Dream. Birds that get lost.

I had the horrible feeling of being trapped in a bubble, life would be a passing of hours, pulled by invisible strings that tied me to you, at least that's what they said in an old advertisement.
When it bothered me a lot, I had this little corral and I would wring the neck of one of the miserable ones. There was almost nothing to feed them, so they basically ate rocks and water, which kept them busy most of the time.
At first it bothered me a little. Then it was something that moved terribly inside me. I began to like the feeling of twisting the necks of these hateful animals. It was a way to direct my resentment or whatever it was.
I knew them perfectly, it was a long and tedious process of trial and error. You had to press using four reference fingers, stretch their neck, and measure three fingers, and at that point you could feel the cables rattling, and they died instantly. If you used other methods to kill them, then according to the Chinese, it wouldn't taste the same.
It was a strange relationship. If nothing could mortify me, I tried to find a way to let the rage take hold of me, and then, like an automatic mechanism, I found myself in the cage choosing chickens. Although they were always skinny, you could make broth with them. I killed two birds with one stone.
Then came the Great Depression. At that time, stone soups were used in all restaurants. Pebbles or something that resembled them perfectly were collected and some branches and something spicy were added.
My chickens were exterminated, as if the rage inhabited me faster than the damn chickens reproduced.
The frustrating thing is that I started buying some chickens, I looked into their chicken eyes and they didn't even hold my gaze, which bothered me horribly and made wringing their necks not so boring.
I would have written a white paper and hoped that someone somewhere would have the same idea, maybe they had a more sophisticated mechanism. Boiling water or a professional slicer. Someone made a little comment on my post saying they did it with pigeons, and that sparked an idea.
The sad thing is that I spent long hours walking around, and there are no birds left on this island, nothing with feathers. The markets have disappeared.
So I put up a sign in red acrylic. I buy birds. I desperately need to wring some necks.
The doctor has prescribed me some blue pills, he says to reduce anxiety, but maybe they didn't work. My anxiety is at the point of no return.
I had a dream. I could start with the necks of other animals. Some bigger and smarter.

Translated with DeepL.com (free version)

Image created by me, using a prompt in Ai Grok.

Reality invents me.
I think it's time to use art as a banner.
There is always a weapon in boredom.