Minotaur

What I (mis)took to be unspoken may have been unspeakable.

The Earth's symptoms still seem fairly innocuous. But to me, they speak of something so horrifying that either eventuality they forecast is truly unthinkable, like picturing your mother paired with a beautiful, divine, snow-white (although rapacious) bull.

So many people (apparently honorable (wo)men) claim the situation is not as perverted as it may appear. Circumstances, it seems, have been (mis)directed in a course of purportedly well-intentioned errors (technology) to come to a simple (mis)understanding, one in which my mother either successfully fulfills her desire to copulate with the beast (the Minotaur becoming my half-brother), or if technology fails, she is crushed under the weight of an urge (albeit bestial and (mis)directed) which is aimed at simply continuing life.

All metaphors aside, how could things have turned out this way?
Who has a gentle word to redirect the horror born of such pain and rage?

Never mind, my dear...
never-mind,
nevermind.