Fin-ality

Some dormant and unshakable fiber of man’s being, abetting deepest from the primordial rungs linking the double-helix-shaped ladder of life itself, one imperceptible of a faraway prominence of morality, one darker than the barren, beady pupils of his scanning and squinting sight, rests tainted with a rooted desire to kill that which exists wildly in Nature.  That which roams elsewhere, somewhere, yet somehow, amidst the range of his own conceivable world, whether openly-seen or estimated in the unknown.  That which he knows to be evermore dominant in form or elegant in appeal or naturally-majestic than he could ever physically claim or imaginatively hope or suggestively strive to be, but nevertheless, lurking undetectable below the shallow surface of skin that surreptitiously masquerades his civilized mannerisms, dwell these haunting and immutable remnants of his once-atavistic survival mechanisms of past, his primitively hard-wired leanings, a wildly-determinate proto-programming clawing to advise his rudimentary inclinations that he unshed mystery and domesticate any said death-dealing thought to any said waiting creature of fin or fur or feather from the spheres of his own existence, those stirred from that innermost dimension of his ravenously-seeking mind, or even benefit a subconsciously-clenching vestige affirming the incarnate chomping contours of his pointed prehensile canines, for as he sees, it can only subsist as fur-hide or scale-wrapped compromise, this faraway contention of game-sport subjugated to merely consummate his own satisfying sense of self-dominance and professed masculinity within a competing world of predatory rivalry.  A prize, as he sees, defining the overestimated value of his very own self-worth and fixated importance of an assumed or self-imposed contest amongst the spying eyes and trying hands of fellow mankind. 

He hunts the hunter, lowering himself into the hunted’s world, such that by agony of such stalking consequence, the bearing of any said beast’s breath, that incomprehensible, yet empathetic exhalation that is cosmically-ordained common-life shared amongst the very inhalations with man himself, one violently heaving for mercy in a pitiless, smearing extirpation of bleeding-blood, one tormented in an asphyxiating finality of foaming bubbles of mouth agape, becomes stolen, its surging pulse forever stalled of wicked and wayward privilege, as it bears burden, and as he hovering witness, to one last writhing twist or percussed, slapping strike of tail or soaring, visceral moan or earth-tearing slash of hoof.  A pitiful finality consummating by way of an ancient conception born from the emergent turn of time and life’s carnivorous collision thereof, that as these eyes see it, is the silhouette of man strengthened by the rigor mortis of conquest, an exalted and exclaimed delusion of dominance only to perish immediately itself, one muted by the deafness of a world disinterested.  A world infinitely larger than the parameter of his mind’s mirage of purpose purports.  A world one-less punctuated by the miraculous grandeur of sinew’s sinuous living color. One less lowly or removed victim from a universal transcendence.

For he is hunter. He is savage beast himself, grown stained and weighted with the sticky, salty smear of a sanguine-silence bleeding outward unto his own dying stillness of reason.  He is man.  The ungodly proctor of flesh’s fate and peerless purveyor of death.