"The Earth has a skin, and that skin has diseases; one of its diseases is called Man" Friedrich Nietzsche

For hundreds of years, man has walked the earth, claiming it as his own as if such a vast thing could be owned. The earth itself has outlasted any of us, and shall outlast those of us who, today, still try to control it. As we take the land as our own, so shall the land reclaim us one day. To the earth we are nothing more than parasites; an infection crawling through its flesh and bones.

Between pollution, destruction and contamination of natural resources, humans do nothing but plague the earth. We tear down trees and mountains as we see fit, contaminate the water and air with our waste, and plow and pave our way through spaces where a vast collection of natural life made its home, until we passed through.

Instead of trying to capture the beauty of our land, we try to mold and shape it with metal fingers, stone eyes and glass lungs. It is as if we breath concrete and steal on to the land; smothering it and spreading over it like an infectious rash that it cannot be rid of.

To the land, there is no medication for this disease known as Man. There is no treatment, nor cure for this destruction ridden race bend on ruining itself and everything around it. It can no longer shed this creeping shell of toxic smoke and smothering structures, but for a few attempts at fighting back through wind, rain and fire. Its only weapon is itself; the land and its elements, where as ours are so much more deadly.

With needle-buildings, poc-cities, the lung racking coughs of thick, choking smoke belching from the mouth of a factory, this land is standing against a plague that works fast and spreads even more quickly, swiping over the natural space with a deadly hand. Man is a plague, and Earth the infected patient.