A human staring down a ruse of permanence in a world that’s actually doing slow-motion impermanence.
The snail dead today rises anew tomorrow.
Obituaries fill up like shopping carts.
A seemingly repeating pattern of walls, floors, paths and skies – an arena for each repeating day . . . but seldom a man to see change in the seams.
Difference going nowhere.
The same morning soundtrack – a symphony of stasis so the drones know what to say to each other in passing.
“Good morning” whether it is or not.
Good morning, knowing that it has to be if you’ve made it this far – risen for another cup of overflowing tea.
If there is a designer, it’s one who paints the same thing over and over again furiously.
In an attempt to see if any of the participants understand the grandiosity of one whole thing always. . . but then never.
A window into temporary nirvana.
