This was my mother's dream, and when she died, it became mine.

Only friction keeps my hand on the wheel. My eyes are open, but the same haze which envelopes my mind clouds my vision. In bursts, I can push forward, through the fog in my mind and in my eyes, to see the world streaming toward me. My heart struggles against the weight of my body to continue beating, and only the deepest voice inside me screams.

I'm driving, but I need to stop. My foot is too heavy.

I remember what I did, and I regret it. Because I misunderstood what I would get, how I would feel. This is not the same as before.

My car swerves to avoid an obstacle, but I still can't slow down. My foot is too heavy. I'm too tired.

I'm going to crash. Images play across my mind of the carnage which must ensue, more vivid, more real than the blurred opacity of reality. I have no anger.

My foot is too heavy. I'm too tired.

This was my mother's dream, and when she died, it became mine.

Corona

Running

Short Tandem Repeat - Running

The sun rises.

The sun sets.

The sun rises.

The sun sets.

The sun rises, and a billion little things wake up and take their first bite. Their first step is involuntary, as if an invisible hand is corralling them together. At first, life came from the ground, providing what they could take, only what they could carry.

The sun sets, and two billion little things go back to sleep.

The sun rises, and there is not enough. Too many tiny breaths suck too much life, and the ground is dry. One billion little things die, and one billion are born.

The sun sets, and two billion little things go back to sleep. Some are afraid of the future, frightened of the boundaries placed around their world. Others think more pragmatic thoughts as their tiny metabolic motors hum down to an idle. We will live, they think, by taking what is provided. Once no more can be taken, we will stop living.

The sun rises, and its light cascades over the universe, illuminating the shortcut bounty of machines. Life spills into the world from all directions; light, heat, nutrients abound without limit.

The sun sets, and the pragmatists are affirmed, and all the little doubters close their eyes, reassured that continued existence, propagation, proliferation, are their destiny. Four billion little things go to sleep, resting in the peace of abundance.

The sun rises, and it is crowded. The old things die eventually, but leave four young little things in their place. Each little thing takes a respectful step away from its neighbor. It’s only a matter of time before each life is replaced by four others. The heat, the light, the nutrients have truly proven inexhaustible.

The sun sets, and a few hardworking and talented little things stay up late, tearing a hole through to plutonium fission.

The sun rises, and all the fish are dead.

Bloom

Short Tandem Repeat - Bloom

As he did every morning, he awoke with a start, panicked urgency stabbing through his anxious dreams to leave wakefulness like a wound. Yes, it was that dramatic. Today, the friction between the day of the living and his quicksand cocoon of incomplete consequence would lessen with time. Hate, confusion, babies, and algorithmically curated products unrolled, stretching across the floor like the lecher wolf's tongue. The world was large but small, and he sat on the border of himself and everything else, wondering which was more empty. Meaningless echoes of inconsequential energy. The dream that had held him under moments before had by now dissolved to a few strands anchored to his subconscious, pulling silently at places he could not name. That was preferable, he thought as he put on his belt and socks: better to leave the unreclaimable in its soft hollow than carry its chains out into the light, where no one could see their weight, the way they wore his aching mind raw. In the stretch of a heartbeat, he could recall the many times his freedom from dreamed demons was not so easily earned. A continuum of trauma, from monsters too terrible to bear, even in dreams, to sublime beauty which, once witnessed, one could not bear to lose. These things, and countless poisons of pleasure and pain between them lingered in his memory. Yes, he agreed with his earlier assessment...it is better to forget it all. An infinite cascade of argument and recipes and atrocities and indifference and indulgence poured out before him, gluing his feet and eyes in place for more than a moment. Like pulling off a toenail he looked away, pocketing his phone, and went to work, again wondering which alternative was more rotten, more infinite and futile: the internal life of an interminably lonely man, or the cavernous echoes of vicious, callous humankind.

Tusks of War

Short Tandem Repeat - Tusks Of War

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Short Tandem Repeat

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