Cleverly played, VA

Fake shutters go on all the front windows. Side and back windows aren’t viewable from the road where the important people in their cars go by.
Except I can see all but one of your windows, and your half-foot wide plastic slats beside those double-wides aren’t fooling anyone.

It’s a good thing I realised that Virginia is officially open for business at all hours of day and night. Twenty-four. Oh yes. But nothing of value to buy, so…

Alternatively, one might say, “thus always to tyrants” – though I’m not exactly sure what we are getting at by that statement. Perhaps, a merger is in order.

Thus always to tyrants, open for business.
Appropriate, I’d say.

Among those fake shutters and long dead roads where everyone ends at the same corporate conclusion, there are vultures quick to lend a hand to your decaying body. Crows ready and waiting for the taking. Jays who disguise as beauties, there to tear your dead bits apart. A dead dog on the side of the road run over by our careless pass is gone within the night.

Nature, it seems, moves continually forward.
While we are figuring out how to beat ourselves into the outer vacuum where no life has existed, ever.

Do we, honestly, believe we will be the first?
How many dead planets hiding vast oil fields below their surface do you think there are?
How many have made our mistakes in the past?

Will we be the first? Will we be the last?

Another world is possible, but I’m beginning to think it orbits another star.

My star in this lantern is burning down. My lone road is coming to a close. I am beginning to see the dawn. A star rising as I set my outlying nature down.

I am ready to resume where I had left off.
Here’s to Buckminster for the inspiration.
I was not silent two years, but I might as well have been.

What have you seen, caterpillar?

In the growing winter, such things have become apparent:

We are less likely now to talk in “we”s and “us”s, more likely to talk in “I” and “you”. The first person cooperative pronouns are going out of fashion.
There is this growing space that grows nothing but the wrong kind of resistance. A lazy persistence. A lack of any doing. We talk a lot and do so little. Thinkers or time-wasters?
The sun is starting to show in these adult lines on our faces in dark frowns instead of smiles. We are dying at 40 these days. How long will you live without cancer and a hope?
A slow glowing ember can last all night, if tended. I may be burning inside, but I’m all covered in this ash. Can you tell?
The grey rain pushes me more than my own resolve. What am I resolved to do? Wait without an honest exit plan. We’re unraveling and we call it fun.
Those shutters will be painted in no time. Will you live within them or die slow?
Got a better plan? One at all? A schedule for useless bike rides that can end in your death?
At thirty, are you ready and willing to die? In the fire or out? Rolled around in ash?

I’m waking to a new sense burgeoning inside of me. Where it leads, I’m not at all sure.
Do I have a plan yet?
I sure as hell better get one.
The Spring is soon on the step.
Will I walk into it or fall?
Only this time will tell.

Bucky, I see where you in your silent reveries may have gone wrong. I am not the trimtab, but this whole ship is a part of me and I am sailing along on it. I may be a hand to turn it, but can I turn alone?
Not at all.

Ciclakumei is the key and vida is the answer.
Do you know what I mean?
I will try.

Welcome to the future.

So, the life of the Earthen is not quite done. We may have lost control of our legs, but they are still moving in and out, reaching for something we cannot see or describe. Death, perhaps. But for now, we keep on in our crumbling, failing, fading mannerisms.

How many hours, days does it take the assmebly beetle, the butterfly, the spider, the fly, all umoshi vida to finally go to sleep? How many years, each of us? How many generations will we see slowly kicking, reaching, stretching to an impossible and non-existent goal? How many lifetimes will pass in our slow degrade?

This is completely normal. Natural. The way it goes.

Did you not realise, Earthens, that we are the final ones? Did you not see how your children are only yet anther aspect, another step in our death throws? Did you not yet catch a glimpse of it?

We will take a long time in coming to it.
Like all vida.

I wonder. Is there some greater life, some bigger form, some more expansive organism, some higher view that is watching as we go? Is there some canto-mushi to see us as we fade?

How interesting our desperation must appear.