We all need to make sacrifices, and the road to Hull is paved with goat intestines. Mothers, fathers, small children, all line the A1079 with small animals, sharp blades, and a new-found faith in angry gods. Crops rot in the wrong kind of rain, but blood is thicker than water, and we trust this brief terror to bring forth a bumper harvest in the near-but-unspecified future. Technology can carry us just so far, but when Alexa and Siri commence a discordant chant of Ph’nglui mglw’nafh Cthulhu R’lyeh wgah’nagl fhtagn, it’s a sign that it’s time for a more atavistic approach to collective blue sky thinking. The North Sea’s calling, but the last train left years ago and the road’s slick with red. Never mind. It only takes a firm decision, a precise incision, and a moment of insight into just how flimsy this notion of Human really is. Together we can co-create. They die that we might live.
Oz Hardwick
Photo Nick Victor
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