Dragonflies slamming into the windshields of moving cars. O the bare expectation, foggy foresight and troublesome wing movement are nothing against the crashing speed of a suicidal vehicle which got nothing to lose inasmuch as, well, there ain't much you fear losing when you embrace velocity. If you could hear the splat of a hundred insects smashing into a stoppable force, you would indeterminably come to a piece of paper and jot down the dubious joy and the juxtaposing terrour. Do not blame the dragonflies for trying to unabashedly spot where to nest and give birth to music. Dare not simplistically vilify them: little could you tell were you opposing the devil's strength against your will.

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