No. 163 “People, the people we really love, where did they come from? What did we do to deserve them?” ― Madness, Rack, and Honey: Collected Lectures by Mary Ruefle It's one of the few remaining mornings, raining even, and everyone who's left comes out to see The Big Race. Faces are solemn and shadowy like the saguaro's clever skin, but there are no more saguaros of which to speak and not many can recall there ever being such a thing as cacti. There are only two competitors at the starting line, taking their marks: Lady Justice and Lady Luck. (No one roots for either; this is just what it's come down to.) Goddesses set, there is a gunshot and the racers lurch forward―nude skin glistening in the rain and sweat and soot. Strides shed their visceral, skeletal form to become dice rolls and admissible evidence. As they near the fading finish line in the sand, everyone gets an alert from The Presence: ᴛʜᴇ ꜰᴀᴋᴇ ɴᴇᴡs ᴍᴇᴅɪᴀ ɪs ɢᴏɪɴɢ ᴄʀᴀᴢʏ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ ᴄᴏɴsᴘɪʀᴀᴄʏ ᴛʜᴇᴏʀɪᴇs ᴀɴᴅ ʙʟɪɴᴅ ʜᴀᴛʀᴇᴅ. Everyone's face glows a dim, white frown, and nobody knows who wins. Nobody wins. Nighttime comes, but I don't think tomorrow there will be another Big Race because no one knows what happened to the goddesses. #liminalproject #mentalhealth #arttherapy #anxiety (at Paradise Valley, Arizona)
