{"created_by":"diewiththemostlikes","description":"our pupils blended with the smell of burning ethanol  \nthrough an orgy of wind turbines  \nthat turned without much thought  \nand provided no discernible power  \nto the rash of houses  \nquietly suffocating in their wake\n\n\nbut they did propel the aluminum womb we rode in  \nwhich was absent of fuel  \nor destination  \nor driver  \nwho had succumbed to alcholism  \nat some point during the trip  \nand passed quietly behind the indifferent wheel  \nleaving the pedals which never required his weight anyway\n\nthough he’d told us he never meant to be a driver  \nor an alcoholic  \nno one means to anything  \nit was all just something that happened\n\n\nand that his death had no bearing on our celebration or mourning  \nor arrival or departure\n\n\nit was the thing he was meant for  \nas dictated by the deviations in the corn stalks","name":"after the ethanol stopped burning","attributes":[{"trait_type":"Artist","value":"diewiththemostlikes","display_type":"text"}],"image_details":{"bytes":4858036,"format":"GIF","sha256":"fc04e016593a41c01b0871666137546afd74c190c7d84af16ee9fe54fa5f73c4","width":2289,"height":3336},"image":"https://arweave.net/AJnaJquOsFPlnKTir5226EIQYJ8Du47QJfD4RpBFfKs","image_url":"https://arweave.net/AJnaJquOsFPlnKTir5226EIQYJ8Du47QJfD4RpBFfKs"}