Apercu of This Sporting Life genus

Open explosions wound quitting volunteers' sanity

Ethan Switch - Wednesday, May 3, 2006 - 23:54:34 - print it raw

On the new scent of fresh blood, the hunter pack regroup, regather and relather. Their hair, tussled by the winds of the jungle landscape of the desert plain, features oils and self-cleaning nutrients.

From the back of the open skull, they dip their index and middle fingers, scooping as needed the brain, blood and matter for their lustrous locks.

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Disintegrate life into a second impossible feeling

Ethan Switch - Wednesday, April 26, 2006 - 23:38:09 - print it raw

Shot dead in the back of the head. Run no more.

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Feelings disintegrate without a second's pause

Ethan Switch - Wednesday, April 5, 2006 - 17:10:18 - print it raw

Tasting the sweet taste of sweat and fear, the leader of the pack sniffs the high borne air, looking for the next corner to turn. Guns at the ready, they in the middle of the pack chew hard and fast on their tobacco. Spitting left, right and centre, their path leaves a definable odour.

It's the failure of their technique and the folly of their addiction which gives them away. Enough still for the rest of the hunting group to now know better than to signal flare in mid-walk.

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Gaining traction, momentum was all the fashion

Ethan Switch - Wednesday, March 29, 2006 - 14:02:52 - print it raw

Woken by the crack of a pepper dawn, the baby elephant wallowing in its own newborn cradle cries out for its mother. Softly, softly, just under the hush, careful not to wake the rest of the herd. A few lie motionless, cold to the nudge.

Through the vibrations in the ground, the beat of feet. A rhythmic stampede, too weak to be that of buffalo, or that of the bison. Too strong to warrant a scratch for weasels or meerkats.

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Salt cracker work of the Commonwealth games medal tally

Ethan Switch - Monday, March 27, 2006 - 21:19:16 - print it raw

Twitch the trigger happy fingers, face down in the gold, silver and bronze, commentators and watchers up from their drool bowl, slobbering from the after effects. Ten days come gone and past through the hoary streets of Melbourne for the Commonwealth games.

Through the track & field, pools and various courts as the players turn nations, itchy fingers and eyeballs scratch for another look at that medal tally. With Britain, India and Canada the only real threats, the gold, silver and bronze pile on up.

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They're just humans sacrificing their lives under the microscope

Ethan Switch - Wednesday, March 22, 2006 - 23:38:19 - print it raw

Outer edges of the sport leave the fresh and young targets for the kill. Walking through the marsh, the hunters gather round to lock their sights and set upon their prey.

In this game, the winner is the one that gasps the last breath. In this game, the first one to turn back never looks again for the rest of its miserly life. For as long as the minute clocks on.

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