On Swimming

We have no power. We are specks of dust in the southerly simoom. She carries us, rents us from neighbours never to be reunited. Do you expect to see your friend in the Syrian heat, where the wind destroys mirages and temples cannot stand?

We are beyond the horizon of the collapsing sun, and if light has no choice, how can we…

They say to “go with the flow,” but there is no choice. Resistance gains nothing. Swim against the current to waste your short hours of worriless slavery. There is so much ocean, and not a drop of land to see. The riptide is a blessing; worry not about its gentle pull.

We are but husks, rejected before the end, the skin abandoned in the procession of the beast to the river.

Escape gravity? You cannot. Stretch your arms as you fall into the abyss to be forgotten, yes, but reunited with the whole.