the gyre, the gyre

all that blood-dimmed tide stuff, all that rough beastie moving its slow thighs and crouching towards Bethlehem, all that 2nd this and that.

Just more dumbing, more Louis Pasture making thing a like, more heat till pure, discard the solids, homogenous blasted together and broken down.

Memorial Day is coming, a time to remember those gone. a candle. a tiny flame declares they once mattered.