No story

T.’s cows come trotting when they see me, we’ve got to know each other. Their hot breath and strings of drool on my hands when I bite off chunks of apples and feed them into their rubbery muzzles. The skin patterns on a cow’s muzzle are as unique as our fingerprints; scientists have developed an electronic system to identify them more efficiently than branding and ear notching. These animals have a story, which is: the production process from the shed to the field to the slaughterhouse.

No story then, since the stories that haven’t already been broken into fragments are soon taken in by capital, used and brought to market. But the silent moment remains, opening and closing, the day is unconquerable and ‘you too have weapons’

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You’d think a mole emerging into the day from one of its subterranean tunnels would be dazzled, but the skin and hairs that protect its tiny eyes when it’s digging underground also protect it from being blinded by the light aboveground.

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