A gunshot butterfly. Bullet through the thorax.. abdomen. The fissures formed the wings as if pressed together with paint from a kindergarten art project.
What is our human fascination with dark holes? We have a need to find out what is in there. What is hidden in the shadows? From a young age we stick our fingers into unknown black holes – electrical outlets, our noses, et cetera. That et cetera was a heavy et cetera for dramatic affect – I don’t have to spell it out but your imagination likely filled in the blanks. Touché.
Ok pause. Slowly flow writing – back to the series of images… if I get closer to it… if I look at it from this angle, if I repel into it, if I take scientific geologic hell hole samples, if I mythologize about it, if I finger it… then I will know, then I will discover, my name will have a wonderful scientific reputation – after all – isn’t that what we are all here to do? Leave a legacy of fingering stuff out, more so than the last generation? If I finger it just a little more or a little differently – with potions and techniques never tried before – it will be me, my glorious name that will have figured it out.
This hole is remote. This hole would rather be left alone. This hole contains poisonous water. Have we learned nothing from nature? Don’t pick up that cute, bright red frog in the jungle, it’s no good for you.
Keep your prodding and poking to yourself – and to those who can offer mutual consent in the poking and prodding.
Rugged, remote, poisonous – nature-speak for “Leave me Alone!”
Other perspective – Venus fly-trap perspective – knowing the curiosity of humans – let me bring them here to gather samples from their shins as they scrape themselves on my sharp edges.
where rivers are born 