The beauty in our self-destruction. Rarely is death without its own gleam and shimmer. I remember being entranced by the shifting angles of my uncle's face as cancer hollowed his body and mind, that dangerous beauty of cautionary fairy tales and swamps without footing. The splay of oil on streets and sidewalks has a similar allure, mesmerizing distractions even as it steals away the foundations of our worlds. We are liminal ourselves now and reminders of that pop up in rainbows seeping into our water; nothing is impervious forever. Also. Divest yourself. This shit needs to stay in the ground. We need not listen to the beckoning sprites of doom.