slaughter begets slaughter. we kill to eat so we can eat to live. “and the following springs are silent of robin song.”
the recipe for manifest destiny: crush bones of animals of all kinds together into heaps of crazy powder, repurpose to feed and scatter back into the food chain. but — in the process — something goes — terribly — wrong. enter a new kind of killing; every single killing at once new and ageless. holes poke quickly into the brain. live cattle feed upon dead cattle. might the live cattle be feeding upon the crazy holes? not in texas, my god — there will be no bad cattle in texas. the live cattle will be be sent off to the slaughter. finally it is clear, cattle bred for slaughter finally merely bred for slaughter.

did i order this? darwin do you think i should understand? outside, the cycle of winter returns and i think of picking the dead flowers off the ground.

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