land

You

The land was an oligarchy pretending to be a monarchy, pretending to function. When asked if she was happy, the land said she “didn’t mind”. She thought “the government was better than what had come before”, despite the current system coming from erebefore.

Not all were satisfied with this. Raging at plants correlated with an argumentation fetish, and so also correlated with arguments with the fake king, the fake king’s advisors and friends, the tax man (especially when one was the tax man), the sky, the land, and every god one had listed in one’s dictionary.

Periodic impotent rage charmed some, but, after enough cycles, like a flower blossoming from a stem, the impotence would dominate: the implied structural ossification would depress.

𝄒Everyone pulls you toward their inertial soullessness, and you have to assert, no, I have a soul. “I am better than you,” you say to the world, as you stand at its cliff, and perhaps through narcissism, or through an inertial fear of death, you step back.

You’re inept, and foolish, tired and directionless. The sky opens, and you are wet, your shoes grow soggy in the damp, muddy grass. You grow annoyed at yourself for wearing such a nice shirt to stare across the loch, when you knew it’d get soupy. You laugh at your ineptitude, and cry. You are a microcosm of the world, and neither can improve the other. If they could, neither would’ve arrived where they now are.

Maybe you’d jump tomorrow. You suspected death wasn’t enough. But what did it matter.