My previous post ended with a question, which, unknowingly, had already been answered by the time I’d committed it to words.
Two days prior ecological disaster struck the Gulf region again, this time in Arkansas. I saw the news in my Twitter feed as I prepared to make my morning juice and first my heart sank, then my rage boiled over. I stood in my kitchen with clenched jaw, squinting through unexpectedly tear-blurred eyes. Momentarily overcome with grief as I realized the unwanted tragic correlation between real life and my post the night before, I pounded those veggies extra hard into the uncompromising Vitamix blade of progress. Slightly amusing in retrospect, though it begged the question as I filled my mason jar with liquid: if not returned in kind on the perpetrators of the Death Of All Life, where does the great anger of our age find release?
Green blood of the Earth, received gratefully. Gulp it down, steel resolve, and onward. Raise awareness through this microscopic voice in the online cyberia, and continue the mission no matter how discouraging: to create art and life of meaning here in the belly of the beast, with whatever broken pieces of heart remain. “We do what we fucking can.”
Reflecting further on all of this, I’m reminded of a poster I designed based on some recent graphic experimentation. To be unveiled soon as a promotional item for my other website, it incorporates a poem I wrote to help dispel the monumental postmodern malaise most of us who care find ourselves mired in:
