Pylons

Pylons watching. Dead eyes. No eyes. They buzz like fridges (Karma Police, Radiohead. Search it up, it’s a good song) – but there’s no sustenance inside, just death; like detuned radios without music.,

Pylons stand as a guard, or a warning, or a threat, close to the ‘welcome to’ village signs. Their wires cutting the sky, they stride across the countryside – the free land that isn’t free because it’s all owned. Don’t trespass, hiss the pylons. CEOs move ‘to the country’ in their 50s, to retire, (some to build houses no one can afford to live in, destroying the country as they arrive) but they don’t understand that the farm fences are no different to the barbed wire around army training grounds. There’s not much difference between the green and the grey.

Electricity was always there (I think Bjork was talking about this recently). And it’s in our brains. Even if someone pulls the plug, we all know, if we choose to let it in. Green means go, peace, freedom. Green is how the Earth breathes. I think the pylons are guarding themselves, hissing like feral cats when approached (because they can’t run away). But there’s only room for an apex predator in a healthy ecosystem. Our ecosystem isn’t healthy – we don’t need Alexa to tell us that.

For now, the pylons stride alongside roads which run alongside rivers. The rivers were here first – they made the paths – and they all flow to the deep blue sea. One day, neural pathways will make connections, and living in our Umwelten will be natural and healthy to all. Then again, maybe that’s just (the) (deep) blue sky thinking.