Sunday, the 17th of September
A bird fell from the sky. Plop.
It was dead.
Its tail twitched, leg wiped, as the instructions from the neural cord concluded transmission.
At what moment, it was dead to the purposes of the world, its life was definitely at an end after it hit. Direct brain injury, beak turned sideways, undamaged. Bird with no wings on a long drop down. Was it a heart attack from above? A swift paralysis? A fit? A sudden loss of balance?
A deliberate death early in the day.
A day that this life was not intended to see.
Ah, you are taking the view that this state of affairs is informed by linear time. Well, if you believe that time is linear, or solely linear, such an assumption will preclude you from more than...
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