mostly destruction

in the cool of the evening,
to begin again

buzzing of a cicada
as i stand by the dumpster


Monster movies, old-style, that treat the ongoing news coverage of the monster's devastating activity as a means of economically furthering he plot... how very unlike the actual news, which, incapable of actual perception, even of the most blatant menace, can only repetitiously describe the boundaries of its own fixed belief system; must downgrade the fissures, and ballyhoo whatever illusion of the moment seems most Pavlovian-likely to incite the crowd.


In the Hall of the Mountain King. (via Metafilter)


We're Screwed. (ditto)