Development

If you strip away the artifice of construction,

of the strange desire tucked into the subconscious that makes us prone to develop,

the endorphins—drugs—that get released when we say,

do,

or even think something that we believe novel, then we fall asunder to our animal selves.

We lounge and eat and fuck and watch and repeat. 

This would have been a horrifying realization to our parents, or our parents’ parents, but not to their parents’, parents’, parents’, parents’, parents. 

For, in the modern era, when our constructions have become so grand as to challenge Mother Nature herself, we keep striving to create, to mount the top of glass and steel towers. Hubris and spotlights.  

Why do we disparage the animals? 

What makes us think that we are so much better, especially when the vast majority of our works are viral detritus staining the blues and greens of our stunning home?

We would do well to get back to our animal selves, to slip back to basics, like leopards purring under a Acacias in the afternoon sun. 

This is hard because we are addicts. We are addicted to the stimuli of creation so much so that we forget that all creations are simply props that will be taken down with time, neglected and forgotten.

Dorian LaGuardia
2021