 Headless hounds from Boston Dynamics. Headless hounds from Raytheon. Headless hounds in our nightmares huddled shivering under U.S. flags, beneath a night sky whose stars were replaced by satellites and drones. Headless hounds dashing voicelessly past buzz signs flashing by, by, by, and buzz screens shouting fear, fear, fear. Past the harmless, homeless, and overdosing angels, past the skyscraper soul siphons and sane streets schizophrenics, past roadkill dream guides and the freeway beasts who feed on them, past suburban window watchers with opiate eyes, past the cheering liberals who proudly support their hunt they make empire automatons of all sorts, you know. In this land we worship headless gods, gods with logos instead of faces, gods with quarterly statements instead of minds, gods with profit margins instead of conscience, gods who are legally required to act without morality, gods who devour unthinkingly and destroy unfeelingly, gods who eat ecosystems and shit suffering, our gods have no heads and now neither do their soldiers. We lurch headlessly, mindlessly, heartlessly, unconsciously toward wherever it is we are going, like robots running a program written by a long dead man for reasons nobody can remember. Headless hounds where our rights should be, headless hounds where our heads should be. On an old wooden fence post there sits a large crow. It looks you in the eye and stares without moving and just as you find yourself growing restless and uncomfortable, you remember something ancient, something intimate, something that has more relevance to you than any thought you've ever had. You sit here, you and the crow, and you remember where you came from.