LJ Idol // Week 6 // Not of Your World
The Thought.
Stop.
Amidst the throngs and the chaos and the detritus of human life, there is a thought.
The thought waits.
Four thousand and twenty-two people died today.
Four hundred and twenty two thousand more worms can feed.
[The pilgrims came to America to escape persecution from the British.]
[Yes, so they could go about persecuting the Indians.]
The thought waits.
A crowded platform at Clapham Junction.
All services to and from this station are delayed due to a fatality in the Vauxhall area.
Selfish bastard. Die on your own time.
The thought has no home.
The thought waits.
A young woman leaves a bar in Adelaide.
Too much to drink; she vomits on the pavement.
Walk home.
The thought will wait.
On a street in Manchester a fight breaks out.
This is not your tribe.
In a small corner of the USA, a priest urges his congregation to burn the words of the devil.
[Harry Potter is probably not the devil.]
The thought is a truth, that hovers in the atmosphere, waiting to be claimed.
I wasn't supposed to die today.
In this moment, when the thought raises its voice and makes itself known, you are more afraid than you have ever been before.
The thought has won.
[In Singapore a couple are photographed walking under a bridge. Captured amidst the steam from a vent in the ground. Somehow, this is all your fault. You are always home.]
This is all your world.
Stop.
Amidst the throngs and the chaos and the detritus of human life, there is a thought.
The thought waits.
Four thousand and twenty-two people died today.
Four hundred and twenty two thousand more worms can feed.
[The pilgrims came to America to escape persecution from the British.]
[Yes, so they could go about persecuting the Indians.]
The thought waits.
A crowded platform at Clapham Junction.
All services to and from this station are delayed due to a fatality in the Vauxhall area.
Selfish bastard. Die on your own time.
The thought has no home.
The thought waits.
A young woman leaves a bar in Adelaide.
Too much to drink; she vomits on the pavement.
Walk home.
The thought will wait.
On a street in Manchester a fight breaks out.
This is not your tribe.
In a small corner of the USA, a priest urges his congregation to burn the words of the devil.
[Harry Potter is probably not the devil.]
The thought is a truth, that hovers in the atmosphere, waiting to be claimed.
I wasn't supposed to die today.
In this moment, when the thought raises its voice and makes itself known, you are more afraid than you have ever been before.
The thought has won.
[In Singapore a couple are photographed walking under a bridge. Captured amidst the steam from a vent in the ground. Somehow, this is all your fault. You are always home.]
This is all your world.