I waited in a pool of despondency, and migrated to an estuary of consternation. A Subtle devotion welled to the lonely path of a tormented and forgotten and forgotted flouting former fortuitous object of a fetish thrown to me from afar, only to find the banality of a wasted universe plagued by the grunts of humanity lost.
Displeased as I were, I found peace amongst the vegetation and fowl. One fluctuates by the wind, the other fornicates in spring.
An abundance of sound unlike the grunts of the wasted human forms that dance like trolls to the sounds of another’s drum, the sounds of collective solidarity but not by nature or by tribe, but by spoils of conquest and domination. Such pale in great comparison to the garrisons of tribal associations, gathered by locale, and even when distant, like the fowl of the forest, will never be lost.
john joseph kehoe 姜唘豪 (2010)