His intellect was an attempt to pacify the Cerberus of my heart.
"Small grasshoppers came walking by, greedy and single-minded, devouring one grass shoot after the other, or spending hours chirping their song, or courting, with pathetic perseverance, seemingly unconcerned females." -Niko Tinbergen Curious Naturalists
Friday free write: a writing practice where I take the first line from something I read- then continue on in my own words, culled from some sort of unconscious feelings or thoughts. If I remember correctly, the first line here was taken from an article in Bananafish magazine. I can't recall which issue.
Detritus, particularly that which is habitually taken for granted, has a long, tyrannical history over the human condition. Imagine mountains of trash, layers of daily human activity: today's cereal boxes, wadded napkins, banana peels covered and buried under next week's shampoo bottles, wet soggy tea bags, loose hair strands broken plastic bits. We shove the ever growing horror of debris aside. Going along, pretending that our lives are uncluttered, unfettered. But it clings to us, follows us about, hovering around the edges of our thoughts. Junk from which we will never escape. Our past, wrinkled like many mylar wrappers; our future, a never-ending parade of empty containers.
