on the back of a Kiefer postcard
of a painting you said you liked
I drew a map of home
Tasmania
with your face sketched on it twice
penning your name
thank you > sorry
as constant as whatever you like
my name
I hide it in the book you read all week
you’ll find it on the plane
we’re being grown up when it matters
saying goodbye in the rain.
watching robots telling stories and their makers wash their hands. 'over the past year AI models have learnt to self regulate'. we don't know where we're heading but we probably can't keep up. convenience is dangerous and keeps us on the couch. the brain becomes redundant with the cuts in cost and layoffs. less spending and thinking. more hypnosis and dictation / bluelit oracles online.
what happens when we lose control of our favourite toys? 'ask the apes the risk of humans really taking off'. the tea leaves say extinction isn't off the cards. it hasn't ever been. the only question is which mess we've made will bring us to our knees.
in my dream I follow a friend downhill towards a playground. we are riding our bikes / laughing like kids with nowhere else to be. I want to dream like this forever. if I could wake without my phone...
after church we walk down the rivulet. the platypus are hiding but there's at least a little wonder in knowing they're around. the mountain looms over everything in sight: monolithic and defiant to the elements of change. we follow the path through one of many valleys absorbed in our own significance and the current moment. I feel winter on my nose and think of the fire.
sun fights through the clouds and trees. the leaves of one glow tall and golden against the mountain and the grey of rain to come. we talk about the fall of empire and how it's going to end. there's a good podcast I should listen to about tech giants / the spread of the digital plague / humanity and critical thought slipping down the drain. I think about my ignorance and this privilege to sit back and watch the it all burn. our ancestors went looking for America to forge a new world. they did so with poison, we reap what was sown. the masses choke and splutter. we keep scrolling while we can.
in my dream dream I wake at 2 am to sterile sunshine streaming through lounge room window. a housemate lies horizontal on the couch a mask covers his eyes headphones in singing himself lullabies. the sky must have fallen whilst I slept. the world outside the house is silent like the theatre after death. not even the trams can be heard. am I the first to wake to see that night’s been stolen? I sit on my bed wondering what to do about the fall. without the stars without the dark how can I ever reach the moon? I think about the tides and hope they’re going to be okay.
the sky weeps rivers through the city. every road becomes a current spilling down each lane threatening to claim the floors of every store. we scatter like ants under colourful synthetic sheets, disorder at the whim of clouds. the rain does something to our systems: we all move faster a little more frantic any sense of direction lost to the elemental threat. as though we've never seen this. as though we don't know what to do when the sky starts to cry. strange to experience, funny to watch.
the masses lose their minds in water. the trams keep running. we see the rain so often in this city. watch us revert to animals even under umbrellas. maybe there's a reason. some kind of stunted survival instinct. we could be preconditioned to run from water when it comes. did the great flood really happen? did we ever change for good? or are our bodies all still waiting for the sky to swell and cleanse the earth? could we be beyond saving? I could never build an ark.
in another world we’re jellyfish and I see through your faces. you can see my vital organs and choose to run or drift with me a little longer (as you please). jellyfish are dangerous. they're nice to look at but couldn't make sense if they tried. maybe you’re a jellyfish. if you were I’d keep you an aquarium beside my pillow. if you were we wouldn't need to talk or touch. we'd listen to our music and confuse each other less. but your voice is worth the hazards and there's thrill in chasing answers. jellyfish don't write riddles. despite the clouds I like the way we sing and dance around each other. I'm glad you're not a jellyfish. if you were I'd miss your fingers and the way they feel in mine.
