Stretching through land older than the time we measure – bringing with it the poison and the sickness that we so willingly take on – there is a buzzing sound emanating from them, around them, through them. the wind sounds different when it swings around these giants, the wind sounds angry as it whips them with it’s being. all along the desert taking from  the runoff to fuel lives way way down below. an electric stream of  “progress” so backwards that it takes away in order to create a disconnected way. under these towering, amped up giants lies the evidence of the sickness creeping in. the broken bottles of shattered dreams and the filtered remains of polluted souls.