At height of Canada’s capital sleetladen protests, when peppergassing cops on horseback were making arrests, and Russia’s ominous borderline brink with sad Ukraine meant readiness to invade with tanks any day, all went awry in a way, internet, aircon, radio all gone, reducing us to breathless singing songs under light of gentle candles and, tropical nights of bright starry sky and pinpoint crisscross of lightning bugs enhancing stillness with solitary cats and toads gone motionless mixed with rapid ant insect insanity and the relentless anguish of famished mosquitos who, as a moth’s erratic circling of flame ajitter resembles electron’s orbit game, portrayed a fondless mirror of all we’ll ever be, since this becoming became at behest of Eden’s snakekept misery test.

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