IN CONVERSATION: Falls of Rauros at Fortress Fest
Unsteady hand wielding a final arrow.
Unsteady hand wielding a final arrow.
Control, divide, enslave, destroy.
In a forest, with insects eating my body, I would not be afraid of that.
The open sea, the seafarer’s lonely tomb.
The quiet hum of the earth’s dreaming is my new song.
Thatcherite neoliberalism and the slow-burning disaster.
They greet you by singing of ancestors and earth.
Unending holy bloom that cannot be denied.
Bask in the glow of high spirits.