Tuesday, May 6, 2008
it is a fragile fabric we are woven from, when you get to the real meat of the heart, and the towering trees some see as only wood. we all will become broken clay pots on the floor and flesh in the ground and bits of ash in strange mouths. i wear my wrist as a reminder. the water will reach our necks and keep going higher, the wind will find us and begin to tear, the fire cannot burn in reverse. i am trying to remember that all this love will end in heartache, and that i would never wish it otherwise. it is just one more reason to paint colors across this day as though my hands were brushes and the space i move through just empty canvas begging for something beautiful to be whispered into it.
Monday, May 5, 2008
we have grown extension cords from our spines, replaced our teeth with computer chips, learned the rhythm of a synthetic heartbeat and now we dance to it. our pulse swings predictably wild, a regulated bloodstream of binary code. there are digital bathtubs waiting for us to soak in them. we leave footprints on all we walk upon now. we exchange silicon based conversations, laugh in gigabytes, mourn in minimized browsers. it all adds up very efficiently. the numbers are exact. you can calculate the keystrokes. but there are still green things growing from the ground. blossoms still explode scent and color in ecstasy every spring. the sea is still salty. the sun still shines warm. the desert will still make you breathless with its silence. animals still sniff the brown earth, inhaling the damp richness of roots and leaves and decay and growth. we still eat. we still breathe. we still make love like we are wild creatures, taste one another's sweat, collapse in mutual exhaustion. my question is this: what is so wonderful about the cold efficiency of technology that we are trying to re-create ourselves in its image?