There is a poetic finality about a bullet. The roulette of death or life that unfolds with the flight of the bullet, is as irreversible as a word given wings. The brutality with which a bullet carries out it's destiny is admirable in my opinion.
Departed from it's sinister origins, it's a beautifully simple mechanism designed to realise it sole purpose in milliseconds. To realise love with the brutality of a bullet. There's a poetic statement.
The world is in fact black and white. When you boil everything down to it's most finite divergence, you are always faced with two options, and they always diverge in opposite directions from there. I think once you get that, you get life. Life involves choices, and we make them grey.
I don't think you can get the totality of that simplicity until you begin to understand a bigger picture. Life is about absolutes. Truth is always true.
Ultimately you can love, or not. And within that you can love or not with all you are...
...and that is why I hold onto love with violence.
©2010 Sean Tuckey
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