Soren James is a writer and visual artist who recreates himself on a daily basis from the materials at his disposal, continuing to do so in an upbeat manner until one day he will sumptuously throw his drained materials aside and resume stillness without asking why. More of his work can be seen here: http://sorenjames.moonfruit.com Sweatshops Acres of murdered children fill stores with low-cost plastic scraps, placating Western mundane moans - seeking purchase on their shopping gifts. Markets filled with sealed lives and chicken-item stereotypes, freezing human sympathy. And check out the canned protein – it's a metaphor for democracy. Faith Faith-herds – hopeful in misery – dwell in their blank ecologies befitting of worlds of tyranny. These flocks writhe, wool hitched, knotted and matting, over their eyes - drowning views deeper in falsity while loyally they bow in deceit to creeds that have crept down the ruts of history – dirty endurance intact because thought adheres lazily to carnage created by thought. Passing From a bough beneath my window whistles incentive rope – noose in tow: a cure for life-incepted hassles – passing on my extant blows. Death's urge is tossed in every carcass at inception through to life's decease. I'm a hung journey bleached in darkness till the break gasp of my necks release. Magic The assembled assumptions governing what she was slipped as she waved a concentrated whisper - in a silence peculiar, thoughtless. She stared madly wishing the hat from his head at distance. It fell.
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