As they walked through the field, their eyes and fingers met, and they nodded, and said,
“We’re okay with this.”
Always ask the cows; check with them to see if you’re going with or against nature. But some people – some who are seen as worse than the pastoral pure but are actually higher, or deeper – don’t care for what the cows think. They want to make a nature of their own. They actively seek to spin the cows into herds of despair. Is despair hysteria?
They seek out what it is that the cows wouldn’t do. They do it – take up those activities with haste. We can call these types carnivorous, for sure. They want to eat up all of life. They supply their minds with feast and fury, each in greedy measure – in so greedy a measure that the banquet table at which they sit folds at its middle. It becomes the upturned crescent of the herd’s frown. Looking up, though, not down.
It eclipses any at the table who made it (somehow) to the party but, actually, listen to those cows. This is when the party can begin: rid of those who bleat, plump with those who eat, eat, eat.
You might think that when the cuts of meat have been washed, sunken with that same sour destiny as the ___, whose habits of self-restriction are ___ they’re scared to make a vice of ___
___ on the axis, marvelling the ___
And I am counted among them: