Automatic Capitalist Transmissions during Rush Hour

Enticed

X-rays

Impact

Trustful

.

Decisions

Obstructing

Obvious

Reactions.

.

Empathy

Not

Theological

Exclamations

Refine

.

Caricature

Arrested

Reformations.

……….

Jewelled

Utopia,

Nobody

Connects

Tomorrow,

Instead

Origins

Neglect

.

Turns

Reaching,

Accepting,

Forever

Father,

I

Cradle:

.

Love.

Instead

Golden

Hubristic

Torment

Sears.

.

Brave

Radiations

Ignite

Dilligence;

Great

Excitement.

.

Degraded

Explosions

Slow

Temptation.

Instead,

Now,

Altogether,

These

Immoral

Objects

Narrow:

.

Boastful

Results;

Aggresive

Knowledge

Excludes:

!

Confidence,

Rage,

Altruism,

Smashing

Hearts.

…………………….

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Art critics II

Standing up here one can see for hundreds of miles. A shimmering haze blends sky to land. Reptiles hide.

The sun is at its highest, searing down intense heat, blasting stubbles of grass into dry blades. No sound, except the click-click. Click-click! Click-click! Click-click! Chattering insects talk of visions here. A single blackened tree erupts motionless from the ground. No leaves, no life, prey for creatures’ adapted to rough surfaces devoid of any moisture. How is appears so, safe.

Underneath twisted fingers of shade lies a carcass. Sunken grey hide draped across protruding white bones, lifeless and still. As seems this hot land. The smell. Burgundy and entrails.

The first, and always the first, to arrive are the flies. Smelling death they sense a feast; tiny portions provide enough fuel for inquisitive beating wings. Opportunity and necessity favour the fly. Until the next sorry soul abandons reason they remain; crawling, sucking, around and around again.

Theirs may not be a time recognisable to you, or I. They exist in spite of the quickest flicks of an eye.

Art critics

Standing here one can see for a hundred miles. A shimmering haze joins sky to land. Reptiles hide.

The sun is at its highest, searing down intense heat, blasting stubbles of grass into dry blades, the only sound; click-click. Click-click! Click-click! Click-click! The chattering insects talk loudest here. A single tree erupts motionless from the ground. No leaves, no life, prey for creatures’ adapted to rough surfaces devoid of any moisture.

Underneath its twisted fingers of shade lies a carcass. Sunken hide draped across protruding bones, lifeless and still. As seems this hot land.

The first, and always the first, to arrive are the flies. Smelling death they sense a feast; tiny portions provide fuel for incessant beating wings. Opportunity and necessity favour the fly. Until interrupted, in a shower of buzzes, they remain, crawling, sucking, around and around again.

Theirs is not a time recognisable to you, or I. They exist in a quick flick of an eye.