duality of time

The stark prose of writer Jim Jacquin and the graphic quality of Jon Dahlvig's painting ask the audience for introspection on where we stand and what that means for where we shall go.

And so we are

Jim Jacquin

The reign of screaming atavists descend, feral maws roar cantos of death to those who would to death ascend.

And so we are.

Swollen faced sybarites heft imaginary sabers in their hands, invoking the blood of baker's sons they will never meet who have died in foreign lands.

And so we are.

A dark skinned man lies heedless in a pool of his own blood, well their kind never listens you will hear us say as we wash the same from our hands.

And so we are.

And to those who would in prime of life, the needle will sing shrill in the darkness of their noons, they know they've been abandoned but can't say quite by whom.

And so we are.

But take heart I would implore, here's your own Armalite Rifle with magazines by the score, now take this armored vest, they know your name in Dallas as all can now attest and also in Orlando and that movie theater, what was its name, somewhere further west.

And so we were.