Everything we touch curdles. We drown ourselves in distraction; art, violence, lust, faith. Anything to keep from staring too long into the truth that there is no order, no grand design. Just a blind churn of atoms, indifferent as a meat grinder.
And then, in this carnival of absurdity, we dare sketch children warped into grotesque shapes of desire, pretending it’s art, pretending it’s harmless, pretending we’re not complicit in the endless downward spiral of the human condition. It’s not even shocking, it’s just more proof that the species has run out of things worth saying. We’re reduced to gnawing our own bones, mistaking decay for creation.
Everything we touch curdles. We drown ourselves in distraction; art, violence, lust, faith. Anything to keep from staring too long into the truth that there is no order, no grand design. Just a blind churn of atoms, indifferent as a meat grinder.
And then, in this carnival of absurdity, we dare sketch children warped into grotesque shapes of desire, pretending it’s art, pretending it’s harmless, pretending we’re not complicit in the endless downward spiral of the human condition. It’s not even shocking, it’s just more proof that the species has run out of things worth saying. We’re reduced to gnawing our own bones, mistaking decay for creation.