Henry Rollins – Solipsist – closing lines

I have several hundred acres of property in the desert. In the middle of the land is a house in which I live. Instead of having bare wasteland to look at, I have brought in several tons of wreckage. Twisted car bodies litter the barren expanse. Every piece of airline wreckage I can buy or otherwise appropriate is strewn all over. When I look out the window, all I can see is the marriage of human ingenuity and error that caused death. Man destroying life in things made by other men is as close as we get to being gods. I think. Mechanized destruction of soft human tissue is beautiful. In the evenings when the sun is setting, I walk through the smashed statues of metal. I admire the engineering as it sits raped and rusting. Dried blood from the victims is visible, thanks to the sealant I covered the stains with. I never want to doubt man’s frailty. I feel it is important to be humble. The dried blood is there to remind me of man’s blind faith and arrogance. At night, I sit on the front porch and watch the moon shine down on the metal. Coyotes wander through the maze of mistakes, miscalculations and hulls that briefly housed screams and polarized moments of indescribable human terror. These monuments of death and destruction teach me more about man and life than anything I have ever known. Somehow I feel part of all this and at the same time, completely removed as I stare out at these silent shapes that reflect the moon like hundreds of pale eyes.

Thanks to RedKing

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