Eons and eons. And eons. Eons of chickens. Never going anywhere but chickens. And expecting more time. Much more time. Which explains why it hurts so much when bitten.
Eaten. Incredible pain. And right there, cut off for the rest of eternity. As inconceivable as the number of galaxies in the universe, as universally relevant as the path of time itself, a path to something just as inconceivable, stopped, right there, in a single moment.
I turned its unending potential into a smile. A stupid laugh. An orgasm, momentary pleasure, love (that my body understands), a chaos of shit (which at least plant ovules seem able to find order in), and a bad joke. Maybe, if I'm lucky, and rich enough, and live in one of them things called houses, a child. Thankfully, factory farms are harmless to us, assuming you exclude evolution as a possibility, as well as tomorrow and the existence of the next few billion days.
Probably should do something about that. If we could. Which we could, you know.. but yolo.
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