The Ordinary Times

Tyranny

This, a song called “Tyrants” from an amazing band called Black Mountain. Most of the same folks are in another band called Lightning Dust which is also good.

I haven’t been able to make this song stop playing. My hand can’t move the mouse anywhere but the play button. My finger can’t do anything but click. My ears can’t do anything but fill up with power and restraint in equal measures.

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There is a forest, maybe. There is dark, but light filters through the trees in shifting dusty rays. There is a thick carpet of ferns, and moss coats the rocks and tall firs. There is a majestic buck, horns sharp, hooves heavy with his weight. There are various woodland creatures that serve him, cosmeticians: his woodpecker manicurist, his field mouse stylist.

There are hunters. There are guns. There is fire and smoke. The stag bolts, his servants scatter. There is no safety. There is nowhere to hide from the clatter of rifles. He is laced through with warmth. He is shot. Blood leaks from him like a sieve. He staggers.

There is a place not far off, a quiet glen where he once fell in love. He might make it there, to breathe his last breath in still sweet air, to drink once more from the softly burbling stream, to lay his head on the thick carpet of moss and slide into sleep forever.