DAY 42

Day 42, a number associated with meaningfulness, the state up to now of this blog doesn't bode well for this as a theme. Let's see how we go

The bent figure of a man stumbles across the rusted rock of the arid landscape. He is silhouetted against the similar orange of the sky as he slowly meanders. Zooming in, his outline seems to cower under a burden, like the shell of an ungainly tortoise. Closer still this weight is revelaed to be a thousand staked coffins, tiny and intricate. More a sewn not the fabric of his dusty coat and more still hang of ropes that dangle wearily around his frame. Closer still we see his face. It is a he by the way. The only women left lie in the coffins that bend his frame. His face is dryer than the rocks around him and as pale as the moon. He does not seem to labour under his weight however, for he, the last man on earth is staring down at the screen of an iPhone and filling in an online petition for amnesty international.

I call this piece, white guilt and such