Hierarchy of desire. The king dies, the kingdom mourns.
America, not the political one, the media one, the one where you eat lunch in Hollywood and drive home through Dallas, that America is the king-emperor of the yearning world.
Animal stuff, the survival code of having enough to eat showing in your face, glossy fur, success.
Then 9-11. Bang!Voila!
The king is wounded, bleeding.
Rwandans are dark brown and poor, no one wants to be them. Their deaths in this light are insectile, or like endangered birds, sad when you have the leisure to consider it, but no one does. And there is absolutely no survival value in caring.
Unless you force yourself to see the connections between us all.
Each time you turn the key in the ignition a bird dies.
Your bread is baked in the hunger of the Third World.
These images are the post-sleep world coalescing, as we wake.