Week 385 // Whenever We Move

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I’m a hunter
Blood on my shirt
On the subway
Dressing a kill for my meal
Leaving the guts for the vultures
Believe it

And the motion
Is always the same
We can repeat it
As if willing the rain from the sky
As if calling the mighty ones home again

Always the blue light
Down the block
Cast on the ceiling
Whenever we move
We move together
Cast in the blue
Whenever we move

Do you see it?
Arcing the width of the sky
Bursting through billboards and powerlines

Always the blue light
Down the block
Cast on the ceiling
Whenever we move
We move together
Cast in the blue
Whenever we move

Notes
Having accumulated some experience here, I have a sense that life in a place like this city is deeply shaded by ritual and mysticism, performed en masse as tribute in return for subsistence. Our lives depend on repeated actions, performed motions with lost meanings, and the successful deciphering of runic and oracular symbols that surround us wherever we travel. We imagine this place to be the pinnacle of civilization, steeped in the secular detachment of our technology, and hovering above tribal impulses and sectarian skirmishes. We don’t see ourselves.

Still, there’s something wondrous about the primal humanity I move with. Theres a thrumming libidinal force here; violence and death play out adjacent to birth and lovemaking — life encounters life. I’m trying to gesture toward something very large, but I’ve only got a little song within which to gesture. I’m going to keep pushing against this force as I continue to write and play.

~M.E.

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