Humans have such a strange relationship with me I can’t hardly flesh it out. I compose a vast percentage of their world, their bodies even, and they’d die without me after but a few days. For one reason or another they are at total war with me it seems. They drink me all up and spray me on their grass and freeze me for their drinks and spit me out and use me to clean their fat disgusting bodies and filthy clothes. They curse me when I’m spewn from clouds and when their young and drunk die occasionally because they are unable to breathe me after they have failed to stay afloat atop me and sink like the useless lump of wasted skin they are. They build things to ride on top of me and obnoxiously splash me on their face when they’re tired. Perhaps they’re not at war with me as much as they are just first rate, unappreciative users. So be it. I’m packing up and leaving, good luck with all your dirt. [Ryan Nimmo]
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