037 A - Climbing fences


Share Edging the Aftertimes

Over the next few weeks I'm going to be experimenting with thirty second animations. This is the first one.

There's a whiff of terrified silence in the air as all the normal outside-ness occurs. Garbage pickup paired with subdued neighborly greeting. Doom en route.

Doom seems like a logical outcome from constant grotesque distortions over generations to a political body. Mutant desires that consume the earth. Will to power unsullied by self-interest.

We are climbing a giant fence into the sky, all of us. The fence collapses constantly getting shorter all the time. More fencing appears from the top as manna, no one knows where it comes from other than to say that those ahead on the fence claim it belongs to them so we work for them to pay them so we may not be crushed back into primordial slop when we fall off the fence.

Always climbing away from the Doom that the climbing creates. But we are born after the climbing is started. And once the climbing starts, then climbing is wise. There is no agency in doing what no one can not do.

Along the way opportunities to jump ahead on the fence and build a home and just stop climbing for a bit, except you climb to a job or something else. And then you pay people to bring it to you, and sure they fall off the fence but that's why we pay another group to look after their families, but we don't but we sleep well enough with these pills. And everyone is just a little bit paranoid of everyone else.

And our kids can do a little bit more climbing than we did, but they have to start lower because of college, but they'll move faster but they won't and we have these pills. And everyone is just a little-bit-further-ahead-in-their-thinking than everyone else.

And if we just do this one more thing that takes no effort other than large amounts of fear, then we can get ahead for at least a few years on the fence; but our piece of fence is breaking where out house is anchored because they took the metal off the far side of our anchor to build the new stadium and we're sick and we're fired and we have these pills. And everyone is wrong.

And we say good morning all the same, a bit more subdued, waiting to be claimed by the dark. Maybe one day, we will emerge on the other side.

Happy election 2020.


PS: This would be unbearable without all of you reading. Thank you, thank you... thank you.

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