I will fold myself eight times in, then eight times further inward. You will not see, you will not find me. Imploding under the weight of time, past layering upon present.
This flatness makes a pretty shape, if you know how to twist it right. Turn too hard and everything smashes together: exhausted, brilliant, numbered in days.
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Very interesting series, man.
Don’t forget that we’re soliciting for contributions to the next qarrtsiluni issue, “Journaling the Apocalypse,” through Oct. 6.
Thanks Dave. Yeah, I haven’t forgotten. Haven’t had the words, what with being dead and all that. I’ll pull some thoughts together – maybe along the lines we discussed previously, maybe not.
You were dead? Why didn’t anyone tell me?
I like this series a lot. It feels like introspection in outer space – two of my favourite things.
“Introspection in outer space” – I like it. Very apt; not my conscious intention, but that’s indeed what it’s like. I might have to borrow that phrase.
Echo.