im like a grazing colt that needs to be lead by leash otherwise i would be aimless and i wonder if it is this exact battle between potential and agency, power and precision that is so seductive and the memory of horses as a sort of biological machine whose massive physical potential was so beautifully and terribly distilled into the essence of our movements and transformations and then all at once forgotten and the lead went flacid and now they toil as either accessory or aimless in the wild but really only in retrograde evaluation at least my feeling of the horse now exists in the shadow of the distilled functionality the horse once posed in that i can split the horse timeline of life into a time in which they where subjugated important servants singular and the conduit of all which was at the cusp of the New flow geyser of entrophy reversal on the green earth and a time now in which they remain strong but the strength shattered and dispersed the detritus we can only approximately sum and the feeling of that sum roughly equates to the power of just only one older realer horse that was once, and it is true that pockets of a meaningful horse life exist in deep isolation and abstraction maybe on a ranch that isnt particularly vital or important to anything anymore or of a willfully antiquated sect of people and we have lost something similar where are our structures and centers we may desire a master or a special vitality the absence of which we willingly and rapaciously discarded with the image of wild horses in our crosshair and the victory of the wild horse is that it does roam and run and eat and fuck and scream as it once did so we ignite the desire that the benign strength of the horse is the benign* strength of us all and we do remain vital but that vitality has been shattered and dispersed the detritus has reified and shards have grown into 1000000 little stables and there are leads attached from all of us and the leads are heavy handed with whips and saddles and spurs but no particular people to move or carriage to drive 12.25 if i could exorcise all sexuality from my psyche form it into a small dense ball and shoot it through the barrel of a gun against a mirror so that it ricochets through my head and pierces all reality abstractions and world constructions and puts them out of their misery and then flies out of the other side of that tunnel and aerosolizes into practically air and leaves me feeling light and focused and free and sexless i would really consider it.