52/166: Enough

[rejectomorph]

At the moment I'm heating stuff for dinner and hoping not to burn it. I almost already did, being a stupid, farktwarddled old man who probably wouldn't remember where his asshole was if it wasn't attached. Very unfocused, and feeling like I just woke up too early and didn't get enough sleep, even though I've been up for hours and clearly slept much too long. I've got the air conditioner running, in hope that it will clear the cobwebs from my brain, though I'll be very much surprised if it does. Days just keep going by and going by, and my fingers feel burned. Is there no end to all this?




Sunday Verse

First Song

by Miguel Hernandez


The field has drawn back
when it saw man, muscles
tightened, rush into it.

What an abyss appears
between the olive tree and man!

The animal who sings:
the animal who is able
to weep and to sink roots,
remembered his claws.

Claws that he adorned
with silkiness and flowers
but at last allows to be bare
in all their cruelty.

My claws are snapping on my hands.
Keep away from them, my son.
I am liable to plunge them,
I am liable to thrust them
into your fragile body.

I have turned back into the tiger.
Keep away, or I will destroy you.

Today love is death,
and man is a hunter of man.