I watch military aircraft fly over my head everyday.

They live here.

On the military bases.

In my home.

In the state of New Mexico.

In the United States of America.

​

Every day I see them. Just another piece of sky in a place that I’m beginning to suspect never

felt like home.

Dirt becomes metal.

Metal takes flight.

Soaks the dirt in blood.

Blood becomes dirt.

Dirt becomes metal.

​

Cars and Airplanes are consistent.

If I go outside I will see them.

If I stay inside I will hear them.

The best way man can make machines move through this earth is by mimicking the blueprints of

billions of years of evolution.

Four legs on the horse become four wheels on the car.

Two wings on the bird become two wings on the plane.

We abstract things. Sometimes beyond recognition, until they seem like something entirely new.

Dirt becomes metal.

A country must have an identity. A mythos that can be twisted to fit a narrative.

Abstractable. A memory of a memory.

​

‘Defend the weak and fatherless; uphold the cause of the poor and the oppressed.*’

God bless the troops.

Dirt becomes metal.

​

Art can do what language can’t. A crowd can stand around a piece of art and wrestle with their

emotions together. Honesty is all I can offer in these circumstances. One can look at art from

1000 years ago and feel the same indescribable feelings the artist felt. I’m not a warrior. I’m

powerless. I know that. All I can really do is document how it feels now. And right now military

aircraft fly over my head everyday.