081313 #copperhead Did you ever stop to think about how someone's life is right up next to the distant sounds you hear? Someone's holding that screaming beast in his hand—his tricep is knotted, it's flecked with beads of sweat and bits of chewed-up wood. The little chips and curls hang suspended in his arm hair. He's blinking sweat out of his eyes, underneath his tattered, sweat-stained cap. The chain spins up and dies down, in its own peculiar tempo, like a violent form of breathing, and the disharmonious roar unsubtly commands his focus—it's a violent meditation, and it soothes and satisfies. The tree he's decimating falls like an army of goblins under the devastating swath of that mechanical magical sword of doom.