archaeology

i should stop doing this. the excavating of the past. i went on a dig recently, and failed to find the nine year old boy with the spear made out of a sharpened stick. he erased himself, as versions of my past tend to. i found myself wishing that he had left a written record, but like so many great civilizations, what written records that did survive said little about the populace and more about obscurities. the landscape has undergone such a complete metamorphosis it is as if some Stalinist set out to remove all trace of the interiors, the immediate surroundings, but the lay of things was intact, more or less. i found myself coveting the years ahead of them that the young people in the city had, and their present circumstances, carrying laundry up those great hills. i have been doing altogether too much of that lately, but i think this last dig had me cured of the habit. a person can only live one lifetime, and unlike Vonnegut's Trafamadorians, we cannot even slide back and fourth along this thread of spacetime and must somehow make sense of its incompleteness, its inability to breach the other possible timelines that could have been and see the whole picture of things. perhaps this picture, if not viewed with the proper eye protection, would disintegrate a mind into nothing but proteins. i suppose, with a little help from Dr. Pangloss, i am safe here, on this thread, a life among them.

Recent Art

you have seen three of four of these before, but i like them as still pieces more, perhaps, so here they are again.

Annihilator Neurasthenasism