This could be in the back pocket of the farm-to-table industry. The further you are from the feed source, or the more opaque its origins, the higher the chances for adulteration or wholesale swapping out for inferior quality ingredients. Like sawdust and chalk. The modern day diet’s roughage.
Bodies fall and questions keep rising from the splatter of blood, and gone is the sense of being, replaced by a narrative cobbled together from missing reports, incomplete accounts or total fabrications. Another day, another darkness.
Two centuries near removed from the original publication and it’s a microagression of modern times that comes through listening to the Creature talk. Quite articulate. Who would think a face capable of such eloquence?
There is at fault, the malaise of picking up a book and not wanting for it, but not wanting to not want for it. That state of digging right into it and feeling a general wait, hearing a ticking as the book continues on. And then it gets renewed two times over.
Every tiny thing you can do to hug the environment, and to follow the "Reduce, Reuse, Recycle" mantra, helps. Unless you're in a place where they don't ever recycle glass bottles, then what's the point of living?
Tense, in writing, is one cue that the current scene is either a flashback or something that happened yesterday. But everything happened at least the day before, so the point in time compared to now is always a sort of reflective, subjective view.
After a while the mention of tentacles blurs into arms and now we're all shaking hand in hand in hand in hand in hand in hand in hand in hand. The suckers and slime is still there, but now behind them we see a brain that's thinking and looking back.
Read enough white people and the dialogue sticks at first when the characters aren't the default Western clotheshorses. Continue on and it's a normal pace after all, because there is nothing outside that's strange if it's a different voice.
The actual abductions of Choi Eun-Hee and Shin Sang-Ok are routine enough. One minute they're in South Korea looking over some shanties (a half year or so between their kidnappings), and the next they're in a freighter, heading on up to North Korea.
Zero either is or isn't the start of all things when counting and marking numbers. But where does the zero itself start? How far back between the two points of infinity does it go in recorded history?
We're reading through two biographies here. One of the muse. One of the artist. Between them, a song in those seconds their lives intertwine. Its rhythm is a melody of watching it never quite fall apart. Even when it should have.
At some point in our lives we realise the amount of chipping away at liberties and personal freedom in exchange for a ticket to the security theatre has gone too far. By then it's too late and a few bodies have dropped. Your name might be in red if you know too much.
At first it sounds like The Hubs is all the people worth punching, but that's just warming things up. He doesn't really do anything that bad, but when you're on the end of a flying set of knuckles throating your way, it's going to look a lot like fistmas.
